by Desmond Makatu,

Your visits are unpredictable.
like a ghost, you're invisible.
The attacks are inevitable.
You come like a thief at night.
You seize me day and night.

"Epilepsy: an inevitable thief"

Cruelty unrestricted to age.
Victimising even toddlers.
Unrestricted to ethnic groups.
My life has time gaps.
Gaps, like discrete graphs.
Cracks depict thin line between life and death.
Grace bridges the gaps and life prevails over death.
Seizures still haunt me like a demonic wrath.

"Epilepsy: an inevitable thief"

Attacks are brief, bruises lasts forever.
You offer questions only God can answer.
Quest for answers is like probing for cure of Cancer.
Death seemed to be the answer but God thought otherwise.

First seizure shook like multiple earthquakes.
Followed by a pool of darkness.
woke up confused, crowd's ****** expressions said a thousand words.
Migraines raided my head, exposed to enormous pressure.
Officially baptised by wrath of seizures.

"Epilepsy: an inevitable thief"

You're a physical and psychological culprit.
Like a Yoyo, you take me into a roller-coaster of emotions.
Aftermaths of your theft are etched in my mind as if they’re on stones.
Behind my “poker face” lies devastating pains than physicals seen by the  crowd.

"Epilepsy: an inevitable thief"

Watch video on YouTube. https://youtu.be/VggXerYLOHY

too much disney, too many
flashing images of a worthwhile
epilepsy... what about photo-sensitive epilepsy
what of dyslexia-sensitive epilepsy?
i get the elvis shakes fearing the worst
when seeing people spell out certain words.

then you see the word d'uh...
and you stop believing it happened,
because no media broadcast the story
with a d'uh being relevant to the countless rapes
and ontologies exaggerated as a norm basis (i.e. normal)
of being human.

Those you haven’t victimized fear you.
Mighty and dreadful you seem.
Little do they know, you only seize flesh and control the mind.
You seize not the soul.
Hence be not proud.

You’ve dwelled in me for many years.
Imprisoned me to anti-epileptic drugs.
You’ve dispirited me.
You attack, seize, and control my mind.
Your attacks are but brief.

Epilepsy be not proud.
For I fear not what rescind only flesh.
I fear what abolish both soul and flesh.
Proportional to gravitational force I fell.
I’ve always find the forte to rise.

Epilepsy be not proud.
For against all odds, I’m still alive.
https://m.facebook.com/EpilepsyandCpfriends

It’s a good day the lord granted.
Everything seems so perfect.
Weather is sweet.
Sun’s shining.
What could go wrong?

…….Until…..

I felt you coming.
Like a hijacker through a rear view mirror.
How I wish for a false alarm.
Dear lord may this cup pass.
A moment to accept the inevitable arrived.

Oh my God! you seized me once again.
You came like a thief at midnight.
You hijacked my mind.
You exposed me to wrath of migraines.
Horrible 30 seconds in a 24hour day.
It's like a small stain on a white garment.

The cruelty of an epileptic seizure is inevitable.
https://m.facebook.com/EpilepsyandCpfriends

