love   apple   like   time   know   feel   heart   bed   little   life   home   red   boy   georgie   sleep   away   left   dear   ruth   gone   just   right   long   mind   hope   hair   mi   parts   say   fear   met   laugh   makes   sailing   make   tell   hands   day   poem   different   small   words   private   wish   legs   child   man   free   te   welcome   easy   apples   meteorite   smile   flower   want   way   arms   look   eyes   better   war   lie   good   thing   truly   teeth   passion   thought   work   seen   letters   friend   talk   brought   future   fingers   knew   imagination   sure   told   space   cold  la   mask   black   big   bite   age   size   shadow   petals   inane   stretchmarks   medic   we've   wouldn't   hear   tap   really   best   goes   face   gray   maybe   things   dream   tongue   forever   hate   set   room   death   need   truth   comes   night   lost   calves   pain   end   years   brings   touch   feet   blades   memories   new   core   times   dead   favorite   finally   minute   brain   hearts   getting   belly   far   rain   blue   knees   filled   stupid   woke   cream   fit   young   brown   se   fat   tan   cough   spoke   says   unlike   footprints   ******   rough   forward   buckle   blues   task   shoulder   grace   *******   reason   nostrils   firm   juice   palms   someday   mis   thumbs   screams   arguments   wobble   *****   elbows   *******   wrists   headaches   amo   pesky   ligaments   one-liners   thoughts   later   ash   clouds   lips   dreams   breath   mouth   hold   sense   taking   world   bit   speak   dance   gave   shall   ready   skin   air   single   breathe   button   peace   choices   hill   wrong   weak   close   use   quite   sky   phrase   darkness   justice   sound   unable   brave   holding   deep   grabbed   ****   try   building   paper   lunch   think   kind   stay   days   smooth   perfect   learned   care   fair   hard   grant   sweet   high   fruit   short   terms   kept   relationship   underneath   presence   water   looking   fool   sorrow   tree   second   delicate   nearly   happy   line   tall   tried   sad   satisfied   point   feels   falling   purpose   game   lazy   que   amor   agree   known   naught   loss   broke   failed   games   limp   grin   final   spring   act   south   flare   race   sake   car   large   wishes   neck   blink   knife   seeing   idea   steve   company   greens   spread   ship   lo   sally   sum   drowned   december   weep   sting   smiles   lessons   promises   successful   whistled   drowns   perfectly   pleasing   failure   brothers   cliche   harder   thirteen   ale   signs   limit   serenity   mundane   origin   chat   sapphires   handshakes   skinny   contagious   succeeding   super   refer   maturity   destination   civil   uncomfortable   collects   clack   liz   beatles   vez   attract   accomplishment   backside   throes   flaccid   audi   oneself   beastie   applesauce   naivete   bungalow   outie   there's   couldn't   isn't   they're   let's   'n   primos   primas   cantuta   fronton   redd's   mott's   innie   phallicly   tiny   fight   yo   para   walk   ****   hello   light   flash   silent   stone   does   forth   conversation   polite   green   minutes   ****   clear   flesh   couple   wake   anger   throw   torn   tangle   play   shattered   soldier   land   victim   carry   battlefield   came   darkest   blood   battle   warm   shine   reminds   lose   eye   dismay   hide   impossible   fast   earth   grab   stand   die   worse   year   people   white   story   hit   god   anxiety   realize   fall   asleep   dark   course   apart   morning   remain   beauty   ****   slowly   start   happen   remember   pray   past   easily   straight   mean   hand   driving   instant   thunder   messages   friends   old   coming   pen   seeds   shape   wasted   word   living   tore   shadows   knowing   bad   class   joy   trust   leaves   path   sun   ways   leave   meet   broken   head   weight   means   mountain   boys   true   stars   learn   sliced   naive   decided   player   actually   reality   ease   music   hood   desperate   promise   wishing   begin   miss   caressing   moan   thighs   heard   pretty   emotion   figure   floor   exotic   sand   hits   angel   awake   dreaming   probably   wins   seek   stretch   loved   tears   heartbreak   punk   walking   piece   furniture   unreachable   roots   near   deserve   simple   cats   tail   precious   lovers   loves   mother   tongues   clueless   share   taken   yesterday   faith   freedom   ripe   cursed   running   yes   unknown   feeling   going   stairs   opposite   wonder   afloat   packed   bones   acting   playing   wind   passions   dismissed   hourglass   reached   stares   mouths   singing   shaped   trapped   toll   dies   rock   trunk   discovered   especially   dull   choice   awful   patient   great   indoors   attached   thread   shoulders   warms   bright   bring   ending   drowning   sadness   winter   baby   looked   cute   beating   tight   kids   crying   ran   intoxicating   growing   saying   opposites   melancholy   gives   follow   clearly   dove   tu   soon   entwined   juicy   drown   laid   took   moved   bear   anyways   shirt   negative   clean   guide   sore   location   faux   nodded   glance   caught   chances   week   started   today   obvious   sweat   ***   quiet   laughed   worry   round   ladies   mama   smack   goodbye   rising   sides   wished   beds   infinite   positive   scared   admittedly   mistakes   meal   common   rises   toes   bullets   bound   suited   birth   clothes   belt   pounds   ground   barren   sitting   table   woe   swimming   stick   deepest   motion   cleared   sing   angry   action   sons   smiled   bedroom   wall   wiped   grins   mad   july   store   road   snow   pulse   important   adventure   exactly   foundation   trap   