It came upon the good doctor to clutch it in his palms
An object so sharp that blood oozes over its tip
Touching and clutching it he weeps tears of excess
Excess of the desire from where emerges life

Nothingness is the very excess that flows beyond being
Beyond the infinitesimal horizons of cosmic pleasure
The devil at play beyond the confines of the mind
Language the immanent trap that infinitely failed

Moving beyond the pale meditation of holy dignity
Gods emerge from the midst of haunting madness
The excess of the gods, divine excrement turn into dust
The sweet aura of the banished god- the scavenger

The very life of the gods contained with death and play
They danced across spaces, traversed beyond scope
Their bodies decay as stars while their excess reaches within
Within every marked desert of intoxication that grasps infinite depth

Weeping in the midst of the great gulf, the gods fade as the night
They emerge as beasts and flowers amidst the deep of the sea
The fall into madness, excess, passion and excrement
Perfume is but the odour of man turning into dust

Even the glory of the gods reflected divine excrement
Every entity an extension of another, the cosmic essence
That binds and destroys life as movement unfolds beyond reason
The essence beyond the shared catastrophe that binds life to itself

The good doctor watches the blood ooze from the body
Blood being the testimony of immanent frailty which traumatizes being
His tears dilute his blood as trauma sustains life
It falls into the ground and the divine fruit is born

The essence of goodness contained within the germ of madness
Madness that tantalizes the notion which shames reason
The realm of divinity where infinite wisdom dwells
It dwells in the midst of bliss- Ananda !

The God of Bliss awakens as the stench of being enters the heavens
The creator weeps as he watches the excess of heavens multiply
The object that the good doctor possesses drives him into oblivion
Never more is the world haunted by the gods !

Bliss even the bliss that is found in the mountaintop
Where the last god lay and washed his feet with perfume
And the milk of the divine yak nourished the heavenly nymphs
Charged with ****** excess, paradise lay in the midst of hell

The good doctor returns to the womb from whence he came
Beyond the confines of trauma, desire and being
Every creature watched as he lay the world bare and nacked
Never again will the gods return to plague the world

Then lie the bodies, cold, writing in pain and pleasure, leaning on love
Bodies that desire the gods of old to sustain trauma and jouissance
Where is the good doctor now? Whence will he return my love?
And there in her eyes, the beauty of the world lay

I looked at her and in an instant her eyes transformed reality
Oceans swept the depth of the horizons, stars became angels
Time turned into eternity and the darkness ebbed into nothingness
Trauma was rent apart and life was bound by divine love

I kissed her lips and as I wept I beheld the good doctor
He lay dying in the depth of the traumatic vengeance
His organs lay in the excrement of totality
His eyes gauged out, his ears rent apart and his mouth torn asunder

His limbs were scattered and his intestines emptied
The years of his life at an end and his body dismembered
Disseminated, the stench of the lifeless corpse filled the universe
I looked at her and it was the stench of love

I looked into the heart of darkness and I wept
The sound of my anguish filled the halls of time and space
The pillars of paradise was torn asunder and rent Hades apart
Eternal sorrow that sustains our love

And then as I beheld the futility of existence I kissed her lips again
I closed my eyes and I experienced the touch of the heavens in her mouth
And in the infirmary  his body lay among the dead
His organs burned as a sacrifice to atone for existence

Existence, trauma and excrement echo the cry of divine justice
And here the body lay without its organs and we were too sorrowful was beyond measure
We then buried his cold body under the stars in the heaven
We saw the scars from where his organs were rent asunder

A corpse contains the testimony of death as he gather everything to himself
But a corpse without organs? What does it contain?
Must it not contain death and trauma itself?
And here his hollow body lay, and death the parasite

A parasite's life lies in the life of the organs within the body
When the organs cease of give life, the enemy perishes
And death lay dying in the grave he decayed
The good doctor lay in the realm of darkness forever !

The blood and his tears have now produced fruit !
It was its fragrance that brought life to darkness
In the darkness of the night my lover went into the grave
Fearing not what lay in the midst of the darkness

Wind is the master of time, she flies beyond the medium that she animates
The wind carried in her ***** the fruit of blood and tears
And then she saw that the keeper of the dead leave the confines of his realm
The wind blew beyond measure into the land of the living

And then I kissed her in the graveyard one last time
For she was too sore to live but her eyes spoke one last time
And there I saw the good doctor was not dead ! He smote his foe in the deep !!
His fruit was now beyond the grave where they lay him !

The hollow of his body is now the testimony of love and eternity !
And there I awoke from my dream and my heart skipped a beat !
My desire was water was now beyond measure and I looked into the river
In the sky I saw that love is the very excess that engulfs desire !

what a ****-pile of ******* (petition rendered
on the hyphenated word compound
i wanted to correct- yeah, all the dudes can hide,
i tried the Oxford crew, but instead
i just got American  colonialism:
the part where you say: i said the funnier joke,
therefore i'm funnier,
TEAM U.S.A.! yeah! **** yeah! let's keep it as
just that... TEAM U.S.A. GO!
we're aiming for sushi right now...
and i love the fact that Green Day's
when September ends is a sidelining the 9/11,
ever you mind dialling 911...
oh, because i was the fascist, tell that to your mother
when baking bagels, ****...
i don't like the way poetry
tries to incubate violence as the non-existence of,
i hate that poetry is written by *******...
i ******* hate these goody-two-shoes more
than i'd care to think abut ******,
who will, given enough time,
become a fetish subject for historians when
we reach a historical threshold,
give it 1000 years he's be a mythological Barbarossa...
that's what i said about him not being
a unicorn.... give it 1000 years and he'll end up
being a hero, just before the
historians make a fetish out of them like they did
with Genghis Khan...
they'll talk about the autobahn before they
speak of the holocaust and constructing Israel,
which we are assured, by fake-socialists
taking on communism by sitting on a train floor...
if that guy Corbyn is a socialist then i'm Comrade
Mao... you never experienced socialism,
i hardly think you're able, like you
said that former feudal made communist
factions were predestined failures of capitalism...
i know you'll fail being communists,
the Chinese are in charge...
you, aren't, going, anywhere!
yeah, believe the socialist sitting on the train floor...
that ******* comes last...
and don't try that fascist tactic for me ti speak clean...
i'm not going to speak with the everyday citizens' speech
talking to the queen... no, i flap the tongue
you provide the wind and the winding,
schooling in over, so is shooing into lining up...
page 64 of Valis:
either knowledge through the sense organs and
is noun-categorised (some say called)
empirical knowledge, or it's arises within your head
and it's called a priori -
i don't see a problem? do you? well...
isn't a posteriori dismissive of empiricism?
to reach a posteriori knowledge you have to dismiss
empirical involvement... also to mind:
there are aren't any sense organs as such.... i'd like
to thin there are... but deaf people wouldn't consider
their ears to be organs, they're still using sign language
and continue living, neither are eyes organs
given Braille... Philip K. **** had more insight on Kant
high on amphetamines than Hegel ever did...
the basic implant? God... a few people
have escaped the a priori and a posteriori argument
for God, most were seduced by atheism
trying to relieve themselves of the argument being
argued let alone argued for a non-existence of such being,
arguing alone proved the argument to be fallacy riddled,
i.e. / as in: it was argued in the first place... for no reason...
i mean we're talking mutation:
how to mutate a priori hexagonal
               through the empirical medium pentagonal
into a posteriori hex once more...
                   the problem is searching for God in
the medium, the Cartesian substance,
the trial and error coin-flip, empiricism isn't about that,
empiricism is about the necessity of error,
i'm bothered about whether God was implanted
in us as necessarily, or whether he emerged to our
a priori mind from the medium of empiricism -
i call that a Darwinian fallacy, i don't think
the human brain can consolidate a harmonious
coexistence with self-belief and being a Buddhist...
the foremost concern is not whether:
god created man, or whether man created god...
we're talking whether the two ever coincided with
needing proof...
                               obviously not.
that part about being a Buddhist? that's shrapnel...
most of us have so much self-belief that we become
eager labourers, and hardly complain,
because the billionaires have ferrets for a haircut.
but as i said, the easiest, aphorism type of reading
Kant doesn't come from Nietzsche, it actually
comes from Philip K. **** in the bookValis...
empiricism was always going to be a watery product,
rigging scientific results, i mean lying about the results
would end up diluting a bottle of whiskey so it looked
like beer and tasted like a 20% voltage on the tongue
pallet: hardly numbing.
so the three tiers: one before, one intermediately,
and one after...
                           how a hexagon passes
through a pentagon and remains a hexagon...
or how a hexagon passes through a pentagon and ends
up a pentagon....
or how a pentagon passes through a pentagon
and ends up a hexagon...
                                             or more simply?
Bleep Beers... or Bibi (when you say b b and then add the
ee, umlaut arithmetic to double up on) -
no, i don't place my belief in the existence of god
from an a priori suggestion, as if i was to invent it...
to later discredit such a belief with a well argued augmentation
from the inheritance to later dispose of such an argument
in the charity shop of the a posteori stance...
that wouldn't excuse or explain the religious inheritance
of the Kippah or the Hijab...
who would be dumb enough to originate having to wear
a Hijab from not having experienced some sort
of necessity of divination? they would have had too experienced
something outer-worldly... god is too ridiculous to
be an a priori or an a posteriori concept...
but he's just ridiculously worthwhile the unifying
concept of phenomenology in that grand empirical theatre...
which means only one thing... our caving in and mining
god in the realm of the a priori is yet another
reality check -
                         summary:
i'm still bothered why not affiliating the hyphen to that
letter will make not meaningful reference, i.e.:
a-        (without)
                                   which means, a priori
(without a prior / without a beginning)
                       which means, a posteriori
           (without an after, without an end) -
it doesn't mean whether you have god as an implant,
whether you get rid of the implant
after experiencing the empirical medium,
you'll nonetheless experience the medium of the pentagon,
establish that sense-organs are not really organs,
because classifying something as an organic makes
life essentially a continuum, but blind men live long
after the eyes are gone...
                    i'm just saying that god as an idea
is hardly a worthy unit, which ideas are, concentrated
thoughts that cannot align themselves to either
telepathy or narration... they're immovable...
unshaken, undisturbed...
i'm just saying we're too intelligent to seek god
in the a priori realm or the a posteriori realm of things...
we were not actually ever going to find him
on the shores of Ireland or Florida...
it's not that ridiculous to find him on the Atlantic...
he's quantum physics after all, pocket presence...
isolated proof... never a collectivisation to enable
politicised coherence... it's a quantum experience,
a quantum experience that without atoms
gets so much stigmatisation as Judaism proves;
the mock-joke of Moses rummaging realities rather than
reality in the desert to the count of 40 years...
yeah... and later the idea of the multiverse...
that's not funny mate... it's horrid...
but there you are safe in democracy... but you're
used to reading the media outlets citing child abuse...
well... what are we missing? APPLAUSE! APPLAUSE!
ENCORE!

Don’t read this if you’re squeamish,
Or if you’re eating food at the present,
Since some of the subjects discussed in this poem,
Are let’s just say rather unpleasant,

On the subject of donating organs,
Or the subject of organs at all,
It’s not unusual for my claims to leave,
Some subjects feeling pretty appalled,

Now I’d say that most people die,
In fact I’d vouch that it happens quite often,
But when my time comes, set has my sun,
I want all of me in that coffin,

Now I get it, I’d save lives if I donated,
And I don’t mean to sound like a **** (yes I do),
But the unmissable flaw, the foot in the door,
Is that not all of my parts seem to work,

My eyes are screwy, my heart’s far too cold,
The state of my lungs’ll make you shiver,
My kidneys too small, I'm not sure I have a pancreas,
And don’t get me started on my liver,

And let me tell you with a face like mine,
Not showcasing this beauty’s a sin,
But it’s awfully hard to have an open casket,
If I’m not sporting any of my skin

It’s selfish and weird I know that,
But my eyes are where my soul is exposed!
…Yeah actually my soul’s pretty tainted,
Can someone make sure that my eyes are closed?

I only want those I love to have a part of me,
So if I’m forced, if I’m forced, to partake,
-
-
-
They’ll be frying up my organs,
For refreshments at my wake.

These are my organs,
all trying to function,
mixed with one cup too many
of tea.

These are my organs
sliced to pieces by dishonesty,
who have bled too much
unrequited love.

These are my organs who have
decided to give life a second chance
because they delight in
feeling my body dance.

These are my organs
wrapping themselves around
a stranger
claiming love, love, love
in a world of sad never afters.

These are my organs
shaking off the sadness,
burning, burning,
and in the end
all that remains is
love, love, love.

There are five widely known senses.
Sight, hearing, touch, smell and taste.
We've got some minor ones as well, such as balance, temperature and many more.
However, people fail to realise that there's also the sixth major sense. Thoughts themselves.

   If we look closely, all these five senses have the same base. Specified cells in eye react to energy of light, cells of ear recieve energy in form of air's vibrations, skin cells pick up energy of mechanical changes, and so tasting and hearing depend on translation of certain substances' chemical energy.
   These cells in different organs differ in their structure and the way they appear, however, if we stop looking at them in such small scale, we can see that ALL of the cells or organs responsible for any sense translate the energy.
   So, a light enters the eye, certain wavelenght of certain energy stimulates the eye's rod or cone cells with a certain intensity. Then the energy of light is translated to energy of electrical impulse, which goes straight to the brain, creating the sensation of sight.
   If it comes to smell, a certain particle enters the nose, binds to a smell receptor cell, and the chemical energy of this particle is, again, translated to energy of electrical impulse, which goes straight to the brain, creating the sensation of smell.

   Now, let's move to the crucial part. The sense of thoughts.
   During the creation of thought, pathways in our brain that collect memories(and many more known or unknown pathways) connect. First, there's this spark of electricity, that moves all along the neuron and releases a dose of neurotransmitters(amount of different NTs is equiavlent to strength of this spark, basically resulting in "creating" various thoughts).
Then, chemical energy of NEUROTRANSMITTER is translated to energy of electrical impulse, which happens in the brain, creating the sensation of thought.
   Therefore the 'sense of thoughts' reacts to and is stimulated by neurotransmitters themselves, with receptors on neurons' membrane being receptors of the stimulus. So, kind of like smell, the stimulus is chemical, compared to sight, where it's electromagnetic wave; anyways the result in all of these is electric impulse in neurons (hence the idea of "thoughts" as a sense, due to the same basic layout; transfer of energy).
   The 'smell particle' connects to receptor and is translated to a certain amount of neurotransmitters/certain strenght of neuronal impulse. SO, again, we can see that when the first outer layer of this communication is cut off, we're left only with the neurotransmitters and impulses themselves. Anyway, the transduction of energy remains.

   If it comes to "sense of thoughts" the receptor lies within us, whereas in sight or smell or touch it's external. However, does it matter if it's on the surface of skin or under it if it all comes down to neurons of our brain?
   When you lie in a dark, silent room, without any external stimuli, you still retain your thoughts, colorful, vivid or complex. All the magic of the brain - still happens. So, how isn't it a separate, full-fledged sense?

I feel as though I’ve been entirely flushed out. It’s like my whole body has been turned inside out, rung out like an old cloth and my internal organs have set flight. At this time, they no longer belong to me nor do they reside in their original places. I've cookie-cut like pieces inside me now; empty. I’m walking round with hallow spaces where things should be inside my chest, my torso, and my pelvis. I’m told time is short on how long the body can survive without these crucial organs, but I’m hoping I’ll have enough time to sow up all my flaws and stich myself back into something worth being. Maybe, second time round, I can rebuild myself without all the things you hate so bad.

Are people motivated by money? Could money effect a person's behavior? Would a person forsake morality for money? An ***** donor card places a bounty on you. Some of your parts are only of value for transplantation while you breathe. The ***** donor card gives doctors your permission (under contract law) to remove your organs from your warm and breathing and UN-anesthetized, doctor-declared “brain-dead” body. This isn't speculation. Doctors admit to “harvesting organs” from “brain-dead patients” i.e. patients with pulses.

WEB/ Numerous accounts of patients who have recovered after a firm diagnosis of “brain death” demonstrate that “brain dead” patients are not certainly dead. Here are two cases:

Zack Dunlap, a 21-year-old Oklahoman, flipped over on his 4-wheeler and suffered catastrophic brain injuries in November 2007. Thirty-six hours after his accident, doctors at United Regional Healthcare System in Wichita Falls, Texas, declared him “brain dead.” Preparations to harvest his organs were underway when friends and relatives gathered to say their final goodbyes. His cousin, a nurse, wanting to make certain, scraped his pocket knife along the bottom of Zack’s foot. Zack ****** his foot away. Just months later, Zack was walking and talking. Zack recalled hearing the doctor say he was dead and being “mad inside” but unable to move.

Steven Thorpe, a British 17-year-old, suffered horrific injuries in a multi-car accident. Four doctors declared him “brain dead.” Doctors asked his family to consider donating his organs before his life-support was turned off. The family sought a second opinion from a neurologist who detected faint brain waves. Seven weeks later, Steven was discharged from the hospital having made a near-full recovery. In 2013, at age 21, now an accountant trainee, he spoke to the media for the first time: “Hopefully (my experience) can help people see you should never give up. My father believed I was alive—and he was correct.”

"In plain, straight talk," writes Dr. Lawrence Huntoon, editor-in-chief of the Journal of American Physicians and Surgeons, "the survey indicates a high likelihood that some patients are being 'harvested' in some hospitals before they are dead! In hospitals with aggressive transplant programs (hospitals make a huge amount of money on transplant cases), making sure a patient is dead before going to the 'harvesting suite' may be viewed as a minor technicality/impediment."

"Brain death" never was, and never will be true death. This has been known by neurologists and ***** transplanters since the beginning of the multi-billlion industry. So if a declaration of "brain death" is not true death, but organs are taken legally in accord with "accepted medical standards," why not continue to make "acceptable" less stringent criteria? In the 10 years after the ad hoc committee conjured up the Harvard Criteria, 30 more sets were reported by 1978. Every set became less stringent. Less strict sets were reported until eventually there is a criterion that does not fulfill any of the "brain death" criteria? This is known as donation by cardiac death (D.C.D.). Organs are obtained for transplantation by first getting a D.N.R. order, then taking the patient off life support and wait until the patient is without a pulse (NOT WITHOUT A HEART BEAT!). In the past the waiting time was 10 minutes, then shortened to 5 minutes, then 4, then 2 and now in the N.E.J.M. (8-14-08) the waiting time is only 1.25 minutes until they cut out the baby's heart. How shameful can it get! Shame on the medical field for knowing and not protecting these patients! Shame on the transplantation organizations for valuing money over an innocent injured person's life! Shame on the U.S. government, other governments, and clergy for allowing and even encouraging extracting vital organs for transplantation and research! When will doctors informed of the truth stand for life instead of being political creeps?

You cause
a break inside my organs
Pointing out my flaws
our differences.
You are at peace.
I sit jittering, worrying
what everyone will think
of when I didn’t care
you made me laugh at
everything
Changes.  You’re not right for me
Nor I for you, but I can’t help
Thinking
What if?  Then I remember
you’re not what nor
Everything I want.

You are an intellectual snob you
have a depth about you
I would love to delve in,
a psychological study
that even the best critics would praise,
but I don’t want anyone else to have been there
or ever go there.
I cannot hold on to you
tear me away while
You’re haphazardly gluing us together
We’re a kindergarten art project
messy, trying to see
Beauty within the confusion,
unfinished    

You asked me
Where am I most at peace
4 years old.      
I could be anything
No fears
I hadn’t been ripped apart.
I was the girl that said everything,
until I felt the need to screen my thoughts,
like the filter you use to make your coffee
each morning.  I wish that’s where I was,
having you tell me
that you like your women like your coffee
Dark and bitter.

I can look past your chauvinistic ways,
not giving a **** about anyone.
You’re not really closed minded
You just act like it,
which annoys the hell out of me
Sometimes.  I wish life was simple.    
But then
I would never know your complexities nor
Feel the things you help me feel,
like hate for train whistles
or the burn of gin hitting my throat.
Music      
you introduce me to
offstage trumpets, bad movies.  Your politics,
your brown eyes      
and how you can hear frequencies
that most everyone else can’t.  I worry
that you hear
the fear in my voice and heartbreak
With every word I speak.

When were you going to tell me?
Or was that your plan all along?
To throw me out
like yesterday’s coffee grounds
or cut up scraps
Used and unwanted.
I wish I could tell you
to tell her you don’t want her
but me instead,
you don’t, I don’t want you to.
I want holding hands, laughter
comfort, personality, humor, intellect.
You want that plus things
I can’t give
But you always take.

You are your coffee
disgusting, caffeinated,
addicting
the only patch that helps is
comforting words you never spoke.
We had many conversations
of your desires, lusts, mistakes,
but I was burned,
by lies, distrust.
You left, like always,
a harsh, acidic aftertaste
on my tongue.