i once loved, and it's a shame to
agree to: better have loved and lost,
than to have not loved at all.
and as i browse the pages of
a saturday newspaper article
i like to think about virology applied
to mental illness...
and how they: life is ****
   story could really be a viral infection...
i don't know, it's not exactly
h.i.v.,
                oh i can contain my own
*******, i'm writing it on the flag
of colour white,
next time you get a brain haemorrhage
and then get diagnoses as schizophrenic:
i'll take you the crucifix on golgotha:
and imbed your head into
the cross... silent anger, contained:
and all the more concern for inhibited
humour... because as Borat said: jak sie mash:
i like. so please, don't tell me
you weren't gagging for the new golgotha...
because i wasn't...
         and i know, most of the time i have
my mouth attached to a head of a struś
gagging himself in a pit of sand...
yes an ostrich, the grand inspiration for
francis bacon attempts to redefine geometry...
oh coming out of communism and into
capitalism, for a kid?, can be a rough ride...
you don't know what ideology to appease
and what ideology to dictate...
         but i'm wondering whether or not
mental illness can have the potency to
        become virus-like...
     and drain,
and i mean: drain the soul out of you...
or whether man as mammal ever did exist...
or whether this new fashion of
feline existentialism can ever take off,
narratives about spending time with your
bonsai tiger... you'd really think japan was
a bit freakish... but it just has a large
ageing population and no one thinks
that euthanasia is a standard of humanism,
unlike ******* ***** into a face of
a woman... because right there, no
one died... if had any of those anemic
tadpoles actually lived...
    which brings this about to concern me:
so... we live for nine months, in, let's
basically say: in an environment without
oxygen, you got gills stashed in there
with that umbilical chord...
how can it ever be a miracle of birth...
that's what a god might say...
a human would look at it and say:
huh? you joking? i'm part of this horror?
     but not until you have a brain
haemorrhage and get diagnosed as schizoid
and then you think: so what was the point
of forgiving your enemies come into this?
      i can't believe it has become so, so personal,
to actually have this nagging, decapitated
doll-head on your shoulder telling you to:
repeat! repeat!
       i could literally be writing this in
Auschwitz and be like: Neddy needs a jumper
and a diaper... cos like that really needs
you to fathom the logic of assembling an
Ikea chair...
                          i mean, talking in the west
is a bit like farting into a hippotamous' nostril
for a ******* jackuzi effect...
  jack! i said ***! what's with this jacuzzi?
English, mein gott... confusion everywhere
you pigeon **** onto a top-hat.
by the way: everyone becomes
dyslexic on the word hippopotamus -
there's a reason why hippos exist...
        you want acronyms, you get shortening...
and yes, since english society has abolished
asylums, the society has become a breeding
ground for asylum instigators,
rich russians, bewildered chienese...
it's en masse, one, massive, cesspit...
   i mean the part where you don't get the brown
steamturd floating about like some
  celebrity you'd love to slap with much
more than mere paparazzi epilepsy...
because violence matters, esp into language games...
i was just asking, because there i was,
working on a roof on some construction site,
and she calls me up and says that
she hears voices...
          that's what i mean certain mental
delinquents and their choice of Samaritan...
  what does a roofer know about "voices"
if it doesn't equate to a bad conscience?
    that's why i'm wondering whether certain mental
illnesses have a virus-like profanity attached to them...
oh yes yes, the unison: bob marley: we're one
type of ******* to boot, like i'm supposed to get
a hardy and a 'ard on about it...
               ******* spoof of a light-bulb moment: PING!
and there... ain't that just dazzling?
phantasmagorical blurp at the feet of
Eros at Piccadilly Circus... my ego is a canon
that just simply shoots out viagras! and questions.
and yes... that's what we call being part
of the clown...
    and if there's a lord of flies...
what's the guy mentioned by beelzebub drunk
doing about the mosquitos?
           ah... boundless at the crucix, once more!
i'm just wondering where
does mental illness become solipsism,
  and when in fact it becomes a sort of virology...
   i can romanticise mental illness as a type
of solipsism, that it has a cage, that it can be contained...
but when mental illness goes outside of the novel,
strolls outside its cage and becomes
something akin to kissing a *****,
     i want to know.... because i swear i have been
affected by someone's mental illness being
hidden in the shadow of taboo...
   look... i'm ******* exfoliating with vocab!
        how can you become normal after someone
exposes you the symptom of "voices"...
that's demeaning given the past history of
having relationships with angels and demons,
that's like a neuter noun.... voices brings up
more concern for a pronoun-****-up than
a clear, noun association... angels, sure,
i could start looking more closely at pigeons...
demons, doubly sure, i could start
chasing bats...
              but i need to know whether mental
illness is worthy of taboo, i.e. it's worth
the category of being physical, in that it can be
contagious... whether it can act like a virus....
whether it can become an epidemic...
    and to be honest, i think it can,
but that seems pointless, since western society
has exchanged asylums for taboo...
                  look at me now,
a once budding roofer, reduced to writing poetry,
i might as well be an ******...
            safe-guarding king Solomon's harem...
oh sure, eunuchs were able to **** his *** slaves...
they were slaves themselves,
what they weren't allowed is to usurp
    the ******* crown of the king passing his
d.n.a., mind the frivolity, never the seriousness
of geneticist, yawning when their genesis was to come...
    i'd love to see hans andersen on the trail of
dolly... the sheep... and dolly really does become
a trinity of animal prior to human in the out-reaches...
what with laika (man's best friend)
and later fiztgerald... oh wait (man's worst enemy,
the money) Baker....
   thanks to de Sade and baron Sacher-Masoch
we could truly begin the orthodox occult of science...
   how the two patron "saints"
interpolate... it really is a dualism worthy of
dangling a crucifix... shame the first monkey in
space wasn't called Brian...
    i don't know, then, perhaps, the Caesars at
the coliseum wouldn't boast so much about
   the: lacking the ambidable thumb
(yes!) googlewhack no. 4 / 5 -
mandible thumb you idiot! d'uh...
but still, a googlewhack at the end of it...
type in: lacking the ambidable thumb
and, yes = 1 result in the google algorithm...
http://www.experienceproject.com/stories/Have-Thumb-Deformity/728760,
i call this the alternative version of, or rather,
the digital version of fishing...
     a tail like a thumb, the grip baron...
   but my peacocking the tongue shouldn't
be deemed as: straitjacket panic button prone...
  why would it?
****! he used the colour azure in his blue period,
that picasso did! chain him! gag him!
stash him in a kitchen stove!
i mean the inspection of genuine viriology
dynamic concerning mental illness,
the anti-thesis of solipsism, as the proper counter...
or should i say: membrane / barrier?
    can mental illness make ranks, i.e. spread?
like a virus can?
            well, if you take to explaining a zeitgeist...
ideology akin to communism and ****** can
become virus-akin... so i guess... yes...
it had to become a self-serving question easily
answered... mental illness can be very much
akin to a common cold... it's not really a case of taboo
being the lock-and-key to contain it...
nor the asylum... i suppose the best prescription
is the idea of solipsism...
              but isn't this grand,
i'm actually lethargic, coinciding with
    a tax on robots... and the French slashing
their 35 hour working weeks to 32 hours...
    and the Finns paying their unemployed
    (2K, placebo dosage for the actual
   237,000 unemployed) - a random €560 a month...
such are the times...
           it really has become a sort of
year 0 orientation lesson... because it's just
gagging for a guillotine to snap it awake,
so a decapitated head of Charles I at Whitehall might
say it's final farewell...
              and is mental illness capable of
being akin to a viral infection...
     it probably can... you probe the waters in an
environment of poets... they're good enough
to succumb to a white rabbit experiment...
              question is: do you apply the rule
of solipsism or an actual asylum? in a post-asylum
society, i don't think there's an option
whether solipsism should, or shouldn't be used
to counter the more serious form of the flu...
   but, as ever, it comes down to the age-old
cartesian model of dualism... or as any siamese twin
might attest: i'm not that further away from
my sister as you might think...
  the dualism that served so well for so many years
to appear "peaceful" became a real dichotomy...
  the ergo suddenly failed... when people realised
that the fact "i think" didn't necessarily
precipiate into "i am"... given what the media is
interested in, and how many people become missing
and all that... the numbers were too much
for player uno to simply give up the canvas
of newspapers and t.v. to some poor schmuck
trying to impregnate his canvas on which he worked
his paint-brush (power) and paint (wealth) onto...
   the cartesian ergo simply failed...
    oh sure, the other two facts worked... but they
didn't necessarily congregate universally
in the crux of ergo,
        i was told it would be a monsoon of thought
established on earth... instead i got a light-shower
   and the Gobi desert.
in the same way the subconscious exists
as a fake of the trinity...
           to me it has no need for a chisel...
as a realm... treat the conscious as a realm
akin to Hades, and it becomes wholly
de-personalised... there's not individual in it
that might require it... it's a covert mechanism
of subterfuge... but if we're talking
making rabbit heads with our hands
   in the shadow form... we're talking
nothing but puppeteering...
   or like saying, let's create an evolved
version of the definite (the) and the indefinite (a)
article...
                      well... there must be
a direct and an indirect article...
                well there is...
con                                 and sub-con,
       un-con is an indiscriminate article...
meaning: what are the evolutionary gains
of dreaming, given the cinema?

