Trip.
I've spiraled lately down a rabbit hole to a wonderland of memories of years ago and obscure analogies.
A bell curve of mental health in which my current state rests upon the right hand tail.
They are in my mind often, the analogies. Comparing the reality to a phantom to belittle itself at hand, reality.
I think in riddles.
One of the matching games when you take the wire and press it to the brass fasteners to make the bulb light up, but the fasteners aren't brass.
They aren't metal at all. They are painted gold metallic and you never knew that.
The kids menu puzzles with the maze or the tangled mess that connects point A to some other letter but never Z.
People are consumed by the trip to point B from A but never talk of the trip to Z.
Or perhaps, a round trip, from A to Z back to A.
Or A to Z and back to C or S or L.
I was an ace with word games, you know.
I'm a case now, relaying every thought back and forth on a ping pong table of assessment.
Printing each issue of this editorial and distributing it without actually editing a single article.
Looking at the radar on the dashboard on my skull to see I'm above the speed limit for my responses and my wit is a spinning wheel able to put to sleep the finest princess for weeks with one touch in her twenty first year.
This is no fairytale because this is no story.
I'm narrating, yes, but your head conjured it all up but the words.
YOU ARE READING
depreciation they claim
Não Ficçãoa collection of thoughts, assessments, dreams, observations, lusts, loves, unthinkables, oddities, morbidity, and dark yet comforting humor and perspective.
