Blue Hell (To H)
I went down to Shenzhen to visit (or maybe flee to) my friend H. H said he’s “serving time in a blue prison” and can’t stray too far, so he can’t join me for dinner in Futian or Luohu. He also says there’s a tracking chip embedded in his spine—implanted, apparently, by one of his alternate personalities.
A blue prison A heart burning red Black pupils Shot through with white fear
H told me I’m the person who’s helped him the most, second only to his parents. I’d like to say the same back to him.
Self-examination—simply calming down and thinking—is such an intriguing pastime. So many things stand out crystal-clear (or disappear without a trace) during that thirty-minute climb up the winding mountain road to the dorm at one in the morning after leaving Lower Garden. It’s an activity that truly recharges me.
I asked H to take the Jungian eight-function test; he refused. I even read the questions aloud, but he couldn’t be bothered to listen.
—“Why don’t we just eat yesterday’s meat wrap for dinner?” —“It’s probably in the trash by now.” —“Huh? I was saving it for a midnight snack…” —“Are you at the library? I’m on the fourth floor.” —“I’m stuck in yesterday.” —“Then go to that trash can right now and fish the wrap back out.”
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