Spanish influenza
walking pneumonia
icepick headache
common cold
whooping cough
Diabetes
anorexia
getting old

flat foot
bad back
heel spur
heart attack
spasticus
autisticus
tongue tied
amb(i)dextrous

my weakness
is my forte
my sickness is  my skill
my illness
is my realness
it makes my life a thrill

Trying to fight this
bronchitis
gangrene
runny nose
frostbite
tooth decay
hat hair
broken bones

bed bound
shell-shocked
flea ridden
sinusitis
cholera
dropsy
eliphantitis
out-all-nightis

wom­b fever
winter fever
black water fever
remitting fever
ship fever
jail fever
camp fever
or schizophrenia

scarlet fever
tuberculosis
American plague
rock n roll
Wheezing
Paralysed
Got gas
In both holes

rabies
scabies
rickets
and SARS
man flu
bird flu
swine flew
from Mars

multiple sclerosis
tennis elbow-sis
stomach ulcers
and leukaemia
night blindness
hypothermia
lung cancer
sickle-cell anaemia

French pox
Lockjaw
Polio
Gout
Nostalgia
Dropsy
Knocked right
Out

Stuttering
Bellyacher
Anti-social
Leprosy
Sleep walker
Sleep talker
Absent minded
OCD

Tourettes, ****
Pyromania
tonsillitis
Conjunctivitis
Food poisoned!
Warted over
My Psoriasis
(Will I survive this?)

Measles
Malaria
Meningitis
Migraine
Scrum-pox
Worm fit
Water on
the brain

apparitions
seeing things
rattly chest
bad breath
la duzi
tormentation
inflammation
black death

measles
malaria
migrane
mumps
leprosy
lice and
leg bone
lumps

kleptomania
bubonic plague
black *****
feeling ****
bone shave
falling sickness
wanna stop
just cant quit

Huntington's and
Parkingson's and
Hare-lipped
Hay fever
Typhoid fever
Glandular fever
Night fever
And Hysteria

intellectual
dyslexia
dysfunctional
family
cancer crab
stillborn twin
bad blood
epilepsy

Parking spot
disabilities
all the wounds in
all the militaries
pity thee with
lost agility
lost babes or
infertility

ear infection
starvation
Hepatitis
E to A
smallpox
chicken pox
cow pox
what a day

tuberculosis
stuttering
panic stricken
star struck
scurvy
shingles
headless chicken
bad luck


paranoid
in the void
premature
*******
stomach ulcers
feeble pulses
chronicled
*******

autistic
gallstones
double-jointe­d
wrists and knees
consumption
bad digestion
quinsy palsy
ticks and fleas

amnesia
typhus
amnesia
heart failure
radiation
cholera
amnesia
bad behaviour

Hypochondriac?
By gosh, no!
Poorly are ye?
‘Fraid so.


nostalgia
        suffer me
wanderlust
suffer me
insomnia
suffer me
loneliness
let me be



god
complex
mother
complex
father
complex
ego
complex

­

its complicated
im superior
its complicated
im inferior
its complicated
im a short man
got ingrown hairs
got a bad tan



im suffering
ocd
im suffering
obesity
im suffering
jealousy
xenophobia
and nosebleeds



stokholm
syndrome
toxic shock
syndrome
got it down
syndrome
irritable bowel
syndrome

yellow nail
syndrome
stevens-johnson
syndrome
restless leg
syndrome
shoulder-hand
syndrome

lambert-eaton
syndrome
mi­ddle-lobe
syndrome
mobius
syndrome
pickwickian
syndrome

post rubella
syndrome
riley day
syndrome
straight back
syndrome
ulysess
syndrome



alcoholics
we are prone
drug addicts
we are prone
mind benders
we are prone
fortune spenders
we are prone



My illness, my illness
My illness is my realness

*Pick it up
Tide it over
Fight it off or
Cave in

Save it
Suffer it
Pass it on
When its Raining

bleed him
restrain him
shave his
head

he went from being
quite well
to being quite
dead.

Today I hoped to achieve something great,
Something many would consider a heroic trait,
Giving plasma to those in need,
With the hope that the doctor's treatments would succeed.

Taking me back after a two hour wait,
I realized there were things which they needed to set straight,
For while I appeared as well as could be,
There was my underlying problem of epilepsy.

I suspected beforehand what I was to be told,
All things considered I kept myself controlled,
For even though I'd have to wait 3 years,
I realized that I had no great fears.

As I refused to be distressed,
For I knew that I'd done my best,
I knew what seemed like a setback to some
Was still a chance of a lifetime to come.

So I'll continue to help those in anyway open to me,
Until that path can at last be seen,
My chance will come again someday,
So I refuse to let such enthusiasm fade away.

  
                         ~What people think~




Sarah Gosa - I wondered while I was reading if it was the medication or the condition of epilepsy that kept you from being able to donate your plasma and what is the significance of three years. Enjoyed the voice of someone wanting to help out in their community. There are other ways to be of public service if this is not a good fit for you. It is defeating when we want to help but for some reason we can't. I had epilepsy as a child and have also donated my blood in the past so I could relate to the feelings in your poem. The last time I donated blood they separated the platelets out and pumped saline back into my veins, if I remember correctly. I hope you find an enjoyable way to spend your time. Thank you so much for sharing your poem with me.


Noble Knight - Epilepsy there is a subject I know to well grand poem amazing job


ALW89 - I really enjoyed this. Your tone went from excited to give yourself to others, then you showed your defeat. Seemingly having an illness like epilepsy can be an internal set back, since you appear well on the outside. Your writing showcased that and the poem ended with hope and put a nice spin on the defeat. Being in the medical profession I was really inspired by this.

Inspired me.

