An Informal Keepsake For My Infectious Resident(s)​ *Explicit*

The DNA spontaneously pulsates from your nostrils like a river stream with a countdown timer until you lose functionality from the blood loss. This is just the icing on the cake of your introduction to pathology comrade...

      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."

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"Oh, and if you don't yet know the meaning of regret. When I'm finished dissecting your every method... you fucking will..."

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A visual representation of the mess of my insides. The nosebleeds are nothing compared to the gut.

      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.

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"Eventually, the pathology's intelligence will
reveal where your ignorance reclines."

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A Russian Doll style reminder, with meanings multiplied. Commemorating almost dying from laughter.

​      I suppose some people dream of some version of a continuous suffocating & crippling experience to rally against with vigor. If not, but to add more meaning to their existence. For that, I find myself appreciating you yet again for repeatedly adding more value to my reality, regardless of what I've had to give up for this well-decorated jail cell. You're giving me an opportunity to transmute adversity into prosperity for not just me, but for all those who find themselves in similar predicaments.

      To anyone reading whom deals with sustained-illness(es), I offer this to you: Be more relentless, experimental, and fucking strategic than your pathology. Eventually, the pathology's intelligence will reveal where your ignorance reclines. Develop a team of practitioners and practices to get to the root(s) of your condition. The secret to enduring a lasting pain or dysfunction is to be methodical in your approach to understanding the causes. You can build an effective strategy from clear-observation. Otherwise, the chaos consumes your life force and mental energy. 

      The sacrifices you'll likely have to make to sustain a sense of homeostasis may shatter your belief, due to its all-encompassing constraints. Sometimes you're left with no choice, as your illness collapses all of the avenues to recovery. When this is the case, this is where auspiciousness and a little support makes all the difference in the world. 

      For what it's worth when I say fuck you, I secretly mean thank you. All previous teachers have outfitted me for you, and now you are preparing me for something likely far more threatening than the loss of my life, health or joy. For this, I remain inquisitive to what the fundamental lesson is? Also, what more must be given up to level-up from you? This letter is for you my microscopic comrades, it may fall upon deaf ears, but it doesn't change the fact I leave this as a transcribed salute to your defiance and diligence. 

      You have stirred great mystery in me old chap; this is no easy task to do, so well done on that front. What must life look like without you readily there to teach me the upper echelons of strictness? I suppose we will find out? Or I'll die attempting to experiment my way to solve you. Like any good puzzle, you secretly crave to be fully known. Time is the teller of all truths old friend. We shall see who ends who first, and in the period between all of this speculation, I won't let you take the last remaining delights known as sovereign authorship. 

      You've reduced the pleasures of food, drink, love, travel, lust, work-capacity, friendships, exercise; at times even thinking, writing and walking to near non-existent levels. Surviving on one food for weeks on end, and for longer durations on just 3-12 individual ingredients for years. It was like watching my youth get swallowed by a supermassive black hole; with all my goals, dreams and ambitions caving at the crushing gravity of the phenomenal physics of a persisting pathology... Alas, here I am finding my self with this lead-weighted indebtedness towards you. Your talent is a remarkable thing to witness comrade.

      Surrendering is the best option for you, not because I feel superior to you in the art of war, not by a long shot; your skill in that arena is evolutionarily leagues beyond where I am at currently. It's the best option because this vehicle is where we both reside, and I am far from the intentionally-self-harming type, as I have no interest in destroying this vessel in attempts to ending you. My pride isn't so superfluous as to kill us both just to feel I won some dispute, no, you won't get that sweet satisfaction from me.

      Having said this, I invite you to leave peacefully. Holding no unrealistic expectations that you'll take me up on this invitation; my optimism prompts me to ask regardless. Otherwise, I will have to enter the realm of rebuilding entire cities in the wake of your destructive force. I can't promise that my experiments won't lead us both down some infringing darkness, of which is apt to be unreturnable. However, I will keep sharpening my techniques and upgrading my skill set acquisition to expand into regions beyond your reach.

      The unsustainable nature of this is distinct, yet I somehow feel you're acutely aware of this already. It seems I am continually buying time to live upon a borrowed framework; to inch my way to more and more functionality. A part of me doesn't like complimenting you so much; however, I am increasingly impressed with your tenacity and can't help but reflect upon how this has made me grow. While I may appear to the outsiders to be of reasonably stable health, what happens behind the scenes is sometimes more nightmarish than I care to embellish.

      ​I refuse to complain about the circumstance I find my self in, so I choose to compliment the conditions. This letter is an earnest tribute to my awareness-deficits and most of all; the pathogenicity of organisms seeking refuge from rougher terrain... It doesn't change the fact that I am more than ready to evict you fucking evasive warriors... Still though, from the outermost sectors of my soul, I say to you this, thanks for everything you glorious tormentors of mentors. The lessons are wealthy with a claustrophobic-solitude, one that ricochets into the abyss that has become my place of muted silence.

Fucking Thank You... For everything you have done, will do, and will continue to attempt to do.

Cheers,
Brandon

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Watch me turn your war into a living art comrade...

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