They don’t put dead bodies in the wall anymore.  They put them in those walk-in coolers that they use in food service and they stay in there until the funeral home or the autopsy people come in and wheel them out and do whatever it is that they do.  But what happens if the cooler fills up and another patient dies—where do they go?  Outside of the cooler?  In the hall outside the morgue?  Left in the hospital room until there is an open space for them in the walk-in?  Or are they just not allowed to die in the first place?

Place a check mark next to the option that makes you the most uncomfortable:
• when dead bodies are still warm and growing lukewarm
• when dead bodies are ice cold.

You can survive two weeks on a ventilator before there is an increased risk of illness.  

Eula Biss writes that she does not believe that absolutely no pain is possible, that the zero on the pain scale is null and void.  I would like to say that I agree with her, but I have this stupid sliver of hope where I believe that towards the end of it all, everything will be everything and everything will be nothing at all.  I guess what I’m saying is that I would like to believe that when you are dying, you are a zero on the pain scale, but by that point in time, I supposed it doesn’t really matter anyway.

There is a strange, numb void that occurs when someone you love dies, but I am not sure if this could be rated as a zero or a ten on the pain scale.  Getting ****** into a black hole could either hurt very much or not at all.

The medulla oblongata, located as a portion of the brainstem, is the part of the nervous system that controls both cardiac and respiratory mechanisms.  If severe damage occurs to this center, death is imminent.  

After one minute of not breathing brain cells begin to die.
After three minutes of not breathing, serious brain damage is likely.
Ten minutes: many brain cells will be dead, full patient recovery is unlikely.
Fifteen minutes: patient recovery is virtually impossible.

A “thunderclap headache.”  A cerebral aneurysm that has ruptured.  A subarachnoid hemorrhage pushing blood and fluid down on my mother’s brain.  Grade five: deep coma, rigid decerebration, 10% chance of survival.  

In some hospitals, if a loved one has passed, the caregivers cut off several small locks of the patient’s hair, tie them up with a ribbon, and put them in little pink mesh bags for each member of the family as some sort of morbid memento.  They take the dead person’s hand, place it on an ink pad, and then stamp it to a piece of paper that has some sort of sappy and sorry poem typed up on it.  I do not know where we put the paper, but my little mesh bag is still on my bedside table.  Somewhere.  

They put dead bodies in white body bags.

Dear God. i hope You’re listening, i need to get close. im steady running in the same position.
i can’t get close.
my fingers hurt because i’ve been trying to pen down a letter to her & me & You for me.
im trying to be good.

these past few days i’ve been trying to get my thoughts in unison. working on harmonizing my processes & prioritizing my priorities.

im going to be raw.
i wrote letters to her but every single time i think of sending them to her, i remember that i won’t get much weight with my actions. so i throw them away.

im steady running in the same position.
she’s been thugging lately, in a good way.

i won’t even try to make sense tonight, i’ll let words flow.
****** of the youthful mind, hold me.

play softly, the strings at the back of my mind. be attentive, this tune will catch you.
she’s stroking my medulla oblongata, painting vivid images of passion.
steady running in the same position.

ever looked at someone and feel a conversation going on between your souls? no verbal action, just distance & the space between the two of you.

im steady running from nymphos of the youthful mind.
Father, hope You’re listening. help me to not bend Your will.
i’ve been good. dry cleaned my suit, im ready to walk with You.
i need to get close. but i can’t get close to You.
but im steady running in the same position.

****** of the youthful mind, tell me what do you want me to do to help you, help me, help you. she’s been straight thugging.

ever been so close to a beautiful conversation yet words halt at the opening and you’re left stuck with regret? days later, you remake the scenario and polish on what you could’ve said.

i wrote a letter to her & me & you for me. but i threw it away. wouldn’t have made a significant change anyway.

****** of the youthful mind, i need to get close.
but im steady running in the same position.

she’s been thugging. hat low, sweatpants low, afro hair, smooth skin, smooth **** dancing under the moonlight.
scorpion eyes, deadly eyes. i need to get close.