I have epilepsy
It did not go away
Temporal lobe surgery
Reduced seizure accuracy
Without medication they will come back to stay
I have epilepsy
This I have to say
To live in denial
Will cause self decay
I have epilepsy
Every single day
It is a disease that I carry
That will not go away
I have epilepsy
The conclusion I must face TODAY
Hooray, Hooray, Hooray
The joyous comfort I have found is to pray!

I'd like to thank eveybody for their time,
as we conduct this interview in rhyme.
If you have a disability such as mine,
Everybody wants to pry into your mind.
So in this piece im going to address,
all the questions im asked, i intend to put that to rest.
But i can't do this alone, i require some help
Bluestar , thank you so much for providing assistance
Yes thanks, ladies and gentleman, here we go,
What we have here is a fine young specimen,
A young age male with a disability no one knows,
And what is it, you ask?
Why, I don't mind if I do begin to explain him
Epilepsy, that's what it is,
It's what he's got inside
And before you start to ask, no it's not a mental disorder
Do you want to hear the facts or think the fiction, you have to decide
Shall i dispense with the facts?
Hmm with the mighty sword of knowledge ignorance i shall attack!
Epilepsy is a neurological disorder,
It causes me to be prone to seizures.
Not the kind that causes the removal of property,
But occasionally my brain will fry, and my body go crazy,
Like a vampire exposed to holy ether
But don't worry, he's not going to die,
If you're with him when it happens you cannot run and hide
He'll need you to support him, to make sure he's okay
Make sure things are out of his reach and do not force him to obey
In conclusion dear friends, im just like you,
I may have neruological quirks, but im still Neroamee Alucard,
Not some show at the zoo,
So if you know somebody, with any form of fault or disability,
Dont patronize or be overbearing,
Just make allowances for their need

Swollen tongue,
And cuts all over.
If only she'd have known
That the epilepsy would take hold.
Dry throat
And an aching head.
She's been taking her meds just like they said.
Body worn down
As she's trying to stop her racing mind.
"Just sleep it off,
Maybe that was the last one this time."
Lacking understanding
Of why the drugs won't work.
Questioning everything
From when it happened to why it happened to her.
"Control the stress,
They'll become less consistent."
Maybe that would work
If she didn't feel like her faith was missing.
*jm

I’ve had myriad seizures in my life.
I’m however, still alive.
An obscure force constantly attacked me.
A force directly proportional to gravity.
God granted serenity to accept the certainty,

Epilepsy, you’re in my life.
You don’t own my life.
My cognitive function has been dented.
I’ve been labelled and painted.
Sometimes even laughed at.

Seized, fell and rose countlessly.
I soldiered on courageously.
Giving up has never been an option.
I never took my eyes off the goal posts.
Epilepsy tried to shift the goal posts.

Against all odds, I graduated.
Applause as I approach the podium.
They applaud for academic success.
I however applaud for overcoming epilepsy.
Hospital was my other home during studies.
Marks capped, academic record not true image of success.

Epilepsy-
Feeling as I been here seen this heard these sounds in my life at this time of my life before I feel this déjà vu come across me before the fear of death and hell is the warning the aura the before I feel. Deeper and deeper I go into this fear and abyss wanting to tell someone around me how I feel my fear and ask am I alive? As I try to speak I say no such thing for I believe I say what I say but all is mumbling. After all is done my body and brain are all worn out for I am tired from my clenching and doubt. I am confused at times at where I'm at or who is there but I thank the Lord for being by my side every time I have my seizure.
Richard Campbell

Every morning is a chance at a new day.
It’s never a bad life but a bad day.
Appreciate every seizure-free day. great feeling of rising post every fall.

Life's perkier focusing on what truly matters.
Each day may not be seizure-free,
There’s but, something good everyday.

I don’t live once.
Instead I die once.
I live every day.
I’ve been broken.
I’ve been hurt.
I’m however still alive.

https://www.facebook.com/EpilepsyandCpfriends/

It's been a month and I'm already sick of this
The twitching when I write
When I roll my eyes back
People looking at me funny

All I ever hear about from the stupid kids is,
"Seizure Sara!"
"Seizure Sara!"
Sometime I even get a ***** look from someone
Like I can help it

My good friends are now afraid of me
They treat me like a helpless animal
Every time someone ask
I have to explain the whole **** thing to them

Help me
Help my seizures
Help my fear

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Some introductory 'food' for thought...

"When people say they prefer organic food, what they often seem to mean is they don't want their food tainted with pesticides and their meat shot full of hormones or antibiotics. Many object to the way a few companies - Monsanto is the most famous of them - control so many of the seeds we grow."
  - Michael Specter

"My grandfather used to say that once in your life you need a doctor, a lawyer, a policeman and a preacher but every day, three times a day, you need a farmer"
  - Brenda Schoepp

"Economically, many folks don't feel they can afford organic. While this may be true in some cases, I think more often than not it's a question of priority. I feel it's one of the most important areas of concern ecologically, because the petrochemical giants - DuPont, Monsanto - make huge money by poisoning us."
  - Woody Harrelson


Who is Monsanto?
Monsanto is a Chemicals/Pharmaceutical/Agriculture company that was established in 1901 in the United States, and over the last century has occupied a particularly interesting and questionable history that has within recent times took to the global scale, growing into a multinational corporation, well nigh on the complete monopolisation of the Agriculture industry whilst having established connections to the chemical and pharmaceutical industry. They are less well known for their creation of Agent Orange, of which they claimed had no harmful effects on the human body, which was utilised very predominantly during the Vietnam War by the U.S. military as a defoliant, however, caused hundreds of thousands of deaths by poisoning, and has now led to an epidemic of birth deformities in the regions of use. Monsanto experienced more involvement in war through their involvement in the Manhattan Project, which resulted in the creation of the first nuclear bombs to be tested on Japanese civilian populations. They also have a background in their production of PCB's (Polychlorinated biphenyls) which once again, had the negative human and environmental effects ignored and misrepresented hitherto 1977 when they were banned, however, was not before many fresh water supplies and the air had been contaminated and was a known carcinogen in humans, along with other health damages. There was then of course their production of DDT's in the post war period that was advertised as a 'wonder-chemical' to be used in agricultural pesticides. However, it was later uncovered that its spraying caused a high percentage of food breakdown in crop and in humans caused breast cancer, male infertility, miscarriage, developmental delay and nervous system/liver damage. They even tested the effects of radioactive Iron on 829 pregnant women in a bizarre experiment. Having no shortage of scandalous and often at times frequenting blatantly corrupt behaviour on their dubious track record, with an abundance of data and study arising in protest of the company's use of dangerous chemicals and genetic modifications in food, it is surely best to question the activity and history of this company.


