It's been over ten months since we've kinesthetically collaborated with naked feet upon that precarious dance floor, which I might add is fortified with finely broken pieces of glass. The fluency of your virulency has not gone unnoticed my pathogenic confidant(s). Such plentiful parallels between my romantic life and that of my medical history. Speaking towards how both are rich with complexity and seem to escape traditional means of understanding. Life's irony is teeming with a high-priced abundance.
This message is to you, yes you who has successfully limited and extinguished the plurality of the joys that I used to access in life, and to you; who emerges swiftly to temporarily disrupt whatever harmony I achieved in the wake of the sustained illnesses. You may be microscopic, and these words but nonsensical alien-code, even if you could read them. Nonetheless, I leave this here for you ingenious warlord organisms.
It is counterintuitive I know. However, my trust in you all grows with each intimate encounter. Even though this arrangement is beyond offensive to my wellbeing, you expire me into evermore reclusive-states due to your vehement endangering quality and unrelenting demands. Your in-depth education is nevertheless compelling. Knowing this, I should honestly start off by thanking you... You goddamn fucking colossal assholes. Thank you!
Know that my face has a roguish smile on it as these words profusely bleed upon this digital canvas much like the dance floor now covered in blood. My existence isn't something to be wished upon anyone, even the most diabolical of enemies. Not because I wouldn't want them to suffer, but for concern of the insights that would likely develop from the inflamed-madness that echoes from the survival of such a circumstance.
After all, a focused enemy is by far the most treacherous kind of opponent. Nothing speaks 'discipline' like waking up with a legitimate feeling that there is a proverbial loaded-gun held to your head day-in and day-out. I suppose this is another instance in which I should thank you for leaving me with no other choice, but to lead an extremely disciplined life, albeit void of most worldly pleasures. I am grateful for your transmissions of erudition.
Others see a high-functioning person with a mysterious illness-process operating in the background, without knowing what 'has to happen' for this body to stand before them in any meaningful way. The silent misgivings of a system capable of faltering at the slightest exposure to something new. The galvanized entrapment of forces invisible to the naked eye lends one to feel a somewhat cutting definition of the word infirmity. The deoxygenated red liquid runs down the back of the throat from the irritated membranes, just one hallmark of the most gentle of these infections.
The sharp shards tear into the soles of my feet with each cumbersome step, painting the floor with a gory-trail that cries of an inexperienced student under the direction of a feverishly militant teacher. My mind initially floods with a sense of how to minimize the damage, as if knowing the lessons herein are inescapably part of some iron-clad contract between my ignorance and this other life-forms wisdom.
The ground gives explicit evidence of an abstract crimson portrait, one that speaks the ancient language of pain & dysfunction, as if to say: "Look world. Ignorance is, in fact, a form of self-destruction." I shake off these dizzying thoughts as I find my view shifting from my feet (like an amateur would find them), now gazing towards my dance-partners face. Only to be greeted by the most wicked of Duchenne smiles. As my partner whispers: "No matter how fast you learn, you've already lost you inferior, pathetic excuse for a human."
"Oh, and if you don't yet know the meaning of regret. When I'm finished dissecting your every method... you fucking will..."
If I could speak with you in less violent terms, I would do so. In the meantime, I offer this with the deepest of sincerity as I am confident I speak for most of us when I say this... Fuck you, and thank you for all the hard-earned lessons you harsh mind-raping, joy-deflating, body-destroying bastard. I fucking love you, and almost hate you for this journey from the brink of death; to the strained continuation of a very costly-life over these past four years.
Right now it must seem like you're being greeted by a most murderous of welcoming party's, but you can rest assured knowing that your presence is not going unrecognized. Being well-accustomed to subsisting as a sort of living-battlefield, I am feeling the impacts of this vengeful greeting mobilized by an active immune system. It appears we both are losing today old chap, *tips hat in a gesture of recognition*.
I write these words not precisely with anger in my heart, no, that would be far too simple for my liking. I inscribe them with this sense of paused-gratitude; married to an earth-shattering unbreakable resolve. This paradoxical state is somewhere between a fathomless-controlled-rage; and an unfettered-obsessed-curiosity. All nestled in a bewildering array of isolating-decay, and purpose-fueled pride. Fucking well done again, on provoking such an elaborate display of humanity from me.
You keep driving me deeper into understanding the physics behind your tactics, strategies, and first principles on how you infect us all. I am in awe of your capacity to infiltrate, disarm, and immobilize the many layers of an immune system; let alone the tissue damage. I applaud you, sincerely. As I know of no humans with such a comprehensive strategy to replicate themselves at the expense of the host, despite the viral-capacity of such poisons as dogmatic-religion.
Oh, and if you don't yet know the meaning of regret. When I'm finished dissecting your every method... you fucking will... You'll come to understand that word on a level that shakes you into absolute oblivion. My word is all that remains in this effort to absolve my self of your intense passions. Vengeance, while not formally something I act out; is something that courses through my veins old fellow. Mine is so orderly, you'd think I should have been a professional serial-killer, but no, I reserve that thirst for you to quench.
I'll have you begging for an apoptotic event, that cellular-suicidal condition you avoid. The environment will be so non-supportive of you, that you'll prefer to self-destruct over attempting to replicate again. By the way, this is my non-warring approach; this is me being gentle with your exit. It seems contradictory as it appears I want to kill you, but in truth, I just want to understand you so exhaustively that you simply cannot prevail any longer... Yes, you may have chosen the wrong host, but don't worry; you've claimed a lot of territories already, so you really ought to be elated.
I'll continue to experiment my way until you have no more places to hide, step-by-step, uncovering the enigma that is your every stranglehold. I've eliminated the majority of your means to generate dysfunction, and now I'm investigating how you're keeping me confined with prison-like limitations for years on end. You've unwittingly prepared me for optimizing strategy, organization, and patience, all the while increasing my discovery-capitol. For this, I thank you yet again for such invaluable gifts; your generosity is boundless.
Being with you is like apprenticing someone with the scope of deftness akin to an Adolf Hitler. You just can't walk away from that prestigious tutorship without a keen sense of just how exacting conflict can be. The corpses on the battlefront look more like freedoms that get captured at the hands of a merciless general. What you used to take for granted; now becomes a distant memory of liberties you used to exercise daily.
"Eventually, the pathology's intelligence will
Always in pursuit and practice of the truth behind the truth regarding the physics of wellness. No dogma, just practical, clinical and scientific means toward a vital life.