It’s funny isn’t it, how I should actually start by apologizing for missing quite a few posts, but the oracular hallucinations that wake me up in starts like nightmarish soliloquy’s to my waking self, continually oscillate in harmonic resonance? I am sorry, but I promise the next few entries will vindicate my absence.
I’m draped in colors, willingly festive unlike my deep-seeded desire to evade all the colors that fly about during the Indian festival of Holi. Compression Bandages, when I first discovered their self-adhering qualities in myriad conversations with light, made me search for them at my home Walgreen’s only to find them missing from the vast fields of curatives. I find myself a spectator to an interesting phenomenon: rival factions of nurses and their contrasting theories on acceptable co-band application practices. As you can see from the featured image, some nurses believe that co-bands (the blue ones on my right arm), like their name-sake, were meant to be nice, snug, and tight to the fit. The rival group believes that the assignation is a recommendation and a smaller subset of this group believes that they fulfill their task with a serious commitment to duty even when they are lightly wrapped (the red ones on my left arm).
If you’d ask the nurses about their thoughts on this matter, they may be taken by surprise. In college, I scampered about strange ecological domains collecting data through leaky canopies and painted gold-glossed fields on natural botanicals and the creatures that inhabit marked field-study squares. The truth is, if I’d stopped to ask the garter snakes that crossed the nature-cut trail-ways about their thoughts on their behavior (assuming this world is similar to Gaiman’s American Gods), they would also be taken by surprise. A lot of our behavior, until we actually put it in words, operates on a subliminal level. So while one nurse undid her predecessor’s co-bands, another would tighten them. Silently they fought a war against a rival faction that they were not even aware existed. Steadily holding the fort, they are locked in eternal oscillation chanting war-songs of different tribes:
“Claw to carry you!”
“Claw to crush you!”
With indecisive colors as banner and boon, the battlefield is constantly aflame. It sighs and whimpers as a change in the color-guard approaches: “It was fun until it got itchy.”