In Seattle, I always knew some crazy people; in fact, I tended to keep two or three of them with me. However, of all the village idiots, wild drunkards and general crazies that I chose to associate with, not one was more exceptional than my dear friend Michael, who insisted we call him Mikos with no apparent cause, except perhaps that he liked it better than Michael. Unlike my other, more excitable, companions, Mikos was not generally exuberant or particularly wild. His insanity always manifested itself in other ways. The best example of this that I can demonstrate were his expectations, which always fell outside the norm.
I saw Mikos the morning after his birthday and he appeared to be in a haggard state. His eyes were low and dark, his clothes were stained with unknown substances, although there were at least three different colors, and he walked very slowly. Now Mikos wasn't much of a drinker, so I must admit that I was intrigued to learn what could have put him into such a bewildering state. As he approached me, I smiled warmly and said cordially, “Mikos, my friend. Why, you look like you just boxed a few rounds with Saint Lucifer. Didn't I tell you he had lightning quick fists?”
At this, Mikos only nodded, “Yeah, I'd say the good old saint won. That's for damn sure at this point.”
I stared at him amazed. “No, what? I was mainly kidding. It was your birthday last night. We talked before you left your party. You were in fine spirits then. What happened?”
Before I continue, it is important to mention that, although he only drank occasionally, Mikos loved to do drugs. At his party the previous night, he had been in a tremendous, chemically-created stupor, twisted off several drugs, notably acid and MDMA. However, anytime I had seen Mikos take drugs before, he had always risen the next morning in excellent spirits, jabbering about taking over Canada and starting an empire or some such nonsense. Never had I seen him tired or worn.
He looked at me solemnly and, before he spoke, his eyes fell to the ground. “Well, as you know, last night was my birthday. Knowing that, I wanted to celebrate, and what better way to celebrate than bringing home Sophie for a casual night of fornication. Between that and the drugs, it all seemed so perfect.”
I nodded, “Yes, I could see why it seemed that way. What then?”
Mikos looked at me with shame, “Well, she came over. And we fornicated, but, but... but dude, we had sex standing up. I mean, what is that, I didn't want that.”
I stared at him, flabbergasted. “Look man, maybe that isn't something to get super excited about, but its at least neutral, I can't imagine it being a bad thing. What are you worried about?”
He continued, “Well, that's not all I suppose. This morning, the diner was out of coffee.”
“Mikos, you don't drink coffee.”
His head snapped up and he stared me in the eyes, apparently surprised I could recall such a simple fact about him. He said, “No, I know. But its all about the balance of the matter. The balance between red and blue, if you will.”
At this point, I wondered to myself, 'What the fuck is this lunatic talking about?'
Mikos continued speaking, “Yes, the balance between the red and blue has been very off center today, leaning towards the red I dare say. Just remember, its obvious in anything you see. There was a large automobile accident today on a backstreet; that's an example. The grocery store stalked watermelon and cantaloupe, that's an example too. Really it's everywhere.”
And I will never forget the last thing he said to me as this was, unfortunately, our last conversation.
He said, “Eric, life is only about balance between the red and the blue. Everything is purple.”
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