Mind Over Matter

by Nathan Traveler

Rating: everyone
Tags: Slice of Life, Human
Length: 6601

The journals of a gentleman and psychic professional.

The following is a collection of journals from the desk of Sir Mind Cleaner; gentleman and professional psychic doctor. He has successfully treated several patients with his controversial (yet effective) "Mental Trauma" therapy, and given himself a very respectable name… despite his own amnesia.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-10-08 04:10:02 UTC

Entry 1 - Of Rain Washed Memories

Mind Over Matter

1 - Of Rain Washed Memories

[There is the sound of a record scratching, followed by the rasp of wood on stone. A crackling fire can be heard in the background, while the sound of light breathing begins to make itself known.]

This is the audio journal of Sir Mind Cleaner, gentleman and psychiatric professional, entry number one. I believe I am twenty-four years old, and have lived in the country of Equestria for a little over three, maybe four years now. Two of those years were spent in Manehattan at the Orange Family Estate, while the rest have been spent living in Ponyville, at 2100 Maple Sugar Road. I have several close friends whom I consider to be my family, though I do not know of any blood relations that I might have.

I am… unsure of how to say this. You see, I’m very… [There is a pause, followed by the sound of Cleaner clearing his throat] unusual. That is, to say, I’m not a pony. Nor am I a diamond dog, a gryphon, a Saddle Arabian, or any other known species on this planet. In fact, I have hardly any idea what kind of creature I am; the closest I have come to naming my species is something I picked up from one Miss Lyra Heartstrings.

According to her, I am what is called a “Human”. Certainly, it’s not a very enticing name, but from her descriptions it is the closest I’ll ever come to finding my true identity. They appear to be bipedal creatures, similar to a diamond dog, but without the ability to run on all fours; and they wear less fur, are exceptionally weaker, and… well, very different as I’m sure you’ve already deduced.

A very close friend of mine, Miss Rarity Belle, was the one who suggested that I begin recording the major events of my life in order that I do not forget them again. She was also the one who provided me with this recording device; a very generous gift. I shall have to remember to thank her, somehow.

[A pen scratches on paper for a moment]

I suppose I should start recounting those major events then. I believe the perfect place to begin with is the last thing I can actually remember; my first day on Equestria.

From what I’ve been told, it was a Tuesday, at precisely one o’clock in the afternoon. Manehattan had just been scheduled for a large rainstorm to make up for the heat wave that had been tormenting its citizens. So it really is no surprise that the raindrops falling on my head is what woke me from what I guess was sleep.

I remember that the first thought that went through my mind at the time was, “Why am I sleeping on such hard stones?” This was then followed by what I assume is the usual thought process for amnesiacs: “Where am I”, “What time is it”, and of course, “Who am I?”

This is what truly astonished me at the time, however. For a few moments, I didn’t remember how to walk or move my body. I thought that I had lost control of myself, that something must have attacked me and left me for dead. I struggled to remember everything, tried to remember how to bloody move… and then it struck me: I did not even know what species I was.

I think that’s what shocked me into moving, in the end. It was nothing major at first, mind you. I just managed to open my eyes and remembered how to breathe. Then again, I suppose breathing is something that’s considered to be important.  After all, I’d rather not not breathe.

In any case, I tried to get a good look at just who I was. Soon enough, I realized that I was lying on the ground with my back pressed up against a brick wall. My body was covered in something strangely comfortable – clothes, I soon remembered – and my skin was covered in rather large cuts and bruises. My feet were bare, and the shattered remains of a golden pocket watch were scattered near my face.

I also had a massive, agonizing headache. Not the kind that comes from drinking too much, as some of my friends are wont to do, but the kind that comes from… oh, how do I put it in understandable terms… comes from trying to absorb an entire library’s worth of information in just an hour, while there are obnoxious teenagers barraging you with words that have no business being in a dictionary. I know that still doesn’t make much sense, but it was how I felt at the time.

As I tried moving my legs, more and more bits of knowledge started to return to me. I started recalling the name of each article of clothing I was and wasn’t wearing – I’m still curious as to what happened to my shoes and socks –, the names of each of my body parts, numbers and letters, and other seemingly trivial bits of information. By the time I’d finally crawled to a standing position, I knew almost everything but the big questions:

Who am I?

