"If you really want to understand seizures," I told my friend, "Just think about heroin."
Brainwaves, regular. Cyanosis. Angels and demons. People think of seizures, and they think of chaos. But really, the brainwaves get regular, patterned, calcuable.
He lit a new cigarette with the burned-down tip of his old one, flung the butt onto the sidewalk. "Weird," he said. "My old roommate was epileptic, and he said the same thing. He said it felt good."
This picture is the closest image I can find to the way a seizure makes me feel . . . everything bright around the edges, glowing with auras invisible to everyone else . . . the ghosts escaping from the wood and concrete and raindrops.
*taken with the lomo on a rainy night, no flash of course, streetlights dim.