I need to stay away from the paper

He was hospitalized after a night that many called a drunken-drug crazed lunacy brought on by his circumstances involving indigence, crime, and violence. When discussed in terms that categorized factors, details, incidents, context, background, etc., his “behavior” made much more “sense.” Who wouldn't go out into the streets like a raving lunatic running with hallucination that someone or something is chasing them and yelling “help, the man in the red coat!” under such circumstances? We must have pity on him said some. No, he was completely responsible for his irresponsible behavior said others.

I read the article at Coffee Bean in Westwood, and all around me, some people looked very friendly while others gave daggers through their glances. I felt like the man in the news, aware through my periphery of their presence, pretending to focus on the paper in front of me; I felt crazy. However, I had just read a crazy article, naturally, it was going to have an effect on my perception, naturally; it was only logical.

I left and headed to the Eastside. I had more coffee at another bistro. Outside stood a gaggle drinking coffee and holding on to their pistols, as though at the ready, eye's piercing any armor under their surveillance. Dressed in all black, as though ready for a funeral, their badges shone the city seal and a replica of city hall. I knew they were looking at me through their glasses; I felt it. They were probably asking themselves what I was doing there; he should be at work; he should be in school; he should do something crazy so that we can have grounds to apprehend him. I spiraled further into my paranoia. I must have persecution complex. Was that what the man in the news had? I remember reading about persecution complex in the DSM from an introductory psychology course I took. There were various other interesting “behaviors” and psychological “disorders”  in that DSM, but at that moment I remembered persecution complex.

I decided to seek out this man in the news to ask him a few questions about the man in the hat with the red coat. Wait, no..he didn't have a hat. I must be imagining things. There indeed was a red coat, however. I am certain of it; I read it in the paper. The man in the paper was being held at the LA County USC Medical Center, or the general hospital, the name more commonly known by the common populace. I was to infiltrate this place, but how could I get in? I saw the gaggle's stare intensify, did they know what I was thinking? I did nothing!? Leave me alone! I remained calm under the self-induced pressure of my hallucinations and delusions.

I need to stay away from the paper, I thought. There was another article appraising the film The Great Gatsby. I decided to stay away from it.

It didn't help that the LA Times ran an article earlier titled “The Conspiracy to Keep you Fat.” It was about companies carefully manufacturing their products so to trigger basic impulses; this was nothing new to me, but why was it now more vivid than ever! I was hysterical! Mad! I tried to remain calm while my mind ran up and down, back and forth between reality and whatever was created (faked), or imagined. I grew dizzy, drunken. Perhaps they put something in the coffeee! I knew it! And just like me, who under the pressure and madness of the routine, act in the guise of a cool and calm demeanor, the barista's were fronting as well! I tossed the coffee. I was speechless. My thoughts fmubled. I needed to take a breath. I needed to pause for a minute a gather my bearings, but the deadlines, oh the deadlines! I felt like running. But where to, I had no idea? Then I remembered, the hospital! I had questions for the man in the paper!

I left the bistro as calmly as I could. It didn't help that the gaggle dispersed right when I left! Fucking Putos! They knew what they were doing! I remained calm. The fattest one and had a veterano type of handle bar mustache. I bet he had a tattoo of the Virgen somewhere on his body; he might've even had a placaso or even an aztec calendear hidden somewhere underneath that black cloth.

I walked away, slowly, from the bistro. The men in black vanished, but the Foucaldian panopticon was set in place. I knew they were lurking, ready to pounce at any time. A helicopter flew overhead, it's rotors bearing down on the city and it's cockroach population. Was it an exercise? or routine surveillance to make it's presence known? A man in front of me looked up at it at the same time I did; we looked at each other after. We went our separate ways, slowly but assuredly.

On this day, something had revealed itself  to me that must've been subconsciously planted. It had always been there. In the Power Rangers. In the Looney Tunes. In the Tasmanian Devil. In the coffee! It was now just coming to surface. What must've triggered the realization, I was in the least bit unaware. Ah, I needed to simply calm down and assess the situation logically. 

I put on my ipod to calm down and made my way to the hospital; I grew distracted by the music, it was a pop hit on the radio that I had downloaded earlier in the week; I didn't remember the name of the track, but the tune was damn catchy as hell; I forgot where I was going and I walked back to the little room I was renting (avoiding a revolution).