****** of the youthful mind, my gangster, i need you to stroke my medulla and play a thousand songs at the back of my mind.

im not trying to make sense, i was just trying to let thoughts flow.
Dear Father, can i run away? i want to run away with her, to a place nobody knows. us.
but please help me not to bend Your will.
send me to a golden forest, to the Garden of Eden, so she & i can be Adam & Eve.
we will be good. before then, i need to get close.

******, sing. sing me to sleep, sing away my troubles. i will run away with you.

Father, hope You’re listening. i need to get close, help me not to bend Your will. but i can’t get close. to You.
open the gates for me, im outside.

i need to take control of me and pour out vibes so hard the universe capsizes. ****** of the youthful mind, run away with me.

i wrote a letter to her & i & you for me. but then i threw it away.
don’t even try and make sense of the words i wrote.
don’t ask me how im feeling, just keep your eye on the poetry.

TeddyBearTribe.

Philosophical epistemology strumming adventures
Albeit, coherent mental decoding stratifications structured
Supposedly our world rests in our minds, revolving knowledge
An entwine of conceptual abstract flowing within oneself
The mind in the “I” the “I” a reality lived in my experiences
George of Leontini, a mine mind approving solipsism exploring innatism
Imaginative insights that nothing exists, the secrets secreting secrets
The knowledge behind the veils that remains un-communicated
A reverse of normality and known existences, moral disposition
Hypothesis of depersonalizations, adventures of self internalization
Justifications for what lies outside the Medulla Oblongata
Skepticism and just alternatives to western philosophy
Subjective unapproved experiences only robust in one’s mind
Descartes abstraction of inner experiences, reciprocated paradigm
Intuitively, perceived lived formulations of "Cogito Ergo Sum"
Psychological conscious undoubted individualistic thoughts
Berkley explored perspectives that physicality is an embodiment of the mind
The mind a decoding visualizer, that encompass the non-existent
An idealism marriage of ‘metaphysical’ and epistemological philosophy
The intense esoteric “dualism” verses the fiery “monism” reality
Mind boggling differentiated truths bleeding with blinking unresolvable hypothesis
The jiggered methodological, streamlining the un -logic sequential beats

I saw you

I saw your brain spilling out its cerebellum, medulla oblongata, etc

All over- unrecognizable

indistinguishable

I saw

I thought those were some kind of pink pulses

Lord knows, weirder things have been found

and seen

I saw


I saw

I hope there is justice for you

I will pray for your soul

My soul will meet yours
when the knell rings for me


I hope you find peace

I hope you know that I called

And called and tried and tried

To help you even though you were already gone

I saw your friend- his eyes, his expression


I really did try
Please find yourself another life

I hope your friend finds peace
Knows it wasn't all his fault
I hope his eyes lose the haunted shocked expression
I really wish he can drive again

I hope he can continue working
- he looked like one of those people
you know those ones?
working hard to make it out of drudgery?

I hope he makes it through this
And I really really wish you guys hadn't had a fight before this

Find peace
Go safe
Go softly

Your death was sudden
Ripped out of this earth
Like you were never meant to exist
That was meant to be me

I hope it didn't hurt too much

And those ******* that did this to you?
I hope they didn't mean it
I wish they hadn't been high before this

Your death shouldn't be meaningless
And although
You might be simply another obituary in tomorrow's newspaper

This poem will say

"I saw you.
I prayed for you.
I greeted you.
I witnessed your existence.
You meant something
Just as your death did.
I wish you peace and that you go
Safely, soundly
Wishing you that your loved ones
Remember you with love
And maybe some heartbreak
But they find strength.
Tonight,
I
s   a   w
You"

To me,
you have always been a reflex
as natural as
vomiting, coughing, and sneezing
(albeit more pleasant—
sometimes).
Somewhere in my medulla oblongata,
something
is telling me to love you
but I suppose that something
might be tainted by a ghastly neurological disorder
because this
just isn’t working out.

my amoeba mind follows
peacock feathered contemplation
un-orchestrated/spreads
hyper driven gyration
of unmasked perception. Do not
chase vocal overtones in
Arabian harmonies, crashing
color prisms covering the inward
revelation of Is-ness that is watching

stay in front of the
conceptual curtain questioning
that which is formless, empty,
nowhere and nothing

Allow.