What chemical poisons are being used?
Some of you are probably aware as to the fact that within many food products today there are various chemicals being used in modification, cultivation and in processing, many of which are harmful, often deadly to the human body and to the ecosystem. So harmful in fact that in cultivation workers are required to wear bio-hazard suits and due to the toxicity of the area in farming these GM crops, are required to ***** signs in the surrounding area warning of the danger.

So one chemical that has been pushed into foods and drink by Monsanto since the early 20th Century is Saccharin, an artificial sweetener made from coal tar which is used predominantly in Soda, Coke and processed foods, and is 700 times sweeter than sugar. In 1907 when Saccharin was first investigated by the USDA it was quoted as,"a coal tar product totally devoid of food value and extremely injurious to health" , and by the 1970's, when the chemical began to garner greater use, the FDA attempted to ban its use in products after discovering it causes cancers (particularly bladder cancer) in animals and humans, however, today is still used as an artificial sweetener, and between 1973-1994 the National Cancer Institute saw a 10% increase in bladder cancers.

Monsanto are also responsible for the pushing of another artificial sweetener onto the market to be consumed by humans, that being Aspartame, even more harmful than Saccharin, and since being used in Coke, particularly Diet Coke, since 1983, the rest of industry followed suit. When melted down at 30°C into its liquid form in use for soft drinks, it become far deadlier than in its powdered state. It was found that it caused tumours and holes in the brains of rats and is more addictive than crack *******. After a multitude of independent scientific studies arose in protest of the use of Aspartame, Monsanto bribed the National Cancer Institute to produce fabricated data. Here are some of the know side effects of Aspartame consumption in humans according to the US Food and Drug Administration:

• mania  
• blindness
• joint-pain
• fatigue
• weight-gain
• chest-pain
• coma
• insomnia
• numbness
• depression
• tinnitus
• weakness
• spasms
• irritability
• nausea
• deafness
• memory-loss
• rashes
• dizziness
• headaches
• seizures
• anxiety
• palpitations
• fainting
• cramps
• diarrhoea
• panic
• burning in the mouth
• diabetes
• MS
• lupus
• epilepsy
• Parkinson’s
• tumours
• miscarriage
• infertility
• fibromyalgia
• infant death
• Alzheimer’s

As is quite evident, Aspartame not only lacks any nutritional value, it also can have grave effects on humans when consumed. In fact, over 80% of complaints made to the FDA concern Aspartame and is now used in over 5000 products, yet facts are still being misrepresented and as primary producers of Aspartame such as Monsanto produce false data to cover their tracks.


How is their monopoly being secured?
Monsanto within recent decades has somewhat become the archetype of corruption and corporatism, devoting many millions to Government lobbying in order to maintain its hegemony over agriculture, its use of harmful chemicals and to maintain restrictions of food labelling of GM products. In fact, the company seems to have a revolving door between itself and Government now, one example being the FDAs Arthur Hull resigning due to controversy and going straight to an employee at Monsanto as a Public Relations representative. This means that the FDA, the central official force against the use and proliferation of harmful products is in bed with Monsanto, the main proliferator.

Another creation Monsanto have pushed into pastoral agriculture is their Synthetic Bovine Growth Hormone which is a genetic modification of the E-coli virus to be used in dairy products and cows. And in order to make sure this product is pushed onto farmers, Monsanto sues any that do not use it with teams of lawyers. They also, in a far more cunning and destructive method, are able to and have destroyed other, natural crop cultivation by the use of their Genetically Modified crops themselves. What they have done is modified their crops in order that they self pollinate, and that bees that come into contact with their crops are killed, causing mass hive collapses, which then means any natural crop in surrounding farms die off due to a lack of bees to pollinate them, forcing them to join the monopoly of Monsanto's GM supply.

Also, before the aerial spraying aluminium and barium into the skies began in 1998, that has seen a rise in the content of aluminium particles per/cm from near 0 to 30,000 in many areas, Monsanto patented crops that are resistant to soil with such high concentrations, meaning they now have legal ownership over crops, whereas the natural produce may be ungrowable in a number of places where the spraying concentration is high. On a side not, the spraying of aluminium into the sky since 1998 has also caused a massive spike in Alzheimer disease and lung cancers, rising from the tens of thousands to the millions of cases per year.

To Conclude, Monsanto has recently made a very big merger deal with the Pharmaceutical company Bayer, the ones who produced Zyklon-B for the **** extermination chambers. Sure sounds like some safe operations.


- an essay by JDH

I seize in the day, I seize in the night

Convulsions plague me throughout my life

  The stiffness comes, And then it goes

But the worst is afterward, when I’ve discovered that my friends can turn into foes

The mere sight of it has scared them off

As a result they laugh, taunt and scoff

I seize in the day, I seize in the night

Medicines plague me throughout my life

The neurologist says “Let’s try this one”

Dilatin, Depakote, Tegretol, Topamax

They try my last nerve, Until finally I say

“Haven’t you tried enough on me, you quacks?!?”

I seize in the day ,I seize in the night

Must I wear a “dogtag” for all my life?

This little tag, on my necklace, it labels me

Can’t you see the medical symbol and on the other side in big bold letters “EPILEPSY”

It’s a ****** on the self-esteem

It’s a reminder that I belong to a different regime

One of a nature gone to extremes, If that is what I let it be

I seize in the day,  I seize in the night

I don’t give up, I say to my brain and my soul, “Fight, Fight, FIGHT!”