What am I?

How did I get here?

The rain had really started coming down then. If my watch (at least I think it was mine… I hope it was mine) were not broken, I would have tried to see what the time was. My headache had dulled to only a quiet roar instead of the raging storm it had been before, so I was starting to feel more confident in my abilities. I took one step forward… and nearly fell down again.

Apparently, my leg had been fractured somehow. I didn’t know that, however, and instead let out a rather loud cry of pain. I then noticed that underneath the black vest I’d been wearing, I was also dressed in a very strangely colored shirt. I was certain that a white button-up shirt was not supposed to have irregularly shaped red color patterns on it. Undeterred, I tried limping a few more steps, eventually reaching the end of the alley I had woken up in.

I did not want to collapse into unconsciousness again. I might undo all the trivial information I had just remembered! So I commanded myself to take another step forward, and then another step. I wanted to take a good look at where I was; maybe it would trigger some form of memory shock, or whatever it’s called. I was determined to find something, anything to remind me of who I was.

What I got instead, though, was an incredibly unfamiliar setting. I knew that the large square shapes were skyscrapers, and that the light I was seeing was coming from streetlamps. The roads were smooth cobblestone, and already a hazard to walk on in this weather. I knew this was a “city” of some sort. The buildings did look very nice, however.

And the ground looked just as nice. Though I will admit, it would have looked a lot nicer if my face wasn’t pressed against it and if my ribs weren’t adding to my body’s symphony of pain. I found that I did not have the energy to cry out again this time, though. I’m considerably surprised that I was still able to keep my eyes open after that.

[Mind Cleaner takes a deep breath, before letting it out in a long sigh]

I was quite fortunate that night. For you see, no less than fourteen seconds after I had collapsed, I lay my eyes on a pony for the first time in my life. Celestia and Luna must have both been smiling upon me that night, for I was found by one of the kindest ponies to walk Equis.

She had a cream colored coat underneath a maroon jacket; her mane was colored a vibrant orange color that caught the light of the streetlamps in its depths. She had an umbrella propped on her back somehow, on a saddle if I remember correctly. She said something to me, asked me if I was alright, I think.

I of course replied with an intelligent, “Uuuuugh.”

And then I lost consciousness for a few more hours. Hmm… as I record my past, I’m beginning to realize this becomes a very strong and repetitious event. That’s quite sad, really. Or maybe I’m just imagining things like some of my patients. Does that mean I’ve finally cracked as well?

No, no. I have not reached that point yet.

Now, to return to the story. When I had regained consciousness again, I was immediately grateful that I had not forgotten what little I had remembered in the fifteen minutes I’d been awake before. I was also acutely aware that my clothes had been removed, and subsequently replaced by stitches and bandages of various sizes. My senses were considerably dulled this time; what pain there was had been considerably muted.

For a few moments, I was content to lie there with what I can only imagine was a ridiculous grin on my face. It was silent, it wasn’t painful, and I did not have the pressing urge to remember anything. Good Lord, but it felt so unbelievably wonderful compared to my previous foray into the world. I almost let myself willingly fall asleep again, if I’m being perfectly honest.

And that’s when it struck me; I had to relieve myself.

Well, after a series of rather comical and quite embarrassing events, not only did I manage to find a water closet, but I was also able to attract the attention of the doctor assigned to tend to me; one Doctor Corpus Oath. We had a lengthy conversation, wherein he explained how I was very lucky to survive all of the wounds upon my body, and I told him of my lack of memory. The good doctor used a few basic memory recollection techniques, which I’ve been told are some of the most efficient non-magical means, but the two of us were unable to make any good progress.

“Are you sure there’s absolutely nothing you can think of?” he asked after the second hour of questions. “After all, you’re not exactly… well, common, in these lands.”

“What do you mean?” I asked him in reply. I then blinked, and added, “Actually, where am I?”

He frowned and looked at a clipboard attached to my bed once again. “Well, you’re in Hip O’Cratic’s General Hospital, in the city of Manehattan. This country is called Equestria, and the planet is called Equis. Does any of that ring a bell?”

I shook my head, desperately clinging to each word in the hopes that it would give me any sort of clue. But alas, they were completely unfamiliar. “To be honest, the last thing I remember is waking up in an alley, and being brought here by–”

“That would be me, darling,” a new voice interrupted me.