colors   floors   neon   outside   language   summer   north   fifty   served   wavy   kick   raw   thirty   row   changed   hanging   lied   drenched   companion   begins   strength   flies   direction   okay   stories   inky   stubborn   cloud   track   described   lover   replaced   pit   packs   circling   honest   wage   dinner   slave   paradox   faking   screamed   lightning   exterior   stopping   complete   deal   rifle   dependent   gifts   dancer   vision   students   horror   punch   anymore   pack   sagging   folk   honestly   tearing   prepared   creatures   listening   rhythm   unique   roar   card   glass   stage   desert   offered   fought   suffer   awoke   master   eating   furnace   glad   choir   graceful   *****   treasure   ships   bark   musical   strand   bee   finished   pink   slink   stronger   disclose   gravity   schedule   march   medicine   hates   weird   brush   laughs   helped   june   pitched   dumped   tense   sin   withdrawn   stem   proved   whispered   anew   amazing   louder   english   knocked   chilly   boots   false   mistake   toffee   whistle   smirk   gas   poised   buttons   bet   necks   elate  vi   bleak   decades   intention   plane   swollen   unseemly   en   sir   creeping   tells   success   doth   ***   balance   ant   fourth   fits   matters   pan   shook   tingle   dusty   reaching   thanked   careers   pile   tempt   ix   xi   xii   xiii   moms   hushed   spears   twinkling   works   fairytale   double   fighter   shocked   barriers   boot   thanks   solitary   lesson   owned   systems   groan   weekend   tomatoes   cider   calculating   drawer   partially   handy   stumpy   album   appealing   pet   unfortunately   jokingly   hotel   teacher   tag   eighteen   leg   dash   peep   betwixt   swear   attempt   inescapable   venues   worker   suit   coughed   remembers   rhyme   listed   chatter   stuff   assist   blocks   sheen   stanzas   jobs   cleaned   handshake   natural   moi   fantasy   cheers   smaller   curl   nay   leaning   frequent   eggs   cuando   el   desayuno   tus   beige   imperfections   difficult   darlings   overcome   oranges   keys   newfound   fairly   occasions   stats   ponder   pools   ablaze   rushes   fret   quell   breads   progress   comfortable   settling   desks   tile   trails   rainy   homemade   stunned   cemetery   plus   ideas   avocados   bananas   apply   latch   rocky   digress   experiences   vacation   sanctuary   earlier   rocket   precise   various   author   pie   explosions   *******   lighter   matched   plunged   isaac   jefferson   abe   measured   saturday   claw   welcoming   gear   trained   suffocation   leapt   gap   lee   disturbed   es   thrill   alarming   grill   frankly   importantly   una   fray   candied   amalgamation   nasty   american   optimism   guns   craters   contracted   rampant   unattainable   spilled   courts   carrots   shuffled   combined   blonde   forgave   artillery   sandwich   comfier   limitation   personalities   friday   strongly   crude   banana   tennis   limits   quaking   recesses   loot   andromeda   shells   playful   luckily   area   upwards   flail   largest   sappy   freckles   biology   fruition   cases   overtook   pinks   instruments   brownies   birthmark   reinforce   laptop   pirates   blinks   frontier   forwards   resonate   capacity   mumbled   marched   scraping   prompts   multiply   haiku   football   como   function   unfeeling   eighty   backsides   prompt   raced   blare   likewise   pro   chrome   gran   pears   puede   corazon   elated   indecisive   basketball   burgundy   synonyms   braced   effeminate   mutually   duties   companies   honeymoon   flailing   patted   mayo   headon   pero   misma   marveled   aforementioned   abhors   forefront   hesitating   identical   creepy   possessive   screeched   gotcha   infidelity   friction   barrage   nonetheless   disparate   itchy   apex   gettysburg   lunchtime   pickup   muchas   then   and   trading   distinguishable   pitches   bunk   ven   ladylike   encompasses   diagrams   underlying   spaghetti   soccer   trashcan   papa   disarming   finalmente   clashed   rosie   smirks   snapshot   pug   songbird   spitfire   yanks   thankfully   mesa   flexing   virginia   effectively   variations   eclipses   tambien   outrun   incident   vitamin   willpower   underdog   hardboiled   miniscule   checkerboard   entrust   siento   heavyweight   davis   thyroid   foreshadowing   frances   heresy   starburst   deficiency   sawing   peruvian   leche   antithesis   villanelle   alliteration   hora   vivir   clacking   droopy   whizzed   britney   futbol   parameters   disney   mangos   disproportionate   orbiting   tanka   stubby   intro   listo   goldilocks   teamwork   pbj   exemplifies   rey   retainer   tenia   triples   espanol   estuvo   castillo   ferrying   suficiente   racecar   dorky   garganta   veo   julio   peripherals   labios   rojos   foreseeable   frito   groggily   venn   macbook   inanely   hubo   goofball   you've   she's   weren't   wasn't   we're   others'   you'll   should've   haven't   what's   you'd   they'd   man's   boys'   god's   woman's   fruit's   orion's   newton's   lincoln's   adam's   momma's   ******   jackson's   audis   dulces   disproportionately   charon's   deseos   avocadoes   hailey   eran   beatles'   ingles   he   she   it   rackets   --   hashtag   sixty-three   duct-tape   joysticks   sherman's   15   6th   32   500   7th   2013   extraño   barenaked   tamales   6-year-old   tierras   derpy   ewell   rom-com   themit's   adan   mudpits   puddlepits   war--hell   culp's   shitpits   completaron   chocolatada   levantanse   duraznos   n'sync   huevo   cholitos   levantaron   manzanas   endurece   wozniak's   dispara   nuez   open-endedness   innies   cankles   dunder-mifflin   tunks   buck-toothed   outies   grief-blown   a-gawking

Her hair was long, brown, and wavy, like homemade brownies.
Her eyes were different shaped blues, lighter than sapphires.
Whenever she blinks, I look forward to seeing those sapphires again.
Her teeth are perfect imperfections, retainer and all.
Her bite is one of love but packs a punch.
Her nostrils flare when angry but remain miniscule.
Her mouth a light pink, like Starburst, my favorite by far.
Her smile brings me back from the darkness every. Single. Time.
Her tongue is exotic and playful, and I long for it.
I have never heard her whistle, but I know it like the back of my hand.
Her laugh is intoxicating and contagious; I find myself acting the fool just to hear it.
Then she coughed and I patted her baby back.
Whenever those pesky headaches come, we lie still, thus foreshadowing what will come.
Our arguments are stupid, but they happen nonetheless.
Her neck is thin and ripe for the taking.
Her *******, much like Goldilocks: not too big, not too small, but just right.
Her spaghetti arms flail about when I act the fool, and then that precious laugh again.
Her elbows are full of cream, and you will never find them itchy like mine.
Her wrists are disproportionately large for her size, which makes her all the more unique.
Her handshakes are delicate. Ladylike.
Her long and skinny fingers were weird to me once, but they have contracted and fit perfectly between mine.
Her palms tell the future, and she has great things in store for her.
Her thumbs have no story to tell, positive or negative.
Her shadow is smaller than hers, but no shadow can overcome her.
Her cats keep her company, but luckily we found each other.
Her heart is as big as her brain, and thankfully they mutually agree on most occasions.
Her ******* are stumpy and droopy; this is no Snow White fairytale.
Her shoulder blades are tense but minute.
Her belly button (an innie, not an outie, not an Audi) never collects ****.
Her private parts pulse like her heart above with passion.
Her backside is small and smooth. She has no hourglass figure, yet she does, too.
She has no stretchmarks in my mind, but I have enough for the both of us, anyways.
Her whole system is that of a heavyweight fighter; she’s a little spitfire.
Her legs are perfect and skinny; she has “the gap”, not that it matters.
Her knees buckle and wobble in my presence. I should know: mine do when she is near, too.
Her ligaments reinforce her, much like her willpower.
She has the calves of a dancer, but she has not trained in years.
The ***** of her feet are poised, ready to spring into action to tap tap tap away.
Her toes curl against mine, in an attempt to hold hands.
I have never seen her footprints, and I have no intention of ever seeing them. Ever.
Her promises elate me since I know she is good for her word.
Her one-liners are worse than mine, and I laugh all the harder for it.
Her grin, or rather her smirk, warms my heart like a furnace in the winter.
The last time we spoke, it was mumbled in bed, a hushed goodbye for that awful biology class.

She is my rock, ever leaning forwards
with nothing but my Dunder-Mifflin shirt to keep her warm for the foreseeable future.

I told her, Te amo,
well before she was ready to say that inane phrase back in English.
Inane since words do not do it justice.

But then she broke my heart.

My hair was tearing at the roots, unable to stay attached.
My eyes were set ablaze with passion anger, if it weren’t for my sorrow to drown it out.
Whenever I blink, I see a snapshot of what it was, what it cannot be, what it will never be again.
My teeth were her favorite: buck-toothed and all, but that was when I smiled. They hide from you.
My bite isn’t nearly as big as my bark, but do not tempt me.
My nostrils have hair creeping out; it’s hard to keep clean after something like that.
My mouth is louder than all my thoughts combined, but I still can’t find the right words to say.
And my smile would be what brought her back from the darkness every. Single. Time.
My tongue, like my private parts, is limp and dead; phallicly flaccid, there is no passion here.
I have never whistled, but why should I learn now? I keep quiet to quell the roar.
My laugh is contagious, or so they tell me. It’s high pitched. Effeminate.
I cough. I get stares. My cough makes you uncomfortable. Your infidelity makes me uncomfortable.
Whenever those pesky headaches come, I lie still, and for a minute, just a minute, I die. I’m at peace.
Our arguments were stupid, but now there’s nothing left to talk about.
My neck is fat and swollen. **** my thyroid. This vitamin D deficiency is taking its toll.
My ******* are fat, but a momma’s boy would be: too much in the trunk, not enough under the hood.
My arms are as big as her thighs. We measured. Maybe it gave her peace knowing she was small.
She tells me I have a black woman’s ***, and elbows, to boot. Not enough cream. Not enough carrots.
My wrists are the cankles of my life.
My handshake is firm, but is it firm enough?
My short and stubby fingers claw upwards, desperate for air. Her hands are nowhere to be seen.
My palms have no future, and I worry I’ll follow suit.
My thumbs tell all the best stories when joysticks are underneath them.
My shadow eclipses me. It’s not how you feel, it’s how you function.
I’ve never owned a pet. Maybe that’s why I don’t feel possessive.
My heart was full of love, but the love spilled out when you broke it on Friday, December 6th – Saturday, December 7th, 2013, 5:00 AM.
My ******* are tiny and ***** from the cold. I feel the cold indoors, too.
My shoulder blades are dull and sagging with the weight of my world on my shoulders.
My belly button (an innie, not an outie, not an Audi) collects all of the ****.
My private parts, like my tongue, are limp and dead; phallicly flaccid, there is no passion here.
My backside is large and rough. Are you getting the point?
I have all of the stretchmarks, for I am her antithesis.
My whole system is that of down and out former has been; I’m all out of gas.
My legs are thick and fat; I suffer friction with my tree tunks.
My knees buckle and wobble in her presence; I’m weak around her because I’m weak.
My ligaments are partially torn, which perfectly exemplifies me: hanging by a thread.
I have the calves of a soccer player out of shape. Hashtag truth.
The ***** of my feet sting -- unable to carry two hundred plus pounds of failure.
I have finally seen footprints; I’m just glad they were mine.
Her promises mean nothing. My trust is shattered. My faith withdrawn from this or any other world.
My one-liners make everyone laugh but me; I know I mask the pain. Do they?
My grin was effectively wiped off my face when you told me.
The last time we spoke, it was on good terms. But how good are those terms with this double size?

I was comfortable, lazy, ever dependent on her
with everything in my life, especially that which she didn’t need to deal with.

I told her, You deserve to be dumped.
She nodded slowly, crying, and whispered back, I know. My hate described by inane words.
Inane since words do not do it justice.

Then, it hit me.

Our hair is fairly short together, not unlike our time apart since the incident.
Our eyes well up, and the only drowning I hope we get is of love.
Whenever we blink, I want to make sure that I am in front of you, and you in front of me.
Our teeth, much like our personalities, are disparate, and that’s okay.
Our bite is one of teamwork: you can’t bite with one row of teeth.
Our nostrils could use some work. Hair and flare rhyme, but neither fits in our time.
Our mouths chat chat chatter away. We have nothing to talk about. We have so much to talk about.
Our smiles are the reason why people find us cute, and they’re the reason why they were shocked. Let’s give them another reason.
Our tongues dance across language barriers. Mi español no puede vivir sin tu ingles.
We have never whistled. Finally! Some common ground (opposites attract).
We’ve been told that our laughs are nearly identical, like a choir singing in different pitches. Sing.
We cough together, because we know we can take care of each other.
Whenever those pesky headaches come, we take a deep breath, hold on tight, and move forward.
Our arguments ARE stupid. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Our necks are like the Happy Meal and the Super Size Me. I love to see us smile.
Our ******* are life; I don’t know what mine do, but I know yours will come in handy someday.
Our arms have their “things”; you have that birthmark, and I have unseemly hair growing everywhere.
Our elbows could be a rom-com: one smooth, one rough, but they can’t get enough.
Our wrists make sure our hands can keep us afloat.
Our handshakes are delicate but firm.
Our fingers latch onto each other, like a bear trap.
Our palms SMACK together when you high five me. Goofball.
Our thumbs are bound to get sore if we keep caressing our hands while holding onto each other. Raw.
Our shadows slink away when they see us shine so bright.
I hope to God that Rosie the pug is as derpy as your heart can take.
Our hearts have duct-tape all over them…it’s a work in progress, but bones get stronger when broken.
Our ******* are disproportionate. There, I said it.
Our shoulder blades dance across each other when we lie back to back.
Our belly buttons (innies, not outies, not Audis) keep us close to our moms; you’ll agree someday.
Our private parts tingle as we move in motion and rhythm. It’s been too long, mi amor.
Our backsides are like Venn diagrams: yours could easily fit in mine.
I have all the stretchmarks, but I hope you get them after birth someday. We share everything else.
Our systems are the underdog rising up, straight to the top; it took its time, and its chances.
Your legs could fit in one of my own. Please refer to the stretchmarks line.
Our knees buckle and wobble. Please refer to the private parts line.
Our ligaments have taken a beating, but somehow, there’s a strand holding us together.
We have calves of different passions, but we both know what the sweet sting of success feels like.
The ***** of our feet touch down as we’re back to reality. The honeymoon stage is over. Cloud 9.
Unfortunately, we’ve seen footprints, but I think they’re circling back around to meet up again.
This promise should be the last until the most important one comes up. This is it.
Our one-liners keep us close to our dorky sides. Honestly, something is probably wrong with us.
Our grins (or smirks) show that we can’t really stay mad at each other for TOO long.
The last time we spoke, it was yesterday night (or was it earlier today?), but I’m sure you woke up.

We ******* up. Admittedly you more than me,
but I digress: one mistake is not enough to throw away two years of work.

I forgave you.
You were elated. Let’s try this once more, with feeling!
I’ll inanely tell her again, *Te amo.

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)

Routine tests
failed
Number Four reactor
Walls melt, floor buckles
Gamma disaster
one half million men mill
by the banks of the Dnieper
Level Seven Event
Unprecedented disaster
Flesh sloughed off
Rounding the corner
cellular structure instantly scrambled
eggs toast and jelly
Gaze upon the elephant's foot
Bathe in green glowing brilliant stochastic calculation
Mutant dogs roam the tainted halls of Prypiat
Disparities reflect
true death toll unknown
Concerned Scientists shed their lights
on the encircling environment
Glittering glass carpets coat abandoned streets
Creaking Ferris wheel slowly turns into madness
Toxic twin of Fukushima
Thyroid Leukemia Cellular Damage Tumor
the caustic clouds still settling today
Generation after generation
dead women and children
Global impact particle spread
none have been spared
even into tomorrow.

Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder
Anemia
Thyroid
Lordosis
Scoliosis
Diabetes
Asthma
Depres­sion
Anxiety
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

This is my brain
This is my iron
This is my back
This is my pancreas
This is my lungs
This is my mind
This is my experience
This is my health
This is me

Not having perfect health
Is nothing to be ashamed of
It is something to be proud of
Look, I have so much going on
And I am still here
Standing tall
Taking life day by day
Getting through school
And work
While dealing with all of this

No one has perfect health
And if they do,
They are lying

Life was not meant to be easy
Life was not meant to be a breeze
Life was not meant to be clear
Or make sense
We may question life
We may question a higher power
We may even question ourselves
But
Just keep pushing
Because I believe anyone can get through anything
When the
Proper health
Is provided

I am not a doctor
I am a student
Who is young
And has her whole life ahead of her
IF she remains healthy
I am not educated on the human body and its functions
But I know
From experience
That hardships come
And that effects you
Physically
And emotionally
I am not a doctor
But I am here
And I am spreading my word
And offering my shoulder
To those who want or need it

This is me
This is my health
This is my experience
This is my mind
This is my lungs
This is my pancreas
This is my back
This is my iron
This is my brain

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
Anxiety
Depression
Asthma
Diabetes
Scoliosis
Lordosis
Th­yroid
Anemia
Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder

This is me
This is us

No. Are you a twin?
No, but I have a friend with similar interests.
That's close enough.

CASTRATION PROBLEMS
From E-How: Thyroid Problems: The thyroid glands are positioned in the trachea underneath the larynx. The hormones that are manufactured by the thyroid gland control a mammal’s functioning metabolism. They also affect protein, lipid and carbohydrate levels. The thyroid glands, therefore, are vital to the body's overall system maintenance. The symptoms of thyroid disease in mammals include fatigue, lack of interest in activity, loss of focus, weight gain, skin infections or a change in nature, such as becoming aggressive.

Goose bumps on your legs, muted thyroid
Dulled emotions to suppress memories of the abuse,
And yet, your spirit explodes!

Under the curtain you are an open book
Red letters wanting to be read, and then…
The fear slams the covers shut.

Tired avatar,
both liberated shell and mirror of inner shadows
covered by a black cloth.

Surreal midnight dinner,
Like high fever hallucination,
Dry food,
Dead couples staring at each other,
And a milkshake.

The plus and minus collide,
Keep spinning out of control
Until the curse stops it….
Your eyes betray your lying lips.

Feline face, furrowed eyebrows
Forehead Blackfoot square,
Pictures of the shaggy hair,
Are you just a face in the deck of cards
brought to life by my imagination?

The dealer makes it real:
First tears, then the joker fear.
Bows bounce in my imagination
There’s no space between art and life creation
From silence we can generate vibration,
Of the heart.

Polka dots

Little beads

Rain drops

Cloudy seeds

Pastel pink

Lipstick red

Take too many

Wind up dead

…….

Pills for mania, laughter – blue,
An inappropriate colour,
But what can ya do?

Pills for thyroid, goitre, shakes,
Bottle green like the bottom of lakes,

Pills for pain, black –  red  - pink,
Pills that can’t be mixed with drink,

Pills for anxiety, phobias, fears,
Fleshy coloured,
Like children’s ears,

Pills for dreaming, dozing, sleep,
Pure white
Like counted sheep.

The pipes froze as the toilet overflowed
with pangs of guilt and bile bitten clothes.
She tried to dispose of what she ate
from breakfast to lunch to her snacks after eight.
From dieting to shame, infatuation came,
from the overwhelming pain of being herself.
Scared to ask for help, she took matters to her hands.
One to hold her hair, the other to her thyroid gland.

© Matthew Harlovic

“That next January, she will be considered cured! These are words we never expected to hear, especially since her first oncologist told her she had little chance of surviving...”
“In 2001 my wife was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Because of poor health, I had only been able to work occasionally and we were very low on financial funds. Also we did not have insurance. We tried to get assistance, but were turned down everywhere we went.
We got a recommendation from an employee at a clinic to try the department of children and family services, adult division, for our state. But again the door was closed on us.
At this point, things got so bad we had to do our grocery shopping at a railroad salvage store. My greatest fear was that after my wife finished her chemo and radiation the medicines she would need would not be anything we could afford. Someone told me about alternative medicine and that it is used around the world, but that most doctors frown on this practice.
We started researching the internet for anything that would help and be something we could afford. When my wife was diagnosed with cancer, the doctor used a CA125 blood test. The doctor told us that a count under 35 is acceptable.
My wife's count was “365” confirming the cancer.
My wife has NOT has not had ANY form of medication for her cancer! The “ONLY” thing she is using is Apricot Seeds or Kernels.
Her last CA125 test was taken 9 days ago and her count was at “10”, well below the established number of 35. No one can tell us that the Apricot Seeds are not doing even more then we had hoped for on her.
Last doctor's visit, the doctor told my wife that if she had made it past the first 2 years without problems, she was now in a group that has less than a 10% chance of reoccurrence and that next January, she will be considered cured!
These are words we never expected to hear, especially since her first oncologist told her she had little chance of surviving.”
Dorothy & Robert Halun
Lakeland, FL




WEB: "My doctor said if I did not have the scars on my body they could never prove that I had Cancer. It's all because I took Raw Apricot Kernels..."
I was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer in 2001. The first oncologist told me the tumor was too large to operate and that he must shrink the tumor through chemo prior to surgery.
He said that if I would have come to him a couple of years earlier that it would be an automatic death sentence, however, he had this new protocol - Stem Cell Therapy - which could save my live at a cost of about $100,000 more than what my insurance would pay...I got a second opinion.
My 2nd oncologist, after pondering the proposed surgery for the weekend said that even though the tumor was large, he thought he could do the surgery prior to starting chemo. I started researching my options.
After surgery, I REFUSED CHEMOTHERAPY AND RADIATION. My doctor said I would die if I did not at least to Chemo. I told him "My life, my decision...if I am wrong in a year, I will listen to you then".
When my one year CA125 test was taken, I was a perfect 10. My doctor said if I did not have the scars on my body they could never prove that I had Cancer. It's all because I took Raw Apricot Kernels (6 per day). I am now cancer free for 5 years and counting.
Babette Garfield, Age 57
Las Vegas, NV



“I learned about Amygdalin (B17) and started taking it right away and all of my symptoms began to regress...”
“I have been dealing with Indolent Lymphoma since 1996. I knew I was pretty much on my own with this. About 5 years ago, I learned about Amygdalin (B17) and started taking it right away and all of my symptoms began to regress.
If I am stupid and eat sugar or stuff I shouldn't, I begin to get my symptoms back, but as soon as I tighten up my diet, they go away. I have a lot of energy now and I am starting a new business and I am 61. I used to be exhausted but no more.
I am very grateful for Amygdalin (B17) and the Apricot Seeds.”
Nancy Pratt, Age 61
Montclair, VA


“GET PEOPLE TO TRY THIS - it works…”
Here is my testimonial.
Let me begin by saying I am not affiliated in any way with this product I am suggesting you try. I have bought it & used it myself on several (really severe) sun spots/skin lesions with total & successful removal with consistent use. I thought for sure I would have to go to a surgeon, but bought this cream instead. The first one I removed was on my leg, I had watched it getting bigger for a couple of years. It was pretty deep, too. It was a bit uncomfortable at first after I applied the cream but then it began to work.
I next removed one on my left shoulder that had become quite large as well. I then used it on one near my left temple. It was one of those big brown lesions you see on old people. It took a bit longer