I’m frustrated and don’t give up
Although there are times when I want to, I don’t.

I’ve been a fighter from the day I was born

And in the heat of this battle of neurons and neurologists

My determination and perseverance were forged.

The more I seized, the more I fought

Through the trauma of it all, lessons were learned and taught

And the more I seized, the more I realized

  That Epilepsy was a lesson in Serenity.

he shakes; he’s shaking; why are you shaking?

you’re scaring me.
Please, control yourself.

his arms are flailing, his eyes are blank.
he’s  about to collapse… Watch out for that pole!
he shudders; he’s shuddering; calm down.  
it’s quick, fast-moving.

his sharp movements cool into a warm silence.
no more flailing arms.
and he has me hold him.
he’s  not moving,
his    heart is beating through his ears, pulsing.

and I have my arms around him now.
he shivers. then falls asleep.

Who are you?
Why are you leaving?
Where are you going?

I uttered these words during a seizure.
Imagining you puts my mind under pressure.
I quest for your identity like a hunt for treasure.
Am I haunted by a demon disguised as a seizure?

Seizure or not, I certainly spoke to you.
Begging you not to leave as if I knew you.
Still I ask: who are you?
Seized and captured by epilepsy, I couldn’t overtake you.

Overtake to see your face.
I woke up, you vanished without a trace.
In your next visit be bold and show your face.
A mysterious character within my seizures.

The next visit is unpredictable.
Seizures are inevitable.
Epileptic seizures, an obscure disability.
Like Epilepsy: will this mysterious image remain obscure?

A seizure lured me to a pond of muddles.
like a friend I pled against your departure.
Now I'm awake hence I plead for your departure.
Still I ask: who are you?.

https://www.facebook.com/EpilepsyandCpfriends/

I pride myself on differences,
but know at heart we're all one
I tried to do the dishes,
but only two knives made the cut.
Now I wonder if I can
accomplish more than thought possible
judging dull wounds in grunting cans;
feeling pistol grooves and wrist slitters,
I am at home again.

Lying, mining, dying figure heads
make their way to the foot of my bed,
and ask if they may lull me to sleep
with dreams of pneumonia and epilepsy.
I ask them to politely leave,
but they perch on boasting names of society,
reciting to me, too condescendingly,
"surely, we know better than you."
Now all of their heads fit askew.


Save the money and excuse for material attachment.
Keep running through your doll houses.

I pull on my hair to make it grow.
You pull on heart strings to teach a lesson, I suppose
we're in the same sinking boat.
But you are my vital poison.
My body collapses- a muted a noise and-
each time I awake perfectly poised
at your feet and frozen mouth.
How will I ever make you love me now?

Life's a Hawaii postcard
pleading, "go experience the vibrant colors."
There's more to see beyond the rainbow trees,
but they'll still satisfy most cravings.

Every threaded fiber of my being
keeps me pondering
if cells are just too shy to speak,
or if they've always spoken through me,
whispering, "scratch to win the lottery."

I want to write children's books,
and release doves from hidden cages;
watch awe wipe over next generation;
use my candies as their safe haven.
Away this world that have caused them pain-
I Am its new name.

Affection is a mistress of mine.
I still crave her like sunlight.
stare into her eye until I am blind
She's addicting even after she harms you.

I'll keep my heals neck deep
in anxiously wading water.
til I sing it into deep sleep,
its current pulls me under.
and I am at home again.

I know about lying on broken bones, beading into my back.
She was missing something.
She was lying on hands searching through the trench coat of a bathroom romance, watching butterflies melt,
She was becoming herself
At four thirty am I write her account, embroidered in a diary of lullabies,
“this is what death must feel like, being  left alone in a street screaming of footsteps and blacked out whispering.”
She threw deliverance, caked over old vengeance, out of the car window with daybreak’s kisses. She writes,
“I sit in the heavy sleet of the delta drowning in resurrection, grime from age wipes over me once,
twice,
The broken blood pools out of ‘I love you’s’ and islets.”
She slept with the darkness.
“Prayers don’t come for me anymore.”
She glitters, shivers, tactless as a teacup in an earthquake,
She is awake.
”I am awake.”
She documents God- "I feel God,"
- in herself. "In myself.”
There is a silence.
A burning, left, cold to dry alone,

This is for her.
Call it, my face, swathed in the impenetrable darkness when it is no longer my own, call it an aunt’s love when a mother’s doesn’t suffice any longer. Call it,
cigarette buds and elevator rides to death’s door. Call it power bubbling up from the violation.
This is for you; call it Cuban cigars, show tunes, and Marylyn Monroe;
call it misery. Missing, call it hues and paint, my life prostrated on a disgruntled canvas. Call it fate.

This is for you.
Call it liquor stains and tarot cards in a fit of ecstasy. Epilepsy, call it the most intricate balancing act of existence.
An unseen performance, a lyric with no voice,
“a cry in the night”
”a scream of supplication”
The hunters’ march to death, the Holy Grail’s melting between your fingers, civilization pouring through veins,
“death, destruction, life, happiness, Azrael, Abbadon, blood, Rome!”
“I don’t want to feel this!”
Call it whispers of unspoken meetings and witches in the night, threatening,
“I know you!”
“No you don’t! Leave me alone.” Recognition. “I don’t want to listen…”
She writes,
“I loved you…
On purpose and…you left me,
with,
myself.”

Annabelle does sit at play,
In her usual, cheery way.
She does not worry, nor does she fret,
She hasn’t reason to be scared yet.
Then, the seizure overtakes her,
Perhaps caused by a noise, an innocent whir.
“Mom, it’s happening”, she cries,
With her hands she covers her eyes.
“Annabelle, Annabelle, ‘twill all be fine,”
We calmly say, with deep fear inside.
We knew that this was epilepsy,
I wished it wasn’t her, but me.
But she endured the pain and strife,
Now a part of her daily life.
She was strong of heart and head,
Even in her hospital bed.
After a minute, the nausea stops,
And our level of fear gradually drops.
Annabelle returns to her lovely self,
But we know that more seizures will take this sweet, young elf.