I looked over at the doorway of the room, and saw the same mare from before. This time, though, she was without her saddle and overcoat, allowing me a glimpse of –

[A sharp whistle cuts in, along with the faint sound of tin rattling]

Oh, that’s my tea. I suppose this would be an ample time to pause the recording and refresh myself; my throat was becoming rather dry from all this talking.

Entry 2 - Of Educational Endeavors

Mind Over Matter

2 – Of Educational Endeavors

[There is a relieved sigh, followed by the clink of china on wood]

Now that was quite refreshing. There’s nothing quite like a cup of tea and some cucumber sandwiches to invigorate you.

Oh, right. Ahem. This is the audio journal of Sir Mind Cleaner, entry number one-and-one-half. I would call this entry number two, but this is more of an extension of my last recording. So, to pick up where I left off… Ah, yes. Miss Valencia Orange had just made her grand appearance. I was in the process of describing her cutie mark, which is a wheel of orange slices. Right, I think I remember now… Erm, no pun intended.

“You brought me here?” I had asked her, still trying to think of something other than how marvelous the painkillers felt.

“Why yes, I did,” she said matter-of-factly. “My name is Valencia Orange, co-owner of Orange Fruit Meadows. She trotted closer to my bed, allowing me to glimpse the very tall and thin pony standing behind her, dressed in a sharp suit. Noticing my awkward glance, she gestured with her hoof, and said, “Don’t worry, he’s as friendly as they come. Slender Ties is the family butler.”

“A pleasure, sir,” he said in a reedy voice.

“Now, if I may be so bold,” she continued, turning back to me. “What is your name?”

I faltered for a few moments, once again desperately trying to remember something about my former life. Did it start with a K? Maybe I had an embarrassingly stupid name that tormented me throughout my years as a child until I got into a fight with a bully and made a reputation for myself? Or maybe I was named after a famous figure in history… Good Lord, I hope my parents did not shame me by naming me after an athlete. After a few stuttered attempts at naming myself, the good doctor was kind enough to explain my amnesia to Mrs. Orange.

“How dreadful,” she said sympathetically. “You mean there is absolutely nothing at all that he can remember?”

I took the liberty of answering for myself that time. “Only trivial pieces,” I admitted honestly. “And it took me a few moments just to remember those.”

“That is terrible,” she sighed, shaking her head sadly. “I simply couldn’t imagine what it would be like to awaken in a strange place with no memory of what anything is.”

A thick silence fell upon us after that. There was really nothing more to say, I suppose. I couldn’t exactly remember any particularly amusing stories to tell her, and I was but a stranger to her. Even the doctor ran out of memory tricks soon enough.

Though he did ask one very important question.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but what are we to call you?” he asked, looking at his clipboard once more. “I can’t keep calling you ‘AP’ much longer.”

“AP?” I asked in confusion.

“It’s short for Anonymous Patient,” he clarified. “We use it to identify patients with, well, no identity. And it’s not very useful in cases such as these, when the patient in question has had their mind wiped clean of any memory.” He hesitated, before looking towards the door and whispering, “And there is still the matter of how you’re going to pay for all of this. The Chief of Medicine is not going to appreciate me doing non-profit work… again.”

That caused yet another heavy silence. I was sort of reeling in my mind, wondering how in blazes I could answer that. Bloody Hell, I didn’t even have a wallet on me!

… Or any of the bloodied clothes I was wearing previously, but that was beside the point.

“Well, I should think that’s obvious,” Mrs. Orange replied after a moment. “As it was I who brought him here, then I shall be the one to pay for his treatment.” As I opened my mouth to protest, she continued, saying, “And until you recover your memory, I insist that you stay with my husband and I at our home. Slender, when our guest is well enough, would you please escort him? I shudder to think of him alone on the streets.”

“Very well, madam,” he said simply.

And that was that. No amount of arguing I tried could sway her decision. To this day, I still can’t quite wrap my head around the amount of hospitality and generosity she showed me during my entire stay in Manehattan. Her husband, Mosley Orange, was just as kind to me, not even deterred in the slightest by my appearance. They gave me shelter, they clothed me, they fed me… And most importantly of all, they began to teach me of the world I would come to call home.