Sara Fielder © Apr 2018

I remember a lot, though there are compartments of this upper story storage house with bolted doors. There have been hours, even days spent picking at combination locks, soft clicks of medulla oblongata. From within, such malodor,  bleeds ooze and ****. Constant mopping of icky memory's seepage, trickling from underneath hatchway is unending, so I often walk away. Knowing what lies behind vaulted chambers of grey matter is indeed the greyest matter, as nothing is quite so black or white.

one day,
when I win the lottery
I'm going to pay off my
overdue library book debt
and then I'm going to take
my lady out for a drink
in a different country,
just because I can.
as a poet and a poor player of instruments,
a drunk and a breadwinner
as a father of two and
a husband to be,
a ****** of horror flicks and
a collector of vinyl,
a surfer of televisions and sidewalks
(or at least I once was)
and a lover of foods.
this bearded wonder....
his mind is split in two,
there's a difference between
what formulates in my brain to
my mouth
and my brain to my hand.
how I write is not how I speak,
the wires in my gray matter get
twisted up and so does tongue
as my mouth fills with spittle, but
with a little thought and time
my medulla oblongata glues
together words of sophistication
into articulate sentences.
I'm an uneducated man,
just very meticulous with
the absenteeism of rationality
that humanity has to offer.
working a dead end job
as a fluffer for the aristocratic
industrialists
in this mundane life
of mediocrity,
mutually exclusive and
mentally exhausted with
the surroundings of
ignoramus cohorts.
screaming on the inside
for an ounce of stimulation
where my subconscious
can find no purchase,
channeling outlets through
hieroglyphics on a portable
handheld typewriter.
a hundred or even a thousand
publishers could viciously attack
my passion with the onslaught
of a hundred or a even thousand
compositions of rejection, but yet....
I'm still here.
reinvigorating myself through the
slough of privation and trudge
through the days of menial work
in search of surreal reinvention.
far from where I want to be,
in life and location,
prancing down the paths less traveled,
breaking every barrier put up,
carrying mawkish moppets
on each shoulder,
becoming the ultimate
goal achieving marauder.
but until then....
one day,
when I win the lottery
I'm going to pay off my
overdue library book debt
and then I'm going to take
my lady out for a drink
in a different country,
just because.....I can.

I guess it's no longer a Secret
By now, you are fully aware that I admire you
Your smile makes it impossible
For me not to
Its such a blessing to
Be able to inhale the carbon dioxide
That you exhale
Filling my lungs with a kindliness that
Not even Hathor herself possessed
With a kiss sweeter than Hershey...
And Godiva chocolates combined
With a smile that could
Illuminate the darkest hour
Your hug feel as if you can
Calm an angry alligators medulla oblongata
Flight or fight huh?
Well...
I promise to fight to
Send you on first class flights
Sharks and whales swimming under
Heated glass floors
Even though you deserve
Mansions with pearly gates
And roads cemented with gold
You're my calming lifeline
Every time I look into your eyes
I see a perfectly imperfect forever

Outward brain stem hummock
analogously, (asper bound
minuscule magnum opus)
figuratively paginated with drowned
atavistic animal instincts

roar back to life upon found
perceived or real threat adrenaline
splashes cerebral hemispheres
triggering body electric
to become alert as a bloodhound

countless millenniums ago
the flight or fight reaction apropos
when savage beasts
threatened tribe with bro
whizzing primitive creatures
some forced tweet crow

wing, thence railing, swooping,
trouncing dough
main housing small cluster of emo
ting primates (gabbling in primal
grunts and groans witnessing ruminants

scurrying to and fro
survival of the fittest danger field
thus by dint of inherent smarts didst grow
outwitting wily coyote, or other lion eyes, ***
ping automatic saving grace tactics recalled,
when looming predator doth woof
and warp emergency arises,

