The Red

The Red. (But often purple) Addendum: Time isn’t real.

Deleted record from the Meaning of Life Scavenger Hunt. #43.

The ruler is real…

 It’s the sensation that refuses to

remain consistent in our perspectives.

It swarms inches above

the floor. I’m gutted during this, so expect—

                    “I see you. Why would you—”

Got it. Sorry. Hardly a suspect

          back then. But this is—okay, Ah story:

Tech school 2011, I met dozens of people, new and old, dead and Bambi-legged. Intimate ways, and I wondered if I accidentally scrolled past their LinkedIn, Insta pages in the decades long gone and didn’t notice, and that’s where some of this lingering feedback loop shit lays it out all at once. However, the nature of this time in my life invoked a residual effect that, despite the dozen years gone, drops inspiration that only introspection can unlock. Or so I’m told. It was a time I spent actually inside reality, felt the power, how often it soured, and then the haunt in the VOID stints began to hit. Nothingness got boring. But as I named these phases Pieces of Brain Matter, Scattered Haphazardly, and Reassembled Absurdly, got suggestions from a friend who lived where it's a norm, and discovered the lack of roach infestations due to the drier climate; I realized I'd forgotten about the gut for too long. I started making Talismans to represent the locals out of pure instinct. These phases are hindsight recollections that are compiled to make sense of the current agenda of these patterned thoughts demanding immigration clemency.

As far as up-to-date goes, I’m waiting for an exam meant to sort out some mental struggles, hindrances that prevent aspects of life from happening in certain areas while solidifying wildchild energy in others. Sometimes for the better. Sometimes. Mainly, it prevents human kerfuffles on the daily basis. “What healing?” Don’t know what they are like, but from the social nature of the issue, the practice must include some kind of group. Doctors, patients, equally semantics for this potential conversation skipper. For the psyche ward people, dayroom check-ins that make your heart stop with the new person on their worst day. All others, some kind of intervention. 2013, these were just failed attempts to deal with the childhood communication problems on the fly before the first duty station. Wouldn’t be until 2026—huh…?—that I procured a fucking grip. Thus,  this reaching from a noted break, this specificity is going to break the previous cases to shit themselves if they can't make this current category stick.           

Phase example I: A time of low income and failing coping strategies, beackdropped by the second attempt at college before the symptoms were obvious enough. Overfeeling, overfriended, trying to balance and failing into a dropout when an old crush reentered from childhood. Lost touch years ago, might have dated one of my friends who got desperate vibes, and haven't seen them for so long I can’t find a voice that matches. Shame. Miss her all the same. Anyway, it’s who would be the worst suggestion for an option when your burnout is forcing a life coach Life Model Decoy to roast your panic and reexplain how you fucked it all to shit. All I can hold on to is the solemn ‘what happened to’ and ‘ you’re doing that now? Cool…’ I would give if the impossible interaction could actually happen. Who in the hell would they even think I am on sight?

Phase example II: Realizing the bipolar was a red herring years later, but at least amid a new view of existential rhythm, I rocked into a new self-image. It was determined to meet the parallel universe of different parental decisions to connect with the ghost of the Black man I was told to skip. At the time, flunking the university life right off, and it was months before I knew that the work I had been doing to save the inner infrastructure was about to pay off. The crashouts are more detailed, advising me through strict deep dives too unavoidable to not discuss through all seven hours of pacing. Not even a dislocated forearm can bane the welcomed addition to the deficiencies promoting this permanently toxic inner monologue. (yeah, they would have heard it by now…) All this off of parental insecurities, so let’s not get bogged down. Back when I met this person in my automotive backup plan that a future flop will be based on,  I met dozens, but several that made me feel like I’ve never once been a black American. The awkward *ahem of chipping Whitecrest paint off my overly polite demeanor outside the shop talk. I recorded a living folded page corner in the book that I refuse to let go of, and these months of grinding brought back this gesture.

I was slapped with their confusing gesture, really. That Sunday night prior was a car accident that put the temp spouse in the hospital, non-responsive. Then arrested for doing 26 in a 25 in NASCAR country, and found out what missing a court date does. I showed up according to the lawyer-appointed sticky note. Had to get bailed out on Monday night, class Tuesday morning. (not important) When I made it to school to prevent the default dropout status this college was known for, I’m at the end of the day listening to a good friend forget that I’m standing on two bandaged ankles, with jail stories, and a lawyer skeptical that I ever should’ve been stopped in the first place. Fuck a ride home, I thought. They're complaining not worse than the standard; I welcome being the friend, but did you not have to watch me limp to the ATM to pay you back ten hours ago? You think I slept good? Drunk driver might get off, and—it’s only a couple miles to walk to miss this shit. I’ve walked longer for less—“Ah, bro? How far?”

“Thanks, J. No lie, I don’t got the gas money for you. It’s all good—”

“You grew up in {Redacted}? Round the block round here; shiiit, you on the way, you good. Let’s go.”

Oh, I missed stuff like this growing up…

Current Phase: Whether the diagnosis is on the spectrum or obsessive, as of writing this, is ongoing. OCD is on the table according to doctors of mine, with anxiety as a trauma-laced baseline. Doing better overall, if not a little sour in the building works sudden new permit regulations. More research is needed. Right, so I said 2011…tech school. Meeting dozens of new people, battalions even, and I met the first person I perceived to be unabashedly themselves. They mentioned the disorder, whether in passing or as a declaration, is fuzzy. First time ever hearing of the quackery growing up, being told serial killers are the mentally fucked, ADHD- what? You're fine. Due to failing upward to a higher-number team, we didn’t talk much during the rest of training. Wouldn’t have hated it; didn’t know the process whether I had the time or not and was often behind without noticing the invitation to keep up. {Thanks, Hindsight.} Never hated their arrival no matter how sudden.

Their current form in my daily life of fabricated inner strife is aged up with experiences to boot. Something overly dramatic, prequel bait, for the side talk that haunts the smoke sessions but otherwise my estimation of normal. First day and there they are in some capacity, patient, doctor, or in training. Due to my issue, they'd have to have a glimmer of remembrance of the awkward last name or face forever wearing, ‘he’s barely lucid but angry about it,’ and they call it out. It’s how it seems that kind of situation HAS to work, it’s said? After the formalities, we’re comparing achievements—sorry, trophies separate from the Ph. D.s Don’t think I’ve ever matched without the lie based off some TV show spy popular throughout the siblings. Language hits the weirdo, odd nerve, pleasant-ish. Somehow caught in a subsection of human language untouched by the civilized or…

It’s that scenario playing on repeat in deceit that I see but die inside at the end of regardless. The paddles, in this storm, with power this low, will the paddles ever work next time? Nothing like a good shrug. Can’t rightfully guess their names in some cases, breathe their hint of unique language still. Painful…ly helpful…ly? Once it starts at the end of a thunder sto…