Introduction: “Fragment Methodology”
This series isn’t a memoir. It’s a field manual written in blood memory.
I’m not telling stories to be understood.
I’m dissecting the systems that built me, broke me, and forced me to adapt.
Every fragment follows the same architecture:
the moment itself, the machine behind it, and the tool I carved out of the wreckage.
Earlier in this series,
I wrote about third grade on a school bus—losing a friend to death and building a one-man shield out of a portable CD player and Styx Classics Volume 15.
I wrote about high school—losing myself to someone living, turning five speakers toward the bedroom walls, and becoming Poised Fisk inside a RuneScape chatbox so the part of me that knew how to love had somewhere to breathe.
And I wrote about sixteen—looking at my grandfather’s Pascal’s Wager, refusing the institutional tutorial, and learning how my own elaboration-first mind actually works.
If those pieces were about how I survived the worlds that were handed to me, this one is about what happened in the spaces between—when I had to figure out what makes a world real in the first place. And from here on out, we’re treating this series as non-linear—jumping back and forth through time whenever a memory calls for it.