And it was here, that I accidentally acquired the name that I have today. It’s a funny story, but when Doctor Corpus was signing me out, he put “Mind wiped Clean” in the name segment by mistake. With his untidy scrawl that could only loosely be called writing, “clean” looked very close to “Cleaner”, and Valencia and Slender both thought that the name suited me.

So, I became Mind Cleaner, unknown amnesiac, and moved in with the Oranges.

Slender Ties became a sort of private tutor to me. He taught me of Princess Celestia and Princess Luna, the rulers and guardians of Equestria, he taught me the very basics of each subject that he thought each pony should know. It is because of him that I became I proper gentleman. He showed me how to properly behave around others, which became a life saver whenever the Oranges held company.

I will admit, I was very uncomfortable at the idea of being a guest of the Oranges whenever others would arrive. They would always gawk at me in the most ludicrous fashion, unsure of what to make of me. But soon enough, with Slender’s teachings and Valencia’s kindness to guide me, I was able to safely work my way through the rigors of socializing with Manehattan’s upper class.

I think it would not be best to waste precious record time, so I shall only cover the most important aspects of my stay in Manehattan.

The first was my study in medicine. More specifically, medicine and procedures to treat the mind. I still had such a zeal to find out who I was, that I would spend hours upon hours at a time simply reading books at the Manehattan library. Each one I could find was filled with notes on psychology and sociology, but none of them held the answers to what I was looking for… at first. But as I continued to study them, I found myself fascinated with the very subject itself. How did the mind work? Why was it such an enigma to even the most well-versed of scientists and doctors?

Slender took an interest as well, pushing me to study those topics even more when he found out about my own fascination. He said it would help me build character, give me a specialty I could use to make a living for myself. He even arranged for me to be taught by Doctor Corpus officially, so I could earn an actual degree. Valencia and Mosley were both fully supportive of this as well.

And it was thanks to the three of them that I earned the first two of my titles: gentleman, and psychiatric professional. Yes, within two years, I had earned the right to practice my profession with flying colors (quite ironic, I know), though I had yet to find somewhere to actually practice it.

Now, the second important aspect was my first meeting with Miss Rarity Belle. You see, the Orange Family was to host a rather lavish and large party, even by their own high standards, but they wished to have a new ensemble to greet their guests with. As I understand it, they were to use this party in order to make a very lucrative deal with a shipping company to get their produce spread even further throughout Equestria. With that in mind, they commissioned a friend of their niece to visit Manehattan, and create said ensemble.

I still remember the flabbergasted look upon her face when the designer first laid eyes on me. [He chuckles to himself] If you can believe it, she actually turned to Mrs. Orange, and very seriously asked her why she owned a shaved diamond dog!

Of course, I should have been offended by the statement. But as it was, her expression and the way she kept glancing at me was so entertaining, that I burst out laughing on the spot, which caused the rest of the household to start laughing as well.

After this, I managed to explain everything to Miss Rarity, and she was pleasantly surprised by my demeanor. I treated her as any gentlepony ought to have, and she treated me with respect and dignity. It should go without saying at this point that we became fast friends; even more so when I told her how I had an instinct to wear clothes on a daily basis.

I still don’t quite understand why, but I always feel more comfortable wearing clothes. Maybe it’s the advantage of having pockets, and something to protect me from the elements in place of a fur coat? Ah well, another mystery for another time.

In any case, as I previously mentioned, I was having trouble finding a proper place to practice my profession (oh, a tongue twister! How marvelous, I must remember that one). When I mentioned this in a conversation with Miss Rarity while she was measuring me for a new vest, she told me of how Ponyville was in need of an actual therapist.

In fact, I believe her exact words were, “Oh, darling, Ponyville would be a perfect place for you to start then. Lovely town, very friendly ponies… and as I recall, the town’s therapist recently retired… And really, only one other pony is trying to attain the job, and she’s not very qualified.”

“Who would that be?” I remember asking.

“Oh, you wouldn’t want to worry about that,” she had been quick to tell me. “She’s much more comfortable with magic, though, let’s just leave it at that.”