Day One:
A voice speaks to me.
When you realize that being lost is so close to being found, you see a sea of family members plagued within the lineage of licentious newborns and hospital beds. You become yourself, a lisp.

Day Two:
Long ago in a city left unscorned he was torn, from the cokeheads and colorful regimes, angels sing long songs of separation anxiety and **** withdrawal.  I was torn from the deadbeats of supposed society and three day vicodin trips into my mind. So can you let me know when I get there? ‘Cause I left there running…I wonder, did someone ever tell you that two strangers could twist around your neck at beck and that three parked cars and seventeen lonely nights could haunt you for the rest of your faces.

Day Three:
Tell me of your drug induced hallucinations.

Day Four:
Wait. Hear. Can’t you listen to the relapse? Stop, think. No. gone. Left. Love. Return. My curious addiction. Go back into yourself and listen. Can’t you hear your soul call to me? It’s loud.

Day Five:
I remember prizes at the bottoms of cereal boxes, right before the net broke. Will you be first? Snap back to reality.
It’s dark in here. Wretch from me… I am crying, screaming,
haha! I’m melting inside!

Day Six:
By plucking her petals you do not gather the beauty of the flower, but the seed inside
Caked over in grief, we are not plates that match. But fools of folly caught in a sea of coke and disillusioned discord. Speed stands between directing and orders to death’s soldiers.

Day Seven:
The difference between God and his counterpart is that he makes exceptions!
Except me.

Day Eight:
Accept me!
Please.  
Wait.
No.
don’t slow,
speed.
I can only take so much forgiveness,
is a decision, and I cannot make it.
I am without it, leave me breathless.

Day Nine:
The angel of death waits
He comes for me, but I am running, finding, hiding my inner Nemo in the hands of oxycodon, privileged in the amenities of amphetamines.
I am tired of running!
Haggard.
Take away my hands, my restraints.
Let me feel
again.
Please.

Day Ten:
I am awake.
There is an apple in my field of vision.
Kiss it. Love it.
Take it to hedonism and back again.
But it knows too much.
So tell it everything will be ok.
It lives in epilepsy.
So placate it.
Resurrect my apocalypse.

Ronald McDoland & cousin Kentucky
had Iraq: ji had ji had ji had e ha e ha e ha oh!
i told you about the heresy of war,
the Soviets are back, success rate
up 1000% from Afghanistan to be the next
Uzbekistan - well, less Mongol tsunami down that
alley; it's still heresy to do puppet upon the head
of former state with oligarch tyrants selling
us bone marrow as meat: Iraqis just said:
let's keep it kosher and local and less global
and less treadmill!

the orb's lost & found song from the dream album is
so hard to follow at first; i only came back for the psychopath
avenue theme tune: ah... ******* ready to depose
Saddam Hussein... but now ******* in their pants to send
soldiers into the land of crucifixions and be-headings?!
how strange the correlation between actual warring
fake pacifism, simulated warfare and excess
theories with atoms but incompetence with
the elements.

i watched democracy fail... the foxes stole nothing,
they stole nothing because they were sloppy!
i thought this while hanging the washing on the line today...
*******... puck-puck-yellow-yanks... larynx by larynx on the tiles...
let's paint it red! spare me Slob Bogdan Maso Kiev Itch...
ah, when it was all under wraps... oh but the western
media are so ******* vociferous for those shady
gamblers known as shareholders, no casino,
just a house in suburbia... wankers... football hooligan me
into acting when it comes to practice!

sho you'sh shoor you'sh want'sh to shoo your shon
to shwastika access on return? me tshinks sho...
Bex is a girl's name Rebecca, we hear more of Bex's
past than anyone's.*

Colonel Kentucky can shove that chicken drumstick
up his **** and sing me a lullaby about his
famous discovery of deep baked **** batter!
crumbs ahoy, aye aye captain, my
stratosphere of anally commanding the first-mate
into coherent motivational propaganda of:
women outside of war will treat the dogs of
howling and barking as companions -
the stresses invigorate... no second chances are given
to buy a ******* toaster or a chimpanzee,
both do tricks, it just depends which one does the trick
quicker - it takes more than just a homelessness
from the realm of the cube to see how many
is an insect although not in an atheistic strict sense
of expressing nihilism: man the disharmonious
swarm can hardly keep queen or king:
unless we all were ****** by the king and unless
we all ****** the queen: insects are strict Martians,
they have no time for concubines or horse races
of football matches, or other coliseum distractions:
unique insecticide of insects against individualism
that's thought in being human so fondly kept
with the pyramid as with a book of some obscure
philosopher championing wear & tear & tatters
looking more for a tailor than a god:
appearances must be kept, after all, so few of us are
prisoners in the bedding chamber of perfect
genetics of post-******, and the dumb neo-****
scapegoats along with Israel are kept being fed
cinnamon sticks laced with sailors' *****
that's nutmeg.
**** you not... ere come the clueless klaxon hakuna
matata bob dylan bums... like two police officers
in reverse of the stereotype: one plays the harmonica
(i.e. can read), another strums the guitar (i.e. can write) -
but we're missing the elephant's
molesters:                          we're missing four of the six,
that's enough for the tetragrammaton verb,
we have the trunk and the leg, that'll do us just fine:
we can just say it's a fire hydrant...