when debacle fore stalled
for time against getting mauled
whereby each subsequent ruse
out foxing fierce-some, hungry non a mew
zing potential breakfast, lunch,
or dinner as the sorry loo

sir aye sic newton, sans
this non nonsense game of "Life",
which thru countless millenniums strategies grew
layered upon left and right cerebral hemispheres few
till hetty became diminished

as proper contra bands of bipedal hominids drew
upon accumulated storied history
learned from Bubba Zayda's
many times over motley (foolish) crew

squirreling modus operandi
wove (traversing eons)
corpus collosum hair
(more so nerve fiber weave

a microscopic whirled wide web linkedin
left and right fist size gray matter
coated with transparent integument
custom made swiftly tailored sleeve

ah...proving grounds,
when forebears of **** Sapiens
touch and go tagged on permanent leave
on par with imagining dragons easy to believe.

Freuds lament meant that a pen is a *****
I comment
Hi I am Sebastian
I’m an addict
Addicted to frantic erratic language
In what language am I babbling in - can’t quit - can't resist
Grappling this black pen with smeared hands
Grasp the ******* thing
And ink
Panicking again
Where squids swam
Here stands a weird man
Trapped in a stare match
With miasmic abyss
It’s scary ****
As hearing camera flashes
Dancing bare ***
Unaware as to
where the camera is
Can’t fathom it
An ensnaring act
Grabbing talons
Talented career paths
Disappear fast
With mirror battling
The mere craftsmanship
And mad man’s wit
Embarrassing as still asking, unaware as to what is happening
With clear answers apparent still Years pass years after still ain’t clear after asking this
This is maddening
Reappearing patterns still amass
And thinking different things will happen if in fact I can persist
The same **** happens
That ****’s batshit
What if
This madness catches
That is bad
As lit matches
Catching mattress lint
I fear I did damage to my
Amygdala oblongata as a kid
Again and again
Damm habits
Still
I amass amazing
Paragraphs saturations
A hue is soothing
To translucent humans
Like my time as a youth spent
School bench doodling
Pulled the blue pen through the movements maneuvered cerulean loops drew huge dudes and exuberant protruding ***** for my youths amusement
Nowadays I fetching the meddling
Red pen sent from heaven making corrections, leveling mistakes begging for a reckoning, making more of less, settling scores, enabling communications less deafening, less beckoning, helping to get a sense of my best and when i left my element. what I might write with my white pen is



silence,


enticing I think.

Whirring spinning constantly working flinging rando retarding  constable to beat the **** out of my  medulla oblongata Oh my god i gatta get it all on paper before the pressure overloads and blows my ******* brains out my ears

'er pons and medulla oblongata
makes Annie the ****** a bit smarter
than the average gal, joe pete or al
and her mystery is - pro rata.

Coquetry & smiling
Relaxing & healing
If ain't friendship,
Then It's love...

If ain't magic ,
Then it's chemistry..
Melody throbs
And shink out Felicity
To thy glumly soul.
For thy is too righteous
To be true.

You stranger
If not a dream
Well it's a fantasy
For my lashes blink each second
To your presence.

You stranger
Is it what I see
Or maybe the affection got to me?
It is he who my heart throbs for,
He is the strangest stranger
Strangely possessing my heart and medulla oblongata with strange affection  & thoughts.

Methinks hmm, perhaps
I admittedly self plagiarize and quite aware
aforementioned amalgamated, conglomerated,
fabricated, jerry rigged, and organized
eye gripping titled
poem already aired a year plus ago,
though revisiting said theme
downplayed now as thoughts blare,

though similarly filched content
(pertaining to other literary endeavors)
invariably glommed electronically
(digitally remastered and remixed),
nevertheless gobbledygook enigmatically
jerkily, and quirkily communicated,
sans trademark Pi Seine (seen) fishtail career
as applies to uber secreted questions.