And now you see why I moved to Ponyville to begin with. After Rarity had left, I talked it over with the Oranges, and we made plans for my eventual move. This involved quite a large amount of paperwork, frustrated letters between myself and the mayor, and seven night’s worth of studying business law. To be honest, the last part was almost entirely useless, but it served to ease Mayor Mare’s mind.

That leaves us with the third most important event to take place. Personally, I believe it is the most important, because it may hold the key to my amnesia, and it is thanks to this that I am the successful psychotherapist that I am today.

This is quite bizarre, so I’d best start at how I discovered my unique talent precisely at the beginning.

It was three nights before I moved. I was filling out the last of the paperwork I needed to assure the medical professionals at Ponyville General Hospital that I had indeed earned a degree and the right to practice privately. The sheer amount of forms needed were starting to give me yet another headache, and I was getting extremely exhausted. My eyelids began drooping, the pounding in my head was similar to that of a buffalo stampede, and my patience was wearing thin.

This next part I remember very, very clearly.

I threw my pen onto my desk in sheer frustration, and began thinking to myself, “Why can’t you just fill in yourself and save me the trouble?”

And the moment I had those thoughts, my headache instantly began to fade away. I felt momentarily confused at the sudden relief, but wasn’t too concerned. After all, something that was bothering me had left. Why should I be worried because of it?

Except for the fact that when I looked at my forms, I noticed that the pen was moving by itself, writing out exactly what I had just thought. The more I watched it, the more I realized it hadn’t stopped; it was still writing out exactly what was going on inside of my head.

Needless to say, I had to throw away a few sheets of paper that had been filled with terrified curses and frantic attempts at logically explaining what was happening at the time. I began to calm down after a few minutes of this, and started trying to think of an explanation for what was happening. I still had a few books that the Oranges had given me for Hearth’s Warming last year, mostly on psychology. Maybe one of them held an answer?

A rather desperate thought, but you must understand, I had only seen unicorns do something like this. For almost two years, I’d been convinced that I had no magical qualities to me. Suddenly, I’m able to write what I’m thinking without so much as touching the pen. What else was I to think?

Well, as luck would have it, I actually found the answer… though, it was in a book that had been purchased as a joke more than anything. It was called, The Power of the Mind: Magic without Magic. It explained how non-Unicorns could use their minds to do things that magic users could, but I had initially scoffed at the idea. It just seemed far too ridiculous!

Yet according to the book, I had just done what was referred to as “Automatic writing”.  Essentially, what I had just done was use my mind to pick up the pen, and channel my thoughts through it, allowing the pen to almost instantly transfer them to words.

Another note I had taken during all of that was the fact that I called the book to myself mentally, using telekinesis. I was shocked, to say the least. I considered waking somepony up to show them this, to ask if they thought such a thing was possible.

But… I elected to keep it a secret, for the time being, at least until I was sure it wasn’t a one-time occurrence. For the rest of the night, however, I continued to practice whatever I could glean from that book, trying out everything.

And the most bizarre part of that entire experience was… just how comfortable I felt with it all. I know I acted frightened at first, but there was just something so… [He pauses for a few moments] exhilarating about it. I took such an enjoyment at using telekinesis to move books around my room, to pack and unpack my bags using nothing more than my mind. In the beginning, it proved to be quite a challenge to simply move a single piece of paper, or a pen for that matter. But as the night wore on, everything just started to… to come to me.

Eventually, Slender Ties was sent in to see what the ruckus I was inadvertently causing was, and accidentally took a pair of pants to the face.

Well, so much for secrets. I must have forgotten the fact that I’d told myself to keep it to myself, because I was giddily showing Slender just what I had learned to do with all the excitement of a filly gaining her cutie-mark. He had very much the same reaction I had at first: shock, then a sort of awe. When the Oranges woke up the next morning, they were very much surprised to see that Slender and I were busy playing a strange sort of tennis.

And by that, I mean he would lightly toss something at me, and I would try to catch it with my mind, then throw it back. I didn’t catch it all the time, though, which meant Slender got a small amount of compensation for earlier by smacking me in the face with a banana.

[There is another small chuckle]

I still don’t understand why I wanted to keep my psychic prowess secret from anyone in the first place. It’s served me immensely ever since then, and I’ve made my living off of it. So far, nopony has reacted in a negative way towards it (except for those who question my methods, but that’s for another time), and it hasn’t hurt me in anyway. I just get massive headaches whenever I try to push myself.

