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Why? (not)

Nothing causes anything because everything is of everything.

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Ol’ pinkeye

My eyes have been itchy lately. It seems to be connected to my inflamed, blocked sinuses. Or more probably both are connected to my hyper-vigilant immune system. So it’s my fault really.

My friend wants me to tell my doctor she once had infected lachrymal ducts. Not because it has anything to do with my itchy eyes. Because she likes to show off. Those aren’t just scars and traumas and chronic disabilities. They’re campaign medals.

She deserves an award for the lachrymal ducts though.

It started when a mixed group of bacterial and fungal pioneers set up symbiotic stakes in the little tubes that connect her eyes with her nasal cavity so her tears can drain away (no, I didn’t know that either). They were probably quietly getting by recycling trace nutrients from used tears when some xenophobic immune cells declared them foreign antigens and it was on. The resultant inflammatory fracas left my friend’s lachrymal ducts scarred and blocked, so by the time her militant immune system – supported by antibiotic strikes – had genetically cleansed the region her tear draining infrastructure was left in ruins. It wasn’t all due to the egalitarian microbial co-op in her face. It was her fault really.

And everywhere she went the tears poured down her face.

Some people asked if she was alright or if there was anything they could do. Others – mostly young women – offered her gestures of solidarity and glared at me. I was used to that from when she ran into a glass door and blacked both her eyes. Her GP said she had to go to hospital.

After corrective surgery she no longer had tears flowing constantly from her eyes. She had blood flowing constantly from her eyes. Just like in horror movies. Instead of offering to help or threatening to sort me out people now said “Arrgh! Oh My God! Aaaah! No! No! Stay away!”. That’s because they now understood she had a real medical condition and not something stigmatising such as emotional issues or an unfortunate upbringing. It’s not her fault really.

She looked like a Cloverfield fan en route to a convention.

I don’t think rubbing my itchy eyes is gonna get me symptoms as spectacular as that. Everyone assumes they’re red because I’m on drugs. So I get stoned to avoid misunderstandings.

Ontological anti-realism

If I’m capable of believing it’s not to be believed.

Alma nutter

Other than prison or mental hospital, what is it school was supposed to prepare me for?

After love

So whose fault was it?

The one who betrayed the shared delusion or the one who failed to acknowledge the delusion wasn’t shared?

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Jeni inspired this one too. By provoking me.

Off label

To say it didn’t go according to plan would be supreme understatement if there had been a plan to begin with. Have I ever been able to conceive of the achievements, failures, wonders and intensity to come?

I suppose there’s been an ever-shifting long-term goal. To somehow come to know or feel or understand or have or experience or perceive or encompass or be everything there could possibly be. I reached it too. By realising how ridiculous my very concept of such a thing is.

Mostly I’ve been fortunate to avoid ambition and all the limitations it imposes.

Psychonaut

I’d like to ride the boundaries of reality but have no idea where they are or if they exist.

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