This chap challenges himself,
an immense task I dare
unleash unbounded kickstarting euphoria
within psychic calm and weal
with a healthy dose of logorrhea
scowl unintentionally anonymous reader
mine re: noun verbosity doth ensnare
though oft times obfuscation veils merely

a black hole sun (son) prominence
asthma faux eminence amber gris
long ago didst flare
aware if chance encounter
in a dark alley coal less sing
burning eyes fiercely glare
yet, an explanation
would be proffered to hear.

Most instances when I initially seat
myself priming creative literary juices to flow,
an unspecified number hours elapse
before that eureka i.e. Jackie Oh
NASA hiss (Onassis) revelation transpires
witnessing, this scruffy, prickly, grow
tusk long haired woolly creature
out malm mouth drool dripping
trademark characteristic viz
pencil neck geek
madly scratching itchy hairs

dotting chinny chin chin of
garden variety generic hobo
hook huns hitters hymns elf
tubby frank and ernest poet;
home body (nowhere man);
beetle browed fool on the hill;
common everyday fluky,
nippy, nap noopy common Joe,
just biden his time,
whence upon gestation ova hen chic idea
comes home to stir the roost.

(Hard boiled eggheads merely
scrambled random thought fragments
at that stage) scrunching brow
activates laser focus,
a scattershot burst
of tangential threads populate
formerly barren tabula rasa,
sans, Lenovo external screen
once again defying (tomb me
akin to some eternal mystery),

trucked since time immemorial
inexplicable, that sudden ignition
asper cerebral automatic
catalytic converter kickstarter
(hmm...perhaps cogs and gears
housed within medulla oblongata)
foster fecund fertilization,
an inexplicable phenomena, I dune hot know
explanation, but upon advent
whence, wispy vague undefinable inchoate

coalesce analogous to genesis of animal new life
when there appears just the merest hint
of fledgling wispy notions strive similar
to ***** cells fervently whipsawing vis a vis,
via flagellation motility misfits
and false starts before this crotchety scribe
mollycoddles crux of embryonic idea
congeals, expresses, and forms
grandiose manifest destiny
mentioned above i.e. ***

Lee Judas Priest remaining catharsis
seems like a versatile
self determining Motorhead
(ace of spades) tour de force,
whereat fingers of the left hand
move of their own volition spilling forth poe
whet tree once expanded Leaves (of Grass)
finds me Waltzing Whitman nigh hick cull
tickled pink with a soft after glow.

This penchant spurring confabulation
explaining (feebly) zest
yours truly experiences
expatiating honest to dog ness
figuratively go win west
hoard (word) ** seeking
mine own mother lode acquired,
via verse a tile material undergoing
electric kool aid acid test
incorporating rigorous (mortise
and tenon constructed) adverbial quest
which wondrous, whirled,

and webbed woven semicolon aided nest
reinforced with double entendre
tongue in cheek jest,
whereby multiple interpretations
(ala mode literary splotchy Rorschach test)
tenants in common beau geste
ma bell heavable own home spun faux
Cambridge Analytica
Jimmy Crack corn and I don't care
gimcrackery defaced facebook best
bite, with absolute zero
data snatched aye evasively attest.

Tik tok kills the clock,
Twitter when I'm bitter,
Insta when anxt,
Facebook for a quick look at my standing on the social strata,
what's the cost to my oblongata?

Methinks hmm, perhaps
aforementioned conglomerated eye gripping titled,
poem already aired
though revisiting said theme
downplayed as thoughts blare
though similar content
invariably communicated,
sans trademark Pi Seine fishtail career
as applies to other questions.

This chap asks himself,
an immense task I dare
unleash unbounded kickstarting euphoria
within psychic calm and weal
with a healthy dose of logorrhea
scowl unintentionally reader
mine re: noun verbosity doth ensnare
though oft times obfuscation veils merely

a black hole sun (son) prominence
asthma faux eminence amber gris
long ago didst flare
aware if chance encounter
in a dark alley coal less sing
burning eyes fiercely glare
yet, an explanation
would be proffered to hear.

