PART B (The City)—3

Jordan Mackie. Male. 40’s. Outlier.

If not for my intervention, Jordan would have undoubtedly gone on spouting a perpetual string of utter nonsense for our entire hour.

Even his responses to my direct questions were wholly random and ridiculous.

I first asked about his reasons for coming, to which he rifled off a string of short, disconnected sentences, showing no signs of stopping (or even slowing).

I considered that perhaps he might be testing me, gauging my ability to unearth some common theme or hidden thread tucked secretly beneath and between each incoherent line.

No such test was taking place.

An early example:


“I can’t read, but smelled all the books at the library.

“I never voted neither.

“But I dated this girl, and she turned out to be a shark in a reverse scuba suit.

“Said she was a mako.”

To this, I asked if he was joking.

His response:


“I’m a walking contradiction in these overalls, man.

“Come on, bats, why crap in caves?

“You see in the dark!”

Most would be at a loss in the face of such stalwart absurdity.

Fortunately for me, my Method made obvious within minutes exactly what Jordan was intending though his unique and endless onslaught—key word: intending.

The aggressive, zany nature of his forced, incessant folly revealed it to be a clear rhetorical tool.

A tool for what?

Unapproachable, unquestionable, unpunishable insanity was actually his excuse to allow for total freedom.

In other words, choosing to always come across as crazy could negate the need for shame or restraint of any kind.

As with every case, Jordan’s Sticking or Breaking Point would result from his true intentions and motivations being brought to light.

Yet the tricky part with some Outliers is they seldom speak to have real conversations.

Masked well in shells of practiced loudness, humor, madness, etc. these are not easily touched by others’ words at all.

In that regard, Jordan and Ray are opposites.

As I pondered how I might go about erecting a vocal mirror to what was essentially a noise box with no OFF switch, one of Jordan’s quips seemed to leap out from the rest to provide my Method with its perfect means.


“Help me, Doc!

“It’s like I got a banana farm with no dirt.

“But I told this girl I’m packing plantains so she’d be, y’know, the good kind of surprised.”

From this particular deflection, it was the phrase “packing plantains” I recognized as key.

I knew exactly what to say, if not how the rest of the conversation would play out.

All the basic stepping stones toward Jordan’s Sticking or Breaking Point were now in view.

I love Outliers.

I cut in as soon as he paused to take a breath.


“You weren’t embarrassed at all about surprising that girl, were you?

“Is there anything that embarrasses you?”

I expected an attempt at re-steering away from what would likely be perceived as approaching (unbearable) sincerity.

Yet he remained quiet for a moment—the first real break in his continuous steam—as if he had been knocked somewhat out of alignment.


“Na, Doc.

“I’m an intransigent fixture of blackness.”


“Well, good.

“That’s what I thought.

“So you can be completely open with everyone about all the things you want, right?

“You never have to hide at all?”


“I ain’t crazy.

“This is me.

“I’m real . . . right?”

I had been handed the correct strand or tip to now pull and unravel the knot.


“No, you’re not crazy at all.

“Not really.

“And you’re not pretending.

“You can talk and act however you want.

“You can be completely free.

“That’s important to you, isn’t it?”

He smiled.

You see, driving our dialogue in the direction of Jordan’s true intentions by calling out a positive aspect of his secret motivation (freedom) worked to cancel out any opportunities he might have taken to lunge away into offense or defensiveness.

Here is where I could turn to textbooks, and cite copious studies and research to back up my…

Blah, blah, blah…

Case closed.

I may have mentioned wanting to keep these notes as jargon-free as possible.

And how difficult would the relevant research really be for anyone reading to find?

Please understand, I celebrate the research.

Of course I recommend you follow and fully familiarize yourself with the literature.

In fact, it was due only to ever-expanding degrees of confirmation I discovered in my studies that I was forced to abandon the inefficiency of merely mapping my Method’s beta form (indefinitely) to further approved interpretations of taught conclusions.

It was my findings from the literature I followed here, out to the real world—to my world of serving various Outliers and Normals.

Should I have kept my Method untried and hidden just to overload its burgeoning core with a surplus of accepted terms expressed in others’ words?

Should I have waited just to bolster its acclaim by adding certain special letters to my name?

Let me share another quick case just for comparison.

I met with a young Normal girl and her mother yesterday morning.

I believe the girl was looking for ways to control her anger—specifically, humiliating rage outbursts suffered semi-daily in class.

Now, research would suggest sending a professional there to the school to examine the girl’s behavior, and to walk her through techniques for calming down, better expressing feelings, etc.

I agree, of course.

That would be best.

Yet who could afford such a service?

Consider that the mother is already paying top dollar for them to come see me.

My Method simply brought that girl—in a single session, just like Jordan—to her own individual Sticking or Breaking Point where she could no longer hide from her anger’s true source and consequences.

Or, I think it was anger…

Anyway, it felt invigorating to begin today with such a smooth case as Jordan’s.

I got quite little sleep again last night.


Actually, there was another strange cup dream.

In the only part I can still recall, I was here in session with an old, old man.

And this time it was his arms that were the giant coffee cups.

They looked like ceramic saucers with long, flat edges sticking out sideways from his shoulders.

He was shaky, as if he simply could not keep any part of himself still.

I knew somehow his rampant jitters were from desperation for me to solve his problem and show him how he might drink from his massive cup arms.

And I remember feeling so strongly that there must be an answer.

Did I think of my Method in the dream?

How might those long, straight brims be viewed as anything but insurmountable?

I think there was also something like a clock, the hands spinning impossibly fast.

Much feels missing now as I revisit to recount, though I know I did not awake immediately.

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