In any case, three days after that, I had my bags packed, and I was on the first train to Ponyville. I’m not sure I’ll ever be capable of forgetting that first day there, when I was met by the most excitable pony on the face of the planet, one Mis-

[A door opens in the background, interrupting Mind Cleaner, followed by low whispering]

Ah, is it four o’clock already? My word, how time flies. No, no, I haven’t forgotten our appointment, Miss Punch. Simply give me a moment to turn off this contr-

[The journal ends abruptly]

Entry 3 - Of Happy Arrivals and Psychic Practices

Mind Over Matter

3 – Of Happy Arrivals and Psychic Practices

        Well, that session went rather well, I say. Though I must admit, her mind was a very… troubling situation. But I’m afraid that is for another record entirely. For now, let me return to my earlier story.

        Anyways, I was immediately greeted when I got off the train by one of the most excitable ponies I’ve ever had the fortune of meeting: Miss Pinkamena Diane Pie. Pinkie to her friends (she finds it absolutely strange that I keep referring to her as Miss Pie, though we are indeed friends). I found it very amusing and somewhat bewildering that she had taken the time to prepare a cake as a welcoming gift, even though multitudes of other ponies were stepping off the train like I had.

        When I had asked her what was going on… or more specifically, “What in Tartarus was that?” she only smiled at me even wider, and launched into a ramble about how she was friends with Rarity and Applejack, the two of which had already known about my arrival. Miss Pie then took me on a tour of the town, pointing out everything that she thought was interesting.

        To this day, I am still in awe of just how long she was able to talk without taking a breath.

        Still, it was quite enjoyable. Miss Pie was, and still is, very easy to get along with. She just has this constant smile to her that I can’t help but share whenever she is around. It’s an effect she has on almost everypony; a rare talent and quality that I wished more could have. In fact, it’s thanks to her that I’m still able to navigate the town with relative ease.

        It’s a strange fact, but if you have something bizarre and unique to associate something with, it makes memorizing items very easy. After all, who else but Miss Pie could make me think of Sugarcube Corner whenever I hear the words, “Rebel Alligator without a Pop”.

        After my impromptu tour, I was led to the small apartment/office that I would be staying in, at least until I could afford something bigger. It used to belong to the old therapist at least, meaning it’s already used to my line of work. The local hospital didn’t have to change the recommendation address for whenever they deemed a patient in need of my specific brand of treatment, too. A fair bonus, at least.

        As I had paid a delivery company to move my belongings here already, I found this was an ample opportunity to see if I could use only my telekinesis to put everything where it belonged. Unfortunately, I could only manage my clothes, some books, and a stack of paper.

        Everything else seemed to… oh, what’s a good analogy… flop about like a rubber snake? No, more chaotic… It looked as if Discord had recently visited and left a parting gift in the form of a redecoration. There, much more accurate.

        But that’s exactly why I needed to continually practice. If I was going to help others control and come to grips with their own minds, I needed to do the same thing to myself. It would be hypocritical otherwise. So, it is really no surprise that for the first two weeks, I refused to set up shop. I did get a few raised eyebrows from the hospital (who would be providing most of my clientele at first), but they did not press the issue.

        In this regards, I gained a surprising amount of assistance from Miss Rarity. You see, she popped in one day to ask if I wished to have a spot of tea with her. I can quite remember this, because she trotted in on me using my Automatic Writing to try and write out a list of my discovered psychic powers, while using Telekinesis to cook lunch.

        All the while, I had lifted myself into the air, but lacked the fine control to keep myself from spinning wildly.

        “Sweet Celestia, Cleaner! Are you alright?” she had asked in a worried voice, and (from what I could tell from my brief glimpses) a bewildered look on her face.

        “I’m fine, Miss Rarity,” I had replied in a strained voice. I tried to tell her what was going on, but at that instant, I had lost all my concentration.

        Did I mention that I tend to fall down a lot in my memories? This was one of those moments.

        I am also a terrible psychic cook. Apparently, my omelet had been burned to a husk of its former golden glory, and the onions next to it…

        [A somber silence falls upon him for a moment]

        They were so young.

        But, that is trauma for another personal session.

        By the time I had managed to pick myself up off the ground, my pen had already scratched out a very detailed description of what I had been attempting; complete with my recipe for a perfect omelet and a list of potential psychic powers I might have. Rarity, being the intelligent and detail-savvy mare that she is, managed to piece it all together for herself.

        Amazingly, she did not seem too surprised. In fact, she came up with the theory that my psychic powers could have meant that I was the unicorn equivalent of… whatever my species was. To be honest, it is so far the best explanation as to why I have these powers. Could my species use its mind to make up for its lack of magic? It would make sense, as I seem to lack the resilience of an Earth Pony, and the precision and grace of a Pegasus.

        We talked for a while, eventually moving over to a delightful café that serves the most delicious chocolate éclairs (well, second only to the ones at Sugarcube Corner). I told her about my plans for the clinic, and she told me of how the latest fashion season was treating her. Evidently, her name had started to become more popular among Canterlot’s upper crust. This was met with mixed reactions from the both of us; I thought it nice that she had extra business, but pitied that she had to endure such snobbish upper class ponies.

[A pause]

        Allow me to explain something: I am a gentleman. That means that I tend to be polite, honest, and courteous to all I meet. It is a “Code of Honor” that I hold to, which Slender Ties taught me very early on. Even if I am smarter, do not flaunt it. Everyone has something to teach, and I should be open to that. I need to give to others, and do what I can to show some dignity and honor in the world.

        That is why I cannot, for the life of me, stand those rich snobby bastards from Canterlot. Very few of them are worthy of being called a gentleman, yet they wear the title as if it’s some sort of badge! When you are a gentleman, you do not proclaim to the world that you are one! You instead live as a gentleman, and let your actions speak for you. Even on my recordings, though they are private, I find it strange to say it aloud. I only say I am a gentleman when it is required of me.

        Those… those…

        [He lets out a clearly aggravated sigh, and the sound of creaking wood softly echoes]

        Those uncultured arrogant swines think that because they are born into it, they are entitled to it! I find it disgusting and pitiable. I am fortunate that I have only had to interact with them a hooffull of times, and after each time I had to take a shower to cleanse myself of their very presence.

        I apologize for my outburst, but I felt it must be noted on what a proper gentleman is.

        It is comforting to say, though, that Rarity feels the same about most of them.

        During our conversation, though, I found myself actually taking notes in how she described using her own magic to stitch such detailed designs in her dresses. How she could clearly see something in her mind, then transfer it to the needle and thread in her magic. It was all a matter of just letting it flow from her, in a way that seemed akin to walking. By the time you figured out what you were doing, you just had to let it happen naturally, else you run the risk of falling on your flank.

        This came as a late revelation to me. I was so focused in thinking about using my mental abilities, that it hampered their actual execution. I was so excited at this thought, that I clasped Miss Rarity by the shoulders, pecked her on the forehead, and proclaimed, “Rarity, you are a genius!” Then I threw some bits on the table to pay for our treats, and dashed back to my shabby apartment.

        … It’s only now that I realize I kissed Miss Rarity in full public. Strange that neither of us have made a mention of that since…

        [Another awkward silence falls for a few moments]

        Okay then, back to my moment of brilliance.

        I once again tried to recreate my earlier practice, only this time, I tried to push all conscious thought away, and just let everything come to me. It started off slow at first, with my pen writing down an old poem by Cobble Frost that I had memorized on my desk. Then, just a moment afterward, I felt myself lift into the air, supported only by my thoughts. Soon enough, my books began organizing themselves by subject, multiple papers flew up and began recording random thoughts.

        It all strangely chaotic, yet somehow my mind had given a semblance of order to it.

        I even managed to land on both feet when I finished.

        The very next morning, I marched into both the Town Hall and hospital, and let them know that the Safety in Mind Clinic was open for business!

        … This is a very perfect place to end this recording, I feel. No interruptions this time, nothing going catastrophically wrong. I’ll have to use the next recording to go into detail about my first patient, and touch upon how my psychic abilities started to play a far larger role in my profession than I thought they ever would.

It's also how I was able to meet another of my best friends, and one who has managed to keep me sane. I find it ironic, that Miss Hearstrings should fill that role. But that's for next time.

For now, this is the Audio Log of Sir Mind Cleaner.

        A good day to whomever should listen to this.