Most instances when I initially seat
myself priming creative literary juices to flow,
an unspecified number hours elapse
before that eureka i.e. Jackie Oh
NASA hiss revelation transpires
witnessing, this scruffy, prickly,
and madly scratching itchy hairs
dotting chinny chin chin of this hobo

hook huns hitters hymns elf
tubby a generic home
er run (hitting) mill
(on the floss sing false teeth)
common everyday fluky,
nippy, nap noopy common Joe,
just biden his time,
whence upon gestation ova hen chic idea

(Hard boiled eggheads merely
scrambled random thought fragments
at that stage) scrunching brow
activates laser focus,
a scattershot burst
of tangential thread populate
formerly barren tabula rasa,
sans, Lenovo external screen
once again defying (tomb me
akin to some eternal mystery),
trucked since time immemorial

inexplicable, that sudden ignition
asper cerebral automatic
catalytic converter kickstarter
(hmm...perhaps cogs and gears
housed within medulla oblongata)
foster fecund fertilization,
an inexplicable phenomena, I dune hot know
explanation, but upon advent
whence, wispy vague undefinable inchoate

coalesce analogous to genesis of animal new life
when there appears just the merest hint
of fledgling wispy notions strive similar
to ***** cells fervently whipsawing vis a vis,
via flagellation motility misfits
and false starts before this crotchety scribe
mollycoddles crux of embryonic idea
congeals, expresses, and forms
grandiose manifest destiny
mentioned above i.e. **
Lee Judas Priest remaining catharsis
seems like a versatile

self determining Motorhead tour de force,
whereat fingers of the left hand
move of their own volition spilling forth poe
whet tree once expanded leaves (of grass)
finds me Waltzing whitman nigh hick cull
tickled pink with a soft after glow.

This penchant spurring confabulation
explaining (feebly) zest
yours truly experiences
expatiating honest to dog ness
figuratively go win west
hoard ** seeking
mine own mother lode acquired,
via verse a tile material undergoing
electric kool aid acid test
incorporating rigorous (mortise
and tenon constructed) adverbial quest
which wondrous, whirled,

and webbed woven semicolon aided nest
reinforced with double entendre
tongue in cheek jest,
whereby multiple interpretations
(ala mode literary splotchy Rorschach test)
tenants in common beau geste
ma own home spun faux
Cambridge Analytica
Jimmy Crack corn and I don't care
gimcrackery defaced facebook best
bite, with absolute zero
data snatched aye evasively attest.

Act 2
both sides use conscience for a hook
it's a con artist's suitcase
fill your cup in the Ocean of Tears
there's enough of everything in there
toasters glowing blenders humming
dogs ******* on lawns across the land
in a cloying oppressive sweetness
that could diverge and go anywhere
Club Med’s Oracle Island for example
blind sibyls eyelids fluttering
hissing spitting twitching babbling
it was the wisdom of the ages incarnate
but Bobby was miles from all this
making that fox up a tree deduction
consumed by a lingering half lit dread
of discovering at the moment of death
that his life was an in-flight movie
only with less captivity and more wandering
unsure of coming up with an airtight alibi
he suddenly mobilized his only shield
the lid off the dustbin of history
held against his approaching doom
they give you anything you want at first
the customer can do no wrong
then the high pressure hose
and subsequent foxhole autopsy
great 3 color graphics
they even have a screen saver
yet Fate had a trick up her ****
plucky LeMona it suddenly turns out
as the machinery of Zeus grinds us skyward
has been a spy for the forces of ambivalence
disguised as a bushwhacking retromaniac
gone undercover and surfing the channels
that were woven into the Swami's beard
from the first instant that she knew
the Eel King was a candle lit hallucination
as well as a groping spiritual vagrant
don't you **** with Bobby Eel daddy
it was LeMona and her retinal retinue
of petulant maidens on a magic carpet
Jacobins in Mr. Roger's neighborhood
the boardroom's feral chessmen
puking up last night's takeover
I mean takeout for the 6th time
uh oh I'm getting calm down messages
from my fiance LeMona Oblongata
so I can't even feel illustrious at last
I've been inoculated against everything except
the Eel King's daughter

From "Pageant of Naked Mischief" available on Amazon