A Story of Scientology and the
Mental Health System Connection


MARILYN

"Her weapons were her crystal eyes... driving every man mad... (dark) as the dark night she was... had what no one else had..."
BANANARAMA "Venus"

Upon first meeting with Marilyn the first thing I was struck by were her eyes. If the eyes are the windows of the soul, hers were the stained glass of Winchester Cathedral. They were absolutely beautiful. Polished obsidion orbs that seemed to have an inner light for all their blackness. The second thing I noticed were her teeth. Strong. Perfectly even, and glistening white. Lastly her height and *figure. Again, I shall use the Winchester Cathedral metaphor... she was positively that... not just a brick house, she was marble! Cantilevered, with flying buttresses everywhere! WOW!

Now, I'm not a lesbian. But if I were, Marilyn would have been in trouble! I was to notice flaws in her looks as time went on. Her thick, shiny raven hair was poorly cut, and her face, while striking, was not all that beautiful. Her features were even and well proportioned, but she was not a classic beauty.  She was of arabic/caucasian liniage. If I were to be perfectly honest with myself, I noticed these imperfections because I was somewhat envious. She was a man-magnet. Ms Pac-Man! I'm not an ugly woman. But I couldn't hold a candle to Marilyn!

As fate would have it, I became her "twin". We were on the buddy system at the beginning of our Sea Org training, and I was paired up with Marilyn. As luck would have it, we hit it off. Even though I felt like a shadow next to her light, I also really liked her. And she liked ME. She never lorded her looks over me. Her brilliant smile could melt the stoniest heart. And we enjoyed the same things. Though she was no artist, she really appreciated art. I actually drew her portrait (which she kept and framed, she told me many years later). We would take long walks around the Hollywood area, and, when time allowed, went to the beach. Santa Monica Pier. She had a droll sense of humor which i could appreciate, and i made her laugh, too. We got along very well.

Our Mission, should we decide to accept it (or NOT), was to write letters to people who had, at one time, been interested in scientology, or the Sea Org (not necessarily in that order). We were told that we to up our "statistics" daily. All jobs were measured statistically. Now, even at THAT age, I knew the Samuel Clemmons quote, "There are lies. **** lies. And statistics." But i thought it prudent not to mention that to anyone.

So, we were to write letters. We worked out a system for staying "upstat". We figured if we wrote LONG letters, and took breaks at first, then wrote shorter letters as time went on we could "beat the system". So we did. We never competed with each other. I was slightly faster than she (I'm a writer, obviously) but she didn't care. I could write. But she could spell. I was never good at that (I HAVE autocorrect on my phone, lol!).

Our I/C (in charge) never really bothered us. We were "upstat". So we joked around and had fun with it. We were allowed to go out and have a little time off occasionally.
I remember going to see the first STAR WARS movie with Marilyn and another dude who was totally smitten with her. She didn't even feign interest, even if he WAS very funny, and good looking in a diminutive way. But he was around her in a holding patern! Like a hummingbird to a honeysuckle! Shaharizade had mesmerized him with her seven veils! But the poor man never got anywhere. So he started to evince interest in me! But got nowhere in that arena either! Poor dude! So, that's how it worked. Marilyn would draw masculine attention. And, eventually, I would be "second pick". Oh, well. I knew better than to "get involved". There was a strict rule about "fratenization". A polite term for ***". THAT was VERBOTEN! It was grounds for RPF, should the partners be unmarried. And since I had NO desire to marry any of them, those dudes were out o luck.

Time went on. FRU  (Flag Recruit Unit) didn't seem so bad! And then there was the lure of my final destination. Flag Land Base... Finally I was ready to take my

...*1,300 mile Greyhound bus!

Crude brown-plaster'd brick walls
Layed without proper solder or
Mold or mud or water
A pit of curdled old-heavy blood
And sinewous joint hinge-pins
Of hard goliath, giant's muscles
Heads seemingly shrunken
But blimped to a surley saturated to an
greater-than original size
Their skin peeled off long ago
Bones meaten'd down and scaled-up
The center of this gore-pit
their hellish home
Butcher paper and amish quilts
Thrown in to produce
A dense coagulate
Fine milk-colored, powdered substrate
Bone-meal and motor oil
Plasma and marrow
Worm-wood
Genteel feathers
From a bird that poisoned
The creek-water of a now-lost
But powerful mexican tribe
Jigger meal from a child's feet
And an old mans
In Afrika
The skin dead and leather'd
The insides rap't of those terrible
world's tiniest insects
Macro-scale germs, most toxic fleas
Coca-Cola boiled down
Into a solid black ichorous
Malleable glucose material

And the umbilical chords
Of Two hundred fifty
New borns
Steamed and broken down
To a mushy substance
With a feathered appearance

To the tactility of even the most calloused and rough

Digits
Whether human

or proto-, pseudo- or neo-
hyper- and pre-
Hensile

The seeds of a million poppies
Cowardly, feverishly tossed into this

Horrid ***
Milewed down into a fine
Addition to the general rot, of this
Yet another putrid addition
The ***** from the second stomach
Of a calcified pterodactylus
And a dragon's mouth below the drain
In the center of this certain,
Gross sess pool
Lies a carv-ed Dragon's skull
To catch this sacred druel
Made out of greenheart
Black ironwood
And for the teeth, obsidion and
Caspian tiger bone
Together spliced and mal-formulated
To create a most
Septic funnel
Cone
All if it drains and
Gurgles down

Into a forged
Glass-Vial
Made in ancient, archaic
Olden times
But for this very abjectly
Evil trial
And he throws the switch!
The gurgle wrought
By this very motion of the level,
The level thrown by most
white un-sunned
Wizard-Warlock hand
It travels down into the vial
Mixing through emerald-hoses
With arsenic
And tainted possum spit--
--infused with cud
From cows thatnot
Even Cherised, prideful
India would permit!
And so a mustard-seeded gas
Also thrown into the mix
Clashes, bonds with
Stupid fluids

Made from the umbilical plugs of anencephalic and

Profound Down-syndrome
Czecho-kidnapped
Stolen'd infants

As their bones rake and smash through
The grinder that eats ANYthing
It goes down a rifled fluted core
Of Balsa-wood
God permits!!
Slimy
Messy

Filthy
Nasty
Hole in the witches den
From which spells are NOW born
To take the world
In a sanguine
Magick-whirl wind!

Heavy foot steps and lead laeden words.
Trying to create sense of this emergancy of birds.
Predators hiding lurking in the laminate
sealed in with a kiss the layers are feeling permanant.
Clear obsidion mixed with volcanic ash.
Crushing down on me, im gasping for breath.
Shaking like a mountain just before the eruption
trying to remove myself from this plastic corruption.
Daisies die in feilds..
Deers burn as the air horns call out the catastrophy.

You all need to run from me.

Silence in my self, I am no longer seeking
i need to break free and sing just as birds sing.
Calling out the warning; shaking up the evergreens.
its all interconnected.
Hyperspatail turbulance im screaming in my bed
im worried
im afraid
im trying
its working
i think that the plastic might just be burning
the toxic
the posion
its all gassing off from me
dont breath me
i feel like its something.


I could just be werid. Relaxing in turbines, i think im just trying and poems lead to calm minds.

Make sense of me. Make sense of you.
And you.
And you.
Im caought up in the subterfuge.  Capracioisly grapsing
for what im not sure.

Cattawompus canyons are cut into my heart. Im so confused information on piecharts
, the values dont match
the legend is misleading.
God seems to be warrenting this healing.
Kicking in the door
creating a dizzy storm.
Cyclopeon rage
stolen from days of yore..

Its time to let go.
Its time to grow.

Just understand me . just for a breif moment. I am harmless. I am less. I am lost. I need rest..

A bunch more words too honest too painful. I write poems to unleash all that is shameful.

This hurts.

This is needed.

I am bleeding.

Just so I am.

Just living.

Just leaving.

Just kidding.

Just bidding.

Betting.
On when its all ganna explode.
On when the subroutiunes will need a defrag machine when the bios gets corrupted when the system wears down when i will stand in the light looking like a ******* clown.
Because i trusted.

Why is this so hard?
I am 24 years old and cant drive a mother ******* car.
Fear is a disease that i can not squah on my own
a whole battallion of star ships need to warp into my home and disrupt the radio frequencies that speak to me
in dreams the nightmares unending the face grips and rending my cheek bones are tensing my teeth are condensing milkbones and raw tones

This excitment inside me
burns out the live feed
darkness envolopes mailed sent by trumpet
these echos of my thoughts
repeat the words taought
like liar and loser you dumb ******* ****** acomplish not nothing but your something is ******* just so god ****** worthless they all wait for your face to turn to a frowning grimice of you drowning you floundering ****** you sociatial ****** you cautious cat crawling as dogs get the tasties of life while your wasting your time just complainging this echo echo chamber needs to be ******* obliterated. A star dust deconstruction and rebuilding of the most primitive functions.

Take me from my own head.
I made my bed.
Id lie in it. But. Its made of my own meat and guts.

Friends
.. I need your ******* help.

Just.
Be you. Perfect.

I trust you. Despite what these echos say bouncing in my brain.

Just.

This is too much.

Just.

I think im just werid..

Just.

Please dont run.

you're this weight in my chest
eyes of nightshade i've repressed
but i see you at the street lines
even in the late nights
i can't get you out of my head
when you stare into my soul
i look into your void
the pools of ink in your face
that fill the space
with obsidion stares
that could probably hold stars
like a universe so far
far away.