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There is no need to dwell on the exterior cliche of an injured soldier, the propaganda is superficial. Civilians have only plastic green men, heavy dusty movie set costumes, and Army-of-One heroes to populate stereotypes. Keep your images larger than life, no use touching up a paint-by-number. Mine was banal, foolish, and 19; enough said.

One fence is the fraternity itself, the next is brain injury. No other way to understand but be there. A Solid-American-Made-Dashboard cracked my forehead at 45mph.
Crumpling into the footwell,
unaware that the flatbed's rear bumper
was smashing thru the passenger windshield above me
the frame stopped just shy of decapitating my luckily unoccupied seat.
Our vehicle's monstrous hood had attempted to murderously bury us under,
but the axle stopped momentum's fate and ended the carnage under dark iron.
Shards of my identity joined the slow, pulverized, airborn chaos.
Back, Deep, Gone.

Unconsciousness is the brain's frantic attempt to re-wire neurons, jury rig broken connections, the doctor's desperate attempt to re-attach, stand back and say, good enough. Essential systems limply functioned, but unessential ones were ditched. Years later a military doctor diagnosed an eventual triage: Hypothalimus disconnected from the Pituitary Gland, Executive Function damaged, long pathways for emotional regulation interrupted.

I woke up still kinda bleeding, crusty blood in my hair, a line of frankenstein stitches wandering across my forehead.   My sense of self had literally dissolved into morning dust floating in a sterile hospital sunbeam.  My name was down the hall, words and the desire to speak were on a different floor.  Life became me and also a separate me under constant renovation, a wrecking ball on one half, scaffolding and raw 2x4's the other.

Waking up in the hospital, I realized I needed help to get the blood cleaned up.   A nurse came in, largely glared at me in disregard, and quickly left… for an hour.   She returned and brusquely dropped a useless ace comb and gauze on the blanket over my feet and abandoned me again.  This was my introduction to the shame of a VA hospital.  I minced my way to the bathroom, objectively examined my face in the mirror with shocking stitches above one swollen eye.  Gingerly rinsing my hair, the water ran pink in white porcelain.  I remembered the sound in my skull between my ears when a doctor scraped a metal tool across my skull, cleaning debris before stitching.  I recalled that in the ER I was asking Is he ok, repeating it like a broken record, knowing I should stop but I couldn’t.  There was also perhaps a joke about an Excedrin headache.

It was morning, and since there was no such thing as time or purpose or feelings anymore, I wandered to the hall with my only companion, the IV pole. One side was a wall of windows, and I was, what, 10 or 12 stories up from the streets of a much larger city than where I crashed.  The hall was warm and sunny.  I wheeled my companion to a blocky square vinyl chair to sit next to a pay phone.  I didn’t have any thoughts at all, or care about it.   After about an hour my first name floated up from the void, then with some effort my last name.  It took the rest of the morning to remember I had a brother.  After lunch we resumed our post, and I spent the afternoon in concentration piecing together his phone number.  God had pushed the reset button.

Thirty years ago the doctors didn't understand head injuries; they only recognized the physical symptoms. At first there was good reason to be permanently admitted to the hospital.  My blood pressure was unstable, sometimes so low that drawing blood for tests caused my veins to collapse even with baby needles.  My thyroid had shut down completely, only jump-started again with six months of Synthroid.  I had to learn to live with crashing blood sugar and fluctuating appetite.  For years afterwards, any stress would cause arrhythmias, my heart filling and skipping out of sync, blood pressure popping my skull.  Will the clock stop this time?  

There is always at least one momentous event in every person’s life that becomes punctuation, before and after.  The other side of Before the accident truly was a different me.  I have a vague recollection of who that person may have been, and occasionally get reminders.   Before, I was getting recruiting letters from Ivy League colleges and MIT, a high school senior at sixteen.  After, I couldn’t balance a checkbook or even care about a savings account in the first place.  Before, I had aced the military entrance exam only missing one question, even including the speed math section.  They told me I could chose any rating I wanted, so I chose Air Traffic Control.  Twenty years later, I thumbed through old high school yearbooks at a reunion.   I saw a picture of me in the Shakespeare Club, not recalling what that could have been about.   On finding a picture of me in the Ski Club I thought, Wow, I guess I know how to ski.   A yellowed small-town newspaper article noted I was one of two National Merit Scholars; and in another there’s a mention of a part in the High School Musical.  

This side of After, I kept mixing right with left, was dyslexic with numbers, and occasionally stuttered with word soup.  Focus became separated from willpower, concentration was like herding cats.  The world had become intense.

(chapter 1 continues in memoir)
Dimension.
Compound medium (Neurotransmission [receptor])

Apotheon.
Aminergic media (Trace-Amines [TAAR])

Entheon.
Monoaminergic media (Monoamine Releasing Agents[MAO])

Ataraxia ex Entheogenesis.
Dimethytryptamine[rgic] particle[s] (Pituitary [DMT])

Psychedelion/Absurdia.
Glutamatergic medium (Recurrent Feedback Excitation [Classically 5-HT,2A])

Intracommuneon Macro.
Glutamate particle ([NMDA, AMPA, KAR])

Empathion.
Serotonin particle ([5-HT1-7]).

Horizon Cyclica.
Melatonin particle ([MT1-3])

Sympatheon/Parasympatheon.
Choline/Acetylcholine particle ([mAChRs, nAChRs])

Vigilaeon.
Histamine particle ([H1-4])

Logike.
Dopamine particle ([D1-4])

Stimulatus Minor.
Adenosine particle ([A1-3])

Entactus Major.
Adrenergic particles ([alpha1-2&beta1-3;])

Inhibitus Micro.
Glycine particle ([GlyR])

Intoxicatum Socialite.
gamma-Hydroxybutyric Acid particle ([GHB])

Antipathion.
Sigmaergic particulate ([sigma1&sigma2;])

Opus Opiatus .
Opioidergic particles ([OP1-4])

Aponia ex Apotheotelos.
Oxytocin particle (Pituitary [Hypothalamus-Hypophysis])

Inebriatus Dissociate.
gamma-Aminobutyric Acid particle ([GABA-A&B;]

Aetherion.
Cannabinoidergic particles ([CB1&2])
{[Che]M[icall]-Theory}
Eleanor Sinclair Oct 2016
You cause my veins to overflow
You help my brain to work and grow
My bloodstream to fill with dopamine
You keep me alert and lean
You help to keep me stable
Like walking on a thick cable
You pump my mood with Seratonin
Without you I feel alone and there's nothing I can do
You help me feel the pain in life
A skinned knee or sharp drawn knife
You make my world continue forward
Without you there's disorder
You make me cry
Without knowing why
You're the reason I feel love
Attraction to the person I think of
You reside in a small portion by my brain
Most people treat you with harsh disdain
But because of you I am me
And there's no one else I'd rather be
Today, tomorrow
In time I borrow
I thank you
Pituitary
Larry Potter Aug 2013
You are the systole to the diastole
Of my four-chambered cavity
You are the pulmonary rhythmic control
That fills air to my capillary.

You are the Pituitary Gland
That drowns my bloodstream in dopamine
You take my brain to a wonderland
Drunk and overdosed in Seratonin.

You are the only Mitochondrion
That powers all cellular activity
My Cytoplasms are in motion
For the sexiest Golgi Body.

You are the ultimate synapse
In my every granule of neuron
That gives an involuntary prolapse
To both my dendrite and axon.
jimmy tee Mar 2014
foo
foo
step right this way
stripes
the curly haired whispers of long ago
dirt on the steppes of Maui
life and death
the boldness of breath
tea sets invented
natures idea of hooking
the falsehood of feelings
since you can sense the release of chemicals
into the gut from the gut
art is an effort
all roads are connected therefore lead nowhere
snowflakes
glaciers
the impossibility of a paper bag
well that’s why you got the people you do
blistered surfaces
invert
divert
subvert
magical marketing
lost time is all its good for
crawl
other beings
the past is as real as the now
the future not so much
look for answers under slimy rocks
headlights
mark the trail with crumbs
holiday pay eligibility
pig latin verse
loose lips sinks fish
headlines of tomorrow list all your deeds
originality pounds it out
a ground game if there ever was one
marginalized in a riotous way
burned
turned
spit shined shoes laced real tight
if you stayed this long you must get it real good
explanations spellchecked edited cast aside
meaning lost found lost and lost again
bury your words
measure the sun as a star
triangulate emotion in order to set free the main ingredient
the Bosporus the smallest gap imaginable
a wayward telephone number listed
a matchbook
adding depth to the photograph by controlling aperture
roulette craps poker slots Chinese checkers
numbers never end
gymnasium antics
mans best friend is a meateater
fall follows autumn in the southern hemisphere
three dimensions are all you need all you require
bomber
deny both the entity and the substance found ahead
synchronize your watch with mine
sand as a tonic baby oil pine
money buys packaged happiness
there was this guy named Shakespeare
opinion calls for differences version 2.0
you find the zoo to lead so very far
swing for the fences
jump rope skip sidewalk
ease
mow the concrete lawn from here to horizon
jump rope skip sidewalk
learn forget then act dumb
exit stage left
what is behind animal eyes big mystery
exponential units forge toward the final group session
king me
did the butler do it with the maid
how often is crying necessary
pound for pound the best boxer in the mid century bout of pneumonia
digital meanings end in analog discussions
legions of admirers blinded
where to turn when the lights are forever out
invest in mystery
disappoint those who will never know you
you know it
there is a dogma in need of a collar out there somewhere
temptation looms
the holy word of snowflakes delve into deep philosophy
but I always got along with everybody
why work
pituitary gland
announcing for the first time on record
prince spaghetti and salad extraordinaire
the alphabet ends in z
puddles form on distant planets that orbit toothless suns
men
loud music still comforts the savage beast
years like a tape measure stills the ragged poor children
never to be found never ever ever
solvent says eat thou peas
silo bag deliver us from the tall neighbor police
sidestep any issue involving toys
mounds of troubles can be climbed
Kansas wind also flows down the plain
think about it the sea is mostly under itself
plow
most things look better from behind
a major felony on your record
knowledge in the form of easy chew tablets
hounded by creditors bobby laid low
actors actresses chumps
results are mixed as the queen leaves daring long behind
punctuation fits into softly lit areas of the mind
stay loose
breakdown the door then apologize some more
I left home for this
mistakes are what we call experience
the smiles on bubblegum cards just as real
twenty dollars invested in nothing
pin air to itself
buy time sock it away watch it grow grow grow
cool is always enough for matty
god that guy could drink ant sanitation member into the ground
margins
leaves are raking themselves these days
so long in the past stood there with sled in hand
photographed by a grandfather clock
black envelopes glued by hand in an everlasting jump off point
poetry bound and gagged for fun and zero profit
movable type static feasts
in the groove piled high with the color that represents lament
fifty thousand big ones aint so big anymore
the river left town
cannon at the gate corded shot ingenious ways to destroy people
support the troops
he say one thing then did another wow does that hurt
memory votes early and often
nobody knows the troubled bean
it all hinges on my word being accepted
china feels so very close
the sea full of carp moistened in salt water ** boy o boy
Vermeer at the loom
the bronze age must have been heavy
time waits around the corner selling amphetamines
queer beings exit the saucer and head right for the local hobby shop
end game
paint as a medium large
pine scented maple trees win the prize
in my book the covers speak for themselves
close up to the camera waterfall
find the picture inside the cavity send help
amid ship is the place amid
of course some things are missing
ghost register to vote
went fishing came home with a tummy ache
spend your last dime see the world as it truly is
between avenue b and c there lies a small wombat
fend off the high climbing stairs that offer busy bees
mind the gaping hole that leads to oblivion ny
fog in my ear
steam punk can you believe it had to be invented
the f drive taketh away
sing a song about the street we used to chug a lug at
view my elbow rock
know thyself from the middle ages on toward the detail
love pander both you know
mom became tonnage displaced and torpedoed
you are very astute now quit it
this meeting is over like so many before it
collapse my finger into red colored dust
round up and whittle down the masthead
toothpick sized brains
its no bother at all fire away with logical pounds
page that squire knight the tree stand hunter in velvet horn
live as the yo yo
beat it now not later now before the sun sets far into the Japanese
planning a child check our bargain bins first then decide
overtime halts the easy chair
tiny
mounds clopping at the level of good mine
piles of good old fashioned nonsense
home grown
sunny side up way up
carry a friend everywhere you travel
knock
catch a rising star and keep it there
an alarming increase
happiness is a warm puppy
many are called but few are winners
put in your time split and repeat
wrinkles seem to be catching on
break the law go to *******
now is the time smack in the middle of touchy feely
mountain of jelly
pound of brown
highway exits in turning lane
polished sayings die in mid form
butterfly of course
bank on it twice
inform the theologian that grace is universal
one unit is enough to bounce the basket ball
larcenies are a regrettable offense for jumble minded
loud is the hammer of life by golly
inside
far away lies the land of nod no wait mod
never saw it coming
mud in your minds eye
clean up before the mess is tabled
throw away all hits
kong king
mondo longo pongo in delicate dancing
bear in mind that bares the soul to influence
set up the new roux
pint sized followers found via radio
fell asleep in wonder fat
knives sharpened better get a move on
loudly express a final punt
line one line two line three
when did farming become cold
newborn
disease jumps as the trampoline handles wind jammers
night can be fun but girls are more down there
love me back
mindful of the garter you can relax next year
backwards as a mean average statistical oops
venting hot gas adds to the thrill
is this thing on
swell
and and and and and and and
call the water department I am ready to fly
listen the goat will never know what hit him
long on flavor short on towels
company insists on a quaint meal of posies
behind a successful man is a chair of some kind
got milk
my friend can be talkative but never mind
rounded surfaces slip into nothingness a modern age affliction
we will escape scot free
badness baldness daily princess
puzzle in mind he left his denial on the riverbank
on the reindeer hoof we ride
specialty
how can it be hey baby that’s what we are here for right
the plays is not the thing
work your **** off then find the instruction manual
beep buzz bop
it appeared right there but is gone now
foo
Sheila J Sadr Oct 2014
I am afraid to be afraid too afraid
        to be still but still healing still
afraid to open all my heavy doors that
        he has seen too much unkempt skin
                 that I am afraid of him that we

are broken that he was always broken but we are nothing
         but bandaged apricots in the rotting August sun and he
is afraid we have too much or not enough time
         afraid of us afraid of me afraid to speak but he
                 breathes hot scorpion-kissed lullabies into

my neck into scarlet corners of my pituitary
         poisons all my wearied nerves I used to call him
master used to master our loose laundry I
        refused to fold used to master our loose smiles
                 in front of people I refused to fold for

I used to accept his virulent apologies after business trips
        I used to be afraid of him he used to be afraid
of my amphibian temper afraid of how I
        waxed and waned through tempestuous waters afraid
                that he was always drowning

I am afraid of the dark blue ghosts their red
        angry heat I am afraid to eat cartridged
bullets of my own words silver gunpowdered
        shrapnels if I eat them all lead like you would
seep into the insides of my abdomen

my insides are unreachable have a little
        too much sunshine to carry along when spring
arrives I am scared because the light
        comes in with brilliant blazing eyes
               and sees everything

                            October 8, 2014 7:04 AM
Inspired by "I'm afraid to be afraid" by Victoria Chang
One day as leep by a captivating woke essence in your handscaught in your arms woke getting up after nearly having died ...you gave me your breathing air and calm your back to life, releasing the fear more gregarious, after opening my senses almost incinerated i learned that the stars trembled me to reach it

I started a new life to sharing with you,
sometimes i feel that in your hands sap this life to revive my acuity,
what to unfold my body, she quadrupled making me shiver by quakes your tenderness.

But today on the eighth day of the universe,
divided my feet walking to you for every step of light sonica,
road on it being over your carnal finesse frosted still light beams for aboriginal embracing love with your gutted threat to the end dump body, being today only light story emerged from any pythagorean indigo.

Eight feet by my raving not walk on forgetful slip hugs and achieve that without it on my feet, making you a path of kisses on a piecemeal moan  covering your pleasures in quiet regia union, sealing and my memories to mummifying the most sensitive areas disown make me when you suffer from almost feel much pleasure.

Your feet chafe my eighth willing body as your hands it to me, this is your feet eight  feet, and your finger eleven flute my way to you open your columns wet and trembling, born in the tropics decorative colors flashing your eyes when mine yours take on your innocence as a mother's dismissal, genesis as a maternal layoffs in the grotto shaggy times makes me roof for to paint with my kisses and my mouth full of oils,  full streaking manias those desires that are further under your skin, deep lining up to associate to me ...!

My seven feet is the semi - obese and language lenticular spider mine, unleavened filling the food, its highest sing syllabic, make your paint  blue and moan molecules liquid call themselves, with its concavity make the bio - live surgery last transplanted hallucinate ... vibratory column of my responsibility on your body, cutting all fear, every element of your flesh lying addict to me hanging on my conscience all descontrol physionomy, losing my light steps sonica falling into the abyss of your distances fragrances, falling in ovation interapeutica licking your body my breath, like a sixth sense.

I meditate burning between your legs, dying as i was born of a woman wild servant, fawn as an almost died for a hunter, i prefer my conscience advance day and night to your legs to die of living where one day saw in the recesses; the greatest pleasures with ambitions to break all your secrets, all your defenses to break your falling on my tyranny, allegory huge walk along the invisible to other united take that helped me your surplus usages, enter you and your being, feeling peace penetrate you, not feeling loving preact, or not to have you in the distance but hugging everytime you Drodida to moisten your words to me,  stuttering of desire.

My six feet organizing penetrates you feast on enraged cowbells,wishes with malice and early pregnat, alcamphor extreme longevity and erectile espermiosicotic, with smoothness and irradiating polish your rattling,
spitting cushion on my bones,
like a sapphire on until your clothes,
and as a inseparable attachment unit dispensable.

My bringing night of Saint John in your prayers for imaginary pain coexist
in between taking you doing it my trees by spoil collude copulate,
taking you stormy ray to the phenomenon with the masses elephantine hitting you on your shoulders, your ******* armpits challenge your beasts i want my grind with canines and incisors to create a new universe of shed your joy to laugh about our loving.

The five feet; rub your skin like a shower delicate pituitary
******* kilometers of rivers into criminal triads morbid on your face ...
as well as the sand masturbates the waves,
on the sand and wave nail with my eyes my spells dominating you,
rolling you thousand times to my love trades.

You shall be called Drodida; worship the everlasting orbit of my sight,
when i go for your absence mount your toxin grotesque gasp;
the stalk watered voluminousity  your mouth singing your sweating my
groaning  telling my cries thinking with my worst vanity,
the turn on rotation vanitatory what you just do me with your stalks and not my serous waters in my effervescent mouth in your ******* astral, arrested in any language your thinking lubrication retained me and your touching, what i always touch in you.

The five feet as a tightening necromantic porosity your skin that change shape your temples and declaims pretending aridity lovers bad; lords nomades covered them your area leafy tagled branches covered to neat legends of penalties appealed fables o mytofagic eaters; brotherhoods of the worst disease of not having small Mt. in high with it my staff rooted in resisting demolition and other eroding sorrow, reverie spoil it captive in your infinite journey of ecstasy explosional femic.

The four feet light make a gentle sonica, dry your language lenticular stalk ciliary zone, enter your supra entails, the cave unexplored wider,enter with both arms with herbs pulsating symmetrical cottoned sleeping in your walls and grotto forms  desensitized, insense redeem the pain of window pastoral bishop uniting both peni-***** areas full of gems balsamic, percusionatives full of eyes.

The three feet,
running is my hand movements on your ******* imprisoned,
they are my two hands scratched by scratching the delivery of your birth.
touch my hands that know not touch, when he was born without willing,
but my biohands touch your skin attached to transfer and progressive evil of love for the shores of cry to the center or your body centers clung to my hands over your thoughts rampant, wanting to stay in the fact to see you perisphery merge at twilight of our our sunken eyes friction and wet kisses dormitation delightful of travel and destructive of wickedness;
fulgurative but doubt of living or dying your enjoyment perpetuate.

The second feet,
you are you loving me on my feet vertically like a weak tower,
ash as rain that spread my fire for you.
i take my hands and i took a walk in the seas of ******* bellowing.
you took the scrub the eternal holy and spinal vocabulary of your mouth muted outrage both enjoy your subumbilicales areas.

The first is my feet Drodidaged,
it full landed liquid bathing you, your eyes full of ***** petals and replete, as bastions fallen with their helmets  gnawed your moans, that resound in memory of trees expectant that divert all about us practice,
only your tilt knee …will exalt   the  time for my happiness excessive.

My feet first,
it is my son music turret  ram rope breaking your every arbour grotto, asleep by the dream Drodida you commanded you do to me,
to rock for you and cutting wheel kissing my return to continue all apocalyptic dreams and your most ****** on my ways about it forever astral.
Plane  it me  come the way to sleep with me,
come see how i am able to teach Drodida
ways of sleeping next to me !!


Jose luis  / 0ctober 2003 -  Copyright 15 – all rigths reserved
Metaphysic Spirit  Erogenous Desire...
murari sinha Oct 2010
1.
i may call it a leaflet
i may call it a handbill

but don’t you notice
a large number of gossips
is natant in the air

do you admit that the fuming heart
that’s  glorifying the plate
should be made a must-read
for any seed-bed

the sun tells that to keep-fit
the health of the clouds
the instigation of the perfumed-soap
is required

with that pituitary
some neighing of horses
that is fastened tightly with cork

now see
if you can offer pregnancy
even to the barbie doll

by the by
it should be informed here
if the question of roaming in the woods
is raised

the highly-educated bathroom
feels very helpless

and taking repeated somersaults
in the sunshine
in the rains

the folding umbrella
also have got very much out-of-temper
bobby burns Jan 2013
i don't think i'll play
with pleasant words
tonight -- i'd rather
upset you with my
honesty than delight
you with laughably
phony repartee.

excuse the graphic aspect
but i'm not in the business
of acknowledging faux pas.

a reflection on state of mind;
i'd say solid, though somewhat
soft and liquid as well, like
a plate of spaghetti for brains,
i can't figure out which strand
of grey matter is meant for me
and which is supposed to be
slurped up by lady and *****
nor whether it is my pituitary
or my hypothalamus which is
destined to be taken home
in a doggy bag for seconds.

i really am lost.
In reference to Young Frankenstein, of course.
Jonny Angel Aug 2014
If I could pick the menu,
I'd choose a tasty appetizer of Hendrix pituitary,
& a huge salad covered with Joplin cortex.
Plant's gray matter for the main course,
sides of Jaggar & Morrison stems,
along with a bottle of Springsteen spinal fluid.
I'd definitely have to order
an ample sweet-portion
of Daltrey thalamus
& sprinkle it with some Cobain lobes.
A shot of John's cranium
with a nightcap of Townsend cerebellum
would surely hit the spot.
Jaanam Jaswani May 2014
Row words through the riverous air -
The poison in your papers

Pituitary glands in the sun -
Solar sweat

The ripping in your repetition;
The cracking in your cranium.
All estuaries flow eastbound, and the subterranean rail tracks keep forcing against the estuaries’ grain and dust foundations perpendicularly to them.*



How can a sane proposition -- a quantification of syntax execution (those squirming cuticles through bonds of regression)— an excessive reflection, reflexive inspection,

Prove its sanity through continued suggestion?



Deductive insurrections stirred in memory,

A rumble, causing sediments to crumble,

Wineglasses balanced atop countertops tumble.

Spilling contents upon the grained wooden, elitists' floors.



"Anesthetic, onsetting tuberculosis in breath patterns,

Gavels ringing on rigged tolling tongs in caverns,

Dark tolerances to Copernican astronomy in shadows,

And the handle grinds as boxcar wheels' flints and steels catch and spark in addled locks," I mumbled from a half-nap.



It was surgery, the smooth procedures on the moving trains,

The gains and plectrums scraped against the brains' spider veins,

To reorganize the sane, to bridge the broken definitions changed,

To prevent arguments' bone structure from fractures and sprains.



"Use gavels against the scalpels, sculpt with their judgment," a corona dream's habitant corrugated.

He pounded the gavel's end against the knife to chisel at the pituitary gland pulsing in his subject,

And her arms flailed like a horse's legs in heat-induced convulsion.
I thought it was done.



The Canson Merue train screamed in the night under earth to Yellowknife to meet Canadian soil as the Heavy Breather pounded his gavel.
Fingerpress folds of pain
Along the spine,
And a flare of agony
As she activates pituitary.
Ovaries are dull-achy
A pleasant, grit-teethy pain.

Keep on with your caterpillar walk, pretty lady,
Making me wince, but in a really good way.

Big toe bruisy feel,
Crunchy in the heel,
Colon is swollen,
Adrenals, as always,
Chronically inflamed.

The right foot
is happier than the left,
Why is that?
I don't discriminate
But leftie sulks, for some reason,
Hurtier than sprightly right.

Afterwards, drink lots of water,
Have a good cry, and go to bed.
Renew yourself, through sleep,
Just like she said.
Interesting fact : I'm a qualified reflexologist myself, but I've never properly practised. You can't really self treat, so I have a wonderful lady come to treat me every couple of weeks. It is an amazing therapy, beneficial for body and soul. Try it!
Arfah Afaqi Zia Oct 2015
I confabulate with thee,
Your words cut me so deep,
Leaving scars beneath the holes piercing in my heart,

Your voice so unreachable,
I try to connect with you,
But the feelings of complete and utter love, far gone.

Uncontrollable urges dwelling inside me,
My mouth so dry, out of words,
Trying to communicate in terms of getting thee,

Tranquility far from being found,
Loneliness scares me,
Your presence though, takes my breath away and calms me down,

My weak heart,
Wilts without you,
Defoliating internally and breaking me,

My nervous system,
Secreting enzymes from the pituitary gland,
Enzymes of hopelessness and heart break,

It feels like an ocean without water,
Incomplete and dry,
Waiting to fulfill that thirst of love,

A day without you,
Feels like an era passed,
Changing my surrounding and you on the way,

Devastated I am,
Deprived of that charismatic love we once shared,
Now bond-less, like oxygen being separated from hydrogen,

With ever drop of blood that falls,
Draining all my veins and arteries,
I can swear, I will always love you till the day my heart stops beating.
Tommy Johnson Jun 2014
The frumpy ragamuffin is discombobulated
And throws together an out fit
She dawns a fur coat in the middle of July
And begins to eat Alpo
She exfoliates her feet with a cheese grater

The top notch tuba player with a hook for a hand suffers from bed sores and an over active pituitary gland
I ask him what the difference is between reasons and excuses
He seems to be dancing around the question
But answers in a round about way
Implying that one is organic and natural while the other is genetically modified and man made

It's zero hour
As I look at the broken coo coo clocks
And the rainbow colored rocks

The ragamuffin presumptuously tells me that no one benefits from doubt  
Then calls my friend a bed wetter
And tells us she must go to feed her Venus flytraps
She storms back towards her laboratory

I wonder what she could possibly do in there
I'm dying to know
I'm on the edge of my seat
With one foot in the grave

The tuba player returns wrapped in an electric blanket
He tells us he's just suffered from sleep paralysis
"It's a dead zone, can't get a signal"
He goes on to say that blind faith is is a stepping stone to the truth
A game of William Tell, a stab in the dark
A round of Blind man's bluff with Marco Polo

Testing the waters is a building block of wisdom
And a clean bill of health is corner stone of a happy life
That you have to pay for out of pocket when playing the field
And we are the choices we've made incarnate

Now, the ragamuffin and the tuba player come once more
To tell us the mind is as incorruptible as the soul
But the body will bow to time and wither away
They then walk backwards, back to where ever they came
Corset Oct 2015
How could the mountains
forget
the ground beneath them

or the clouds deny
the sky

we bear this mark
this Galactic conception
and yet
we become fictional

a small etch
of understanding

nonexistent sketch
in the dredge pituitary

a one
dimensional edge
we watch like
a picture
show

existentialist
and it's fiery
seed

shooting it's
burning flames into
the black womb
soon to die
or birth a moon,

the candle is the soul
it is intent
that keeps it lit,

it is our lack of
immaculate
perception
that pulls it apart

Roche's limit
yearning
to string pearls
around heavenly
bodies
as
charisma reaches
to embrace
a burning,
and I see fire.
requiEM Apr 2017
Rain reminds me of you because it is reminiscent of the receptive and raw eros that engrossed my brain;
every interaction provided a drop of ransom to my heart,
which you held priso(ner-vous) hands and pituitary glands slam into the back of cabs

with such frazzled force that
they will brand their passion into passengers

who will jam their own uncontrollable acid into the same canvassed seat,

and they will rub it off on everyone they meet,

and rain will continue to fall

and I will continue to call

and every drop reminds me of you,
what you've done and what you've put me through
Twenty-four elders ,
seven chakra spirits ,
four beasts , now
the origins of carnal desire
and the Lake , of Glass .

The Key of David ,
controlled by spirit ,
is in the temple
of the pineal gland
and in union with holy
secret .

Subordinate to God's will ,
for thyne is the kingdom ,
thyroid and throat chakra --
the flaming sacred heart ,
triumphant in time and
tribulation .

The Witness and his
golden sword of fire ,
the Seat of the Soul
attacked and defended
from evil .
To Virtue , the final victory
is delivered ,
true love and the Seeds of
the Cosmos .
the body as  the Temple of Solomon
wordvango Oct 2017
conscience bequeaths I must amend this tale
of bravery to expose, I did nothing out of
this world nor above the call of a normal human
I only did what I saw was called for.

Bravery is a short-sighted woe of a fool
at times a man not thinking , seeing
someone in need I guess we have this blindless
to feel to go without thought impose

Our own cost of justice upon what we saw
and time has its limits for the mind
to fully digest, like a fine three-course dinner
we must have time for it to impress

but, once seen, once saw , once
the raw information progresses to the
pituitary gland and adrenaline
flows, instincts take over and we fight or fly

now this time, as this story digresses, I saw what I thought
was an insufferable transgression of a man
beating his dog alongside the road,
a Dalmatian she was, so I took his right arm and broke it.

I only spent one night in jail where they fed me bologna
Two pieces of bread and an apple.
Let me out the day after. And I have wondered
ever since what happened to the dog and
where that ******* is

I want to break his left arm, too!
ATL Jun 2020
living sidelives
in light rain-

between a cigarette and a dog too old
to know what it’s barking at...

a man silvershorn about the hair
and the soul; begetting half of a life and a life’s half-ending.

a question placed between the asphalt cracks, beside the flecks of ash...
what does his heart entreat?

(such foul anatomical inaccuracies abound
in this metaphor for the seat of all feeling.
it can be an axis you know. emerging from somewhere within the hippocampus, then the pituitary gland, down to the kidneys, ******, or thyroid just to circle all around again. it recruits and unfolds- projecting outwards to come back unto circuits for grounding)

I cannot know.
Ken Pepiton Feb 2022
2022 2:04

the VA Webex conference
future, bogus billable hours, a job,
and something to use old sad men for,

measuring, me re assuring, my more
aggressive conserver of self-will,
trained to lead, since learning to read, DID
that not occur, in each boy's life

dread of the cobalt bomb,
constancy of light speed and pituitary assisted
thought speed,
pinging pong responding, thinking we may
think
along similar lines, so, I
decided,

to find a reason to bring to any reasonings,
I recross, as many of my first reasons
are in a framed loom, with four corners,

that bronze on the map coordinates,
marks nothing, four lines dividing states,
grants given the takers and tamers of the land,

whose sons have gone on to inherit this wind.
Imagine that.
Millions of letters aligned in code to readers
of ascii nada mas this exists in a series of events

solid backups, foolproof, we say CFO proof,
in the pre-Y2K IT game, geek veteran deaf,
high-demand HR,

so much so, mucho mucho, skip the queue
step right up
look achew

gotta tale or a story, is that your's that
you're eating?

Oh, my camera is still on I'm talking to me,
in my perifery
a mete-able bit of time delay,

the in, the way, das sein, dime a time

slip on through, think we may
as well
as any, I'd agree, and off we'd go

wild blue yonder, but that,
was no longer than this two weeks,

less, far less, threaded through now,
the real me in this chair,

in the back ground, one of the service's
perks, choose from these the background,
set and setting, photo director's call

Art's call, talent is a tool, shut up,
Intuit, tweak. Test… fo' won't you shut up see

that's me. On TV, in my easy chair,
on a Federally mandated budgeted service,
to me, that allows me eight easy
pseudo-greenscreens sets, one,
defaulted to my subconscious profile,
I'll assume,
that's me. On TV, in my easy chair,
rocking in floor lit wonder in front of
Gobekli Tepi,

and nobody says a word.
Convergence foreseen in the nineties,
has occurred,
much of this sub-mit-sci-o-usly con meat
mind excuses for war,

well, long ago, it became this game,
few lived so long as to need to know
the patience going gives a slow belly
and a liar.

Dancing at the door of the iliad within,
feel free to think, that me.

The camera is on, in text, seeing me
seeing me glance down, my fingers,
pointing from the mirror, not in the mirror

my face me face, same effect, not mirrored
neurons, my neurons, feeding back

way too late to care, no coda queue for me
that is no monkey in that mirror, that is me.

Tvme offers me his right as I offer mine,
omagod that's me. On TV, in my easy chair,

this never gets old, this phase on one of these
fridays, I can do one of these groups.
with some pretty sad sacks, when seen on TV,
I fit right in, with
Gobekli Tepi, floorlit, pre-roof

Real as can be imagined, this world
common old men, commonly share
live talking head time, everybit as
trustworthy as Kronkite spelled with a c.

The c at the center of we in time where u
find sounds form some things that seem ok
if a crow caw does mean something, only that
I heard you, ok, did you hear me I don't know.

That may be life's most enjoyable time
for any idle thought poured into a word,
there, breathe, you have it, I read, read
I said, I can.

I can tell you, partly, how I came to know
I can read:

We lived behind the courthouse
with the machine gun from world war one
and absolutely olympish champs from
army navy and marines, over there
over there,
across my street, is the lawn I play on,
over there,
over there, is the jail for drunk injuns
over there is where I learned the audience

reaction to a Hualapai child, being
evangelized, he was in a mob of snot nose,
rez kids, in the nineties, eh, think about it,

this kid in the crowd looks at me,
and my stunningly ebullient zealous wife,
he says,
my grandpa has never been in jail,
and I think
my grandkids won't be proud of that.

And I'm kinda proud to think of that,
as a test, love your neighbor as clause…

that part you work out, some days amaze,
some days,
right back in the maze,
picking up fragments of prayers we made
effective,

sort of, means, sorting idle words for worth,
is what sorting any thing is for, what it's worth,
or what its worth, that difference,

a breath equivalent,' force of mind to think,
after one another then and now, the
whole life on earth is better 2020 wide,

on the layer where nothing we learn is new,
we passed that so long ago in terms of
jellotime and bulletspeed and thought
godspeed in biblical time

using the stacking of the stories for effect,
the honor to the scribes taken from the brite
sons of the weavers and spinners of yarns,
tenders of tavern, need not apply,

ah, but when the Hans were in, we could test,
life was to be examined, prepare to enter

the gate, and wait for results,
life is that test, still
smallest yes voice says.
Ken Pepiton Feb 2022
Half a bottle of something easy to drink too much

any story wishes telling, not all find tellers
with time to think a story through,
from when to now then makes no
difference, if I think
or if I say, or if I write,

fold the swan and call it a crane, none shall
find the time to learn we
folded the old and put it away, in time
to think
ever
a fine place made ready for me, with
endless ink and endless paper, and air
to breathe,

- trigger guard, woven structure in
- not out, knot, one, none, zero
- from now to when

---

It must be the message I am, go, or stop,
I know not,
I wait, in time, a mind, as yours, am I, I think

in time and sequence one thing then another,

wishing and hoping and praying, eh
that
won't get him into your heart, you've gotta, I
for get what ,
I never wanted him into my heart, I got a key

idea, locked in here, in my horde of true
as ever, til I die, I won't lie,
I believe life is for a reason,
go

guess you know better, but I could care less,
really, a little less,
if you believe believe is a verb, an act you make,
an action you take,
to wonder if

yes or no, I do be
lief as not say, I'd lieve well enough alone,

Yes my advice, I advize we listen,
is this an infinity, as a story, that's all I wish to know,
does this idea live on,
as I wonder
if it did?

Richer than I, in some holy story too, tooo much too
perfectly accurate, as to details, how we all came to be,
as we be,
babbling fools, each speaking his own evil, curses,
foiled, or fooled, a thousand
times a child may try,
but once one listens,
this long, we have that child mind,
ours, to imagine with, and who think ye

calls halt to all we have begun to have as if we saw it,
coming to pass, ha, ha, teleos- if I may

this is the day of wonder, wonder, any if or how or why,
will you, willn't you, think
and join the dance, we are thinking time is fine enough,

now we add the eggs. Ha ha, we have cake in no time,
watch.

---

Yes, yes, happy with that, did I hear war,
Athenam Gabe ubforms me,
is goddess of strategy in war, and of wisdom.
Artemis is goddess of the hunt,
I stand corrected, adding that
I did know Athena had a city dedicated to her,
where Dionysian exostosis occurred, if we
have that strain isolated, those first *****
viral ideas, when boys sprouted horns
and girls were given eyes to see with,
see through this story.
Ted Talks
a familiar voice,
Live by learning all that happens
could have happened
another way, think
what happens when this works, Trinity,
did I give Feynman a ride, from Alamogordo,
did we leave his Plymouth, by the side of the road?

O, it seems
so, it seems, somethings are worth the time
to think
some things  have been thought since
Aphrodite was a figure in a drama, audio
listened to by my grand sons, imagine that

Zeus, I have  your wish, I laugh, I did,
I thought I'd died.

Did you ever imagine a thing like that?

----

Moirai, ai of my vision, my mission made plain,

I can complain, aye, I, may press the one point
I am
possibly past history or any point in time this
could exist,
I am the Grandfather calling war to task, asking who
authorized you, as an author from the last
generation of unaugmented parentage,

listen, life has never been so good, for so many,
ever in records, chronicles and stele in stone,
never have so many had it so good,

that's the truth, but
something seems,
off, a bit, stinky, maybe, cheese, at first, seemed
so, wait, abit.
think on this that has wafted to our senses,
as the prayers of saints,
and
that is an old rub, what are saints, and angels,
among men of my kind,
seeded kinds, my kind.
Mind your manners, be as we
dance the doe see doe, see the people,
we are those,
okeh,
I remember, I was a child and now I am old,
and ever is after ever began, and some
children lack access to Percy Jackson's spoils
of war,

who knew what when,
the romans, then, that sort of men, who fits,
the mold, the mindless peasant stock,
we are not those
proles, the breeders,
are we only breeders, we who read all the
**** and Jane,

and some of Huckleberry Hound.
?
Hounds, reminds me, this guy,
his name was maybe, Christelli, but
I would not swear,

he said that when I wed, he would give me
a blue-tick hound, from his champion *****,

so I wed, that blonde from Cuyguna,
But Tony Christelli, he re
nigged on me, left me,
waiting for the dog, that I would have loved,
like a boy loves a dog,
I would have, no doubt,

ah, we see the crowd of mortal witnesses,

did we listen this long, and leave, walk away,
thinking
what will happen with those twelve baskets,
left overs, what
happens with those?

Hear this, old me, now me, listen,
in the air,
the story telling itself to our grands, our next,

next to wonder,
next to never know, as mortals never do, but
we tell of whens when reason was
a think we did,
together,
we reasoned, as you play, we
reasoned, bet this was worth that
if you could see it my way,
and I saw I was seeing
from where I was
con form in form
ing
thing
ing think ink ink in mind
and time
a word, approved,attested to, you

think we should keep kicking?
this from just past the lizard level, flee, or
wait
Pituitary instant, pow, that fast,
stop,
at this point, stops
abrupt
calm, no clench, wondering what cost,
do you have
to pay.
Horrible cost, un mentioned, gore, or
was it only

I don't know, shunning, or out casting, ghosting;

that. that  idea, we never had that, but in hell,
so this is that hell,
ha, work it out.
\
Besides, what if wonder if are not the same act,
in a play for the laurels?
Onoma Dec 2023
pituitary phenom, muppet with unshelled

eggs for eyes.

whose dilation's the yoke of a molding cellar

wall, that has never been looked on.

a dry grey mane that wigs his skull like a

cobwebbed broom in overcast.

his slanting squat protracts & threatens to

dislodge his elongated bones.

each howling the winds of his caution--

caved in his overeager mouth.

a knuckled-up grip obscures the torso

of his son.

which by proportion notes the size of his

hands, akin to manhandling a loaf of bread.

though bread plays its part in parable, as so

its body bleeds.

Saturn devouring his Son, his head & right

arm depict the clean cut of a single bite, or

a meticulous succession.

the upper body is a thick outline of blood that

refuses to run--as the left arm of Saturn's Son seems

to gag him in protest.

his buttocks stream down his dangling legs--a

cosmic voodoo doll with its pins popped out.
*Inspired by a painting by: Francisco de Goya.
Onoma Apr 2020
flame...

pituitary almond,

smokeless lisp

of silence,

kept.

up and out of your

own, articulated

breath.

breathlessly gone--

melting canonizations.

gaunt pools of suns.

relit.

— The End —