They say I'm "high functioning." I respond, "The possibility of truth is nil. Belief in the 'order of things' shifts radically if a change in perspective opens up the undeniability of uncertainty despite limiting representational explanations such as causation or determinism." My discomfort tangles the spiraling coil of my emotional experience. They can see my chest expanding and contracting, I'm sure of that much. The doctor whispers, "He's not making any sense. Increase his dosage of Seroquel." The golden rule of psychiatric medicine: If a dosage isn't producing the desired outcome, double it.
While I can still think, I try to create neural pathways shaped like pi. I say to them, "While physically fixed in place, my location is random. I'm perceptually mundane yet entirely unpredictable to you. Can you describe me? The devil of categorization will betray you." The same thing happens over and over even as something else is happening anew and anew. Participating while observing myself participating, a perspective loop for the alleviation of loneliness.
A therapist asks about a memory. I say, "The chaos of memory hides oneself from oneself. I neither begin nor end; I am." When asked about right and wrong? "Morality is the story we tell ourselves to escape emotional difficulty. Ethical principles are crucibles for suffering needlessly. Meanwhile, uncertainty, from a distance, seems enticingly possible."
I tried to explain to her that everything external is internalized, but she was having none of it. So I said, "You dedicated yourself to helping others, right? How's that working out for you?" That got her attention. To someone on the outside, it might seem cruel to say such a thing. But she and the others were holding me hostage and calling it "help" so I figured, hey, fair game.
When she left, I swiveled to the ground, my ass on my feet and my arms intertwined. After a few moments, I untwirled and rose to my feet, my arms dangling at my sides. Then I swiveled back down. Dozens of times. Strange to be able to move effortlessly in a manner so foreign and previously unknown to me. The woman's voice returned; it spoke and sat still. I slunk lower and lower until I was lying prone. The sensations fascinated me, but I was equally intrigued by the strangeness of being able to move in this "new" new way. Half floor, half man.
She came back and wanted me to get up. I said, "No, first pour water down my throat. I need hydration." My body ached and I wanted to move, but to give her what she wanted seemed rude. She wasn't aware of what she was doing, after all; she still thought she was helping. When she pleaded, she sounded like a swan having a heart attack. Made me laugh, but I stifled it for her sake. After all, I had dedicated my life to helping others. Chance responsibilities; unaccounted accountabilities. A chuckle and then--
Emerging merging emerging; eternal eruption of an outward manifestation of silent laughter. Disquieting disintegration. Inhale exhale inhale. Audible crackling, liquid moments. Vortex. I felt static in stereo and heard the hum of vacuum cleaners. As I wafted toward my room, I asked anyone listening, "What would you prefer? Humility? Respect?"
I spied a younger one also being held against her will. She was looking at me with saucer-wide eyes. High cheekbones, straight nose. Heavy breathing; pacing in place. Untethered inside; externally attached. "Good, good. I can see you understand that you have to venture outside the mind to find out what is within." She nodded, grinning like the Grand Canyon before walking away to something that interested her.
I knew things were going south, though. The pills they forced me to take. They gave me one I called Gumdrop LSD. I swallowed and within twenty minutes I was swaying in the wind, blowing a nurse a kiss filled with love. I watched the patients and staff move about the common area.
Geometric dancing in the colorful cosmos. Pink, rose, fuchsia, hazel, platinum, chartreuse, vermillion ... or golden sunshine and green girls? I stumbled into the intimidation of color diversity. Art and artists, always work to be done.
Thought has variations, varieties perhaps, maybe even species. The woman in the white coat, there she is! A slice of experience, retelling a specific happening in the brain; memory. Specific perceptions, incomprehensible. Now, past, future. Ability to string together moments into coherence. Self-awareness. Darkness outside, an unfamiliar face. Checkered blouse mopping the floor; white apron. "I have no memories I want to share." Ridiculous, the ideas presented to me as intelligible. Conceptions fostered by lonely souls with frightened minds.
Silence now; no longer hypnotized. Instead, umbers of stone consumed by a volcano. Leaves were dying, but free of pots. A whisper: "The room is alive." Colors swirled, jumped, and hissed. So many ears and cheekbones. Bottles and cans, bottles and cans. Yellowstone excursion. Empty glasses, burnt-out kitchen. An engulfing surge looking at me with concentrations of inhalations. Soft glow lighting in what they believe is a redemptive living space. Walking lamps with large leaves growing out of the shades, unusually pleasing to the eye. Shadows couch-walled the plants for several minutes.
Static staring before pausing; well to do, well to do. Enlightened hoke smoke. Thirsty relaxation among jumbles of oblong bicycles; pedals and wheels, pedals and wheels. Go on holiday! Rachel? Yes, that was her name. She was pulling me to her room and I was letting her. Was no one there any more? "Relax, have fun." Go inside, lie down, maybe a kiss. "I want you to be happy." Handlebars and gears, handlebars and gears. Tender and romantic to my lips then passionate awkwardness.
She slid on top of me, but I couldn't be in there. "There are cowboys, way too many!" She was a crimson-skinned woman with no fingernails or clothing. She backed me into a corner. I saw flashes of light and the silhouette of glass images playing rope tricks eating raw chicken livers. The Octopus Woman said, "I hurt you, but I don't love you." Soft skin, cold heart. A telepathic trilling, social distortion.
Index finger to lips. "We have to be quiet." Ah, yes, the perilousness of whispered autonomy. Life itself, a beautiful nightmare. Audaciousness dripping from the sun into the mind of a courageous fool dying in a dream where acts of love were sprinkled among latent manipulations. Watching auburn hair swishing in slow motion: curly, long, almost bushy. I feel her beaming, but not love beams. I was rendered hopeless. We were all muscles and joints, bodies and sexes. You hadn't expected her, with her ticklish leggings and nonjudgmental coal-black eyes. Her caring must have developed over months.
And yet ... tandem inadequacy with open-mouthed smiling can be humiliating.
Into space I leapt to catch a falling star. "Am I God?" I asked innocently. "Everything is happening!" Books falling from ceilings. "You're the book." I'm the Bible; I'm Green Eggs and Ham. I declare, "You're an audience of figurines," and hear the whistling songs of acrobats role-playing cosmic relays of dazzling visions made by the Holy Terror of glazed confusion within a supra-conscious fog. Unintentional chanting unpredictably wiggled my tailbone.
Neckless giraffes succumbing to waves of thought in the form of waves of thought. Beach bottoms moved empty as fresh white clouds passed overhead. Ohm, the unmoving moving line pushing the endless horizon, perhaps a signpost I could wave at without moving my hands. Swallowed whole by the Contained Shattered, the tentacles gave off a peculiar scent. Incense burning over cliffs of daggers beneath the prism of memories: childhood, marriage, college, divorce, cities, family, friends, backyards, sand, dirt, apple giggles, tomato hiccups, peppermint thumps, chocolate screeches, fingertip sandwiches, hair without scalps, curved lines, wish-wash hearts, waves crashing, physics without vectors, pulsation, and barking lamps.
Someone remembered removing a dish from a table.
...
The play of rediscovering self may end with sorrow losing out to numbness and depression.
