0. BROKEN-NESS SPELLS & NEW CALLUSES

As I was saying, “It was meant to stop eventually.” The music I hear is like shadows plucking strings behind the scenes; yet from my obsessions, I cannot break, because they got me here, right in my mind, the way it must be for my life to make sense. I was toying with alternatives as to how to explain what it meant. I mean what it meant to me, not the vapid routine of portraying the disorder of the obsessions, but knowing that I preoccupied myself today, tomorrow, this month, next year? becomes closer to me on a day in the UV ray emitting sun or lost streams of hot summer air & shade, with throughput made of this long-form mathematically constant sound: a delta-of-spells casting fridges made infinitely covered by droplets and carried farther out by the rain which came poised from some kind of knowledge inside me, at the base of it all. Like my little brother taking a bite of grass from the ground and a response made from a child signaling all those who witnessed it to start crying, I contend that I know more than I admit, honestly, watching as the rain left the death of a white earthworm on the pavement path from around the track where inpatient patients walked and smoked cigs during designated break times. I believe I did suffer from an excitation of 40 DC volts that caused me to get that haircut for 5 dollars US and say in a deadpan style that she could try and practice more but it was never again going to be on me and here’s five dollars and so I left in a hurry. I haven’t forgotten their work has to be done, that that’s probably a loaded excuse exercised in terms made less about my defeat (which hasn’t happened) for some doctor to make armchair notions from my brokenness spells, “We don’t know what your obsessions entail.” BUT even doctors on the fence still did say they did understand & agreed to try me on what I had in mind, “so we’d cared to hear it.” Albeit I’m probably not crazy, siloing into my own rite of passage. I’m here for the sole reason they claimed, not to digress: studying myself in enclosures kept far from an expected departure from this short-term mess, the mind of Kenneth Dawson Lee; being as easy as it is to admit that “I think too much in general,” but it is not the same as what I mean to say: “I’m referring to something that has a mind of its own,” so it stuck while I was there. To be honest, the tale of great insomnia turned ugly hysteria, was not an MHT scariest inpatient rumored to exist as singing songs of vampires and women he’d hooked up with, but they didn’t find to be crash, nor did KDL sound like his ideas would hurt you, which makes his heavy breathing at around 180 LB in Ecco’s and a yin-yang shirt stand out from that which caused you to think there has to be a rumor, at first. “I think too much without having compulsions.” To a clue to my relationship with my two-fold path of enlightenment. It was meant to stop eventually when I got there. When I do things like mathematics I, too, desire the ultimate conclusions; I know it will stop eventually when it must restart.

“What’s that like?”

The places where ideas can take you there, but no idea exists to take you back. “I don’t forget anything,” was all I could say, “easily or ever.” One way to find them waiting for a response inside, that feedback loop I fell in love with, I thought it was the kind that I know there’s not even a second in time to waste the moment. It’s there, you know you need not dwell, but you can’t go elsewhere. Anywhere is a place in a space that exists in abstract realities – “it ought to feel concrete to someone, yeah, Boo? Waiting for that friend on the other side of your consciousness to bridge the path you were keeping up with until it was time to rest. I know you cannot relate to this to the extent I practiced it.”