with my new regime i understood the blanket
of un-forgiveness of english teachers,
i exported the idea of haiku to the east and
received the notion of esnō - i said double that
up, thrice it, make the thrice square,
add a hundred ballerina twirls and create
a hurricane from the ensō; what did i
get on my return? hardly a butterfly effect,
i got stenotype, the beheading of
Anne Boleyn - quick like a marriage with a black
widow spider or a mantis: an orphanage on my back...
so many more sperms reach the pyramid end
than in mammals, but look at what the Darwinism
rainbow gave us to feel depressed about...
comparative existentialism to insects, arguments
against parasites... might as well argue about
eating and **** evaporating rather than the pleasure
of faeces squeezing through the **** muscles...
(if you had *******, i'd tell you about the pleasure
of *******, and not needing to bother women
to stretch a muscle that's hardly an oyster of skin,
keep the flowers in Eden of comparisons,
mine ain't beauty, yours' ain't either:
it ain't a flower, it's a seashell protein, thing, the end):
oh yeah, the boys and me were watching salmon
in the school, we were using index and middle fingers
to slingshot shoot the salmon buds to dumb down and
forget feminism and remember the village life...
ha ha... worked like steroids to those fake muscle-heads
when looking at gymnasts and scaffolders:
PUMPIN' IRON PIMPIN' MOLLUSCS!
what a hydrochloric-hydraulic combination to non-grammatical
coordination from (0, 0) to (20 kilometres west,
50 kilometres east) in comparison to an epic literature
output of Russian angst origin in epilepsy shadowed
over by the joy of gambling... i have drinking,
now imagine Halloween on Hawaii.

I look up...fall under
depth is shrinking
strip apart into string
touch it....so cold

I beg for sound
when I wake
honor is still cheap
time stops convulse again

These scabs, some shine
blind as the sun
I want to touch the sun
pride is reborn

Kicked to the ground
fit to the ground
this mud is mine
this mud is all mine

the kid shakes salt from his palm onto a dead mouse.  his girlfriend’s cat slicks itself as if its spot as a pillow in hell has been filled.  I can’t see the look on your face but my imitation comforts me.  I once lived nearby but had a dog and moved to be closer to it.  

    yesterday, the kid’s father sold me a mirror.  said I would have second thoughts.

I don't feel it, You say. And, pray tell her
name, my sir, that i may find she thee and prithee

Bear me off to southern sounds, fallow fields,
an altar ground, a garland rope of singing springtime snows.

this may be more than i can--;;
                        YOU
                        ARE
 ­                       NOT
                        WOR
          ­              THW
                        HILE

and i had such an awful dream last night--

you said, Bronwen, my love;
and i could not sweep her hair from the floorboards
beneath which you hid your ***** mags from mice.

because you tell me about it.

                                                            ­              WHOAM?
you speak of gOd like dOgs & i am worthless coinage
in the sewers. the sewers find my dress still hanging from your bones.
your bones your bones your piano finger bones
kiss me again

until my lips swell my throat bleeds i do not want you to know how much i crawl spiderlike through the trails of hair in the drain as the autumn leaves the summer leaves the spring buds freeze over hell i am not i am not listening pan-drum please let me say this one last thing:;

he is your accordion player the ***** player man who speaks fluent french and inflected english he is your accordion player on the pipes-----

and you say i do not feel and i reply,

this is too bad too late, chuckle replay as your fantasy walks through the door my team my team she is porcelain lovely see the perfume in your synesthesia colorblind goat footed grandiose Cesar with epilepsy she is your dream she is she is she is!

&meanwhile; the trumpet in soul still plays solfeggio---

1 2 le 3 4 1 2 le 3---1 2 le 3 4 1 3--le 1 le 3 le 1
she is the discord of the seventh in the tenor line
she is membranes she is rain she is towels

                      LEIGH **** IT

if only if only you weren't so lonely i might call you mine and bring you back homely.
IF ONLY-----Charles weren't so busy while you

stare at silver spoons and cherub smiles

and cupid calls you home again.

Should my anticipation run and hide when the air so cold runs dry. My mind is a wonder in this ponder your hand feeds me. Some reason my heart says you're not a least bit overwhelmed, as I set myself up, but this I can't help to rely on free will and dwell. As I relate to the sun spots that reflect the conscious of hell we rebel, I sit back, trying to relax, staring through the tinted lens for time to pass. I reveal through the condensation, the eye of the drafty wind.

My mind wonders as I see the inevitable piercing reason for life bleed through the trees, quickly catch my eye. My heart races mystically to the beat of epilepsy as the hours surpass behind this sun glass. As I get to thinking, you remind me of the constellations breading, metaphorically speaking. The halo is gorgeous as your amber glows the Tuesday moon, bringing in a Wednesday revenge. I listen for a perfect circle to a perfect gratitude of the lust we all share in a wanted haunting spiraling into a Fibonacci themed sea.

Your strawberry kiss gathers a thesaurus of mood swings. It's heart carries a stone the size of the moon. Pity from far but a sight to see as the circle of life surrounds the familiar meaning of how much you mean to me. Only somehow, I find myself feeling like a LCD movie scene, Incomplete and all alone or like a childhood never ending story of love. Boring and make believe.

Some days I can't remember, some days I would like to forget. Like when lovers split into million's of pieces, we deal with it. I pirate about as my mates call me out as I blacken into fading out. A cool breeze to cold chill spinal tap heart attack buried deep in my bones like a diamond in the ruff, protected damaged goods. Keep me in mind, my fractal eye, frame this sight, picture it twice, what you see is what you find. (needs work)

Finding myself blind I'm reminded all the time, I'm bloodshot dry trying not to show you why the need to express my feelings. My reasons why are believed lies. With just one look, no second guess. You'll see my regret. You'll see me die a little in sight. The half heart you shared the day I felt it would matter, I felt I would care...

I would reside my life just to keep you near of a grateful insight. Standing in line waiting to see you see my side. I found my peace in between the daisies and the trees. You had fit the dream of being complete embraced me, to let it be. Hesitation aside I would rewind my life just to keep you close by, but the patterns we can't hide from this manifested tide. A rush of love a loss of touch. We reach for the sky but the stars just keep pushing high as we keep stretching our time here, it's all we have, is space.

Last week we bought a bottle of epilepsy to share
at a party made to crash on dinner plates
rolling down uphill battles.

The clustering warm anticipation set to pounce falls short
with talks of who is late and who can't make it
because someone in the family disapproves.
Who cares about the bitter salt cakes in the dust of fossilized crustaceans?
The polar bears march to beautiful, pointless noise beating off the living receptacles.

The locals are scars in the conclusions deep in the visiting sounds—almost forgot but still murmuring.
*The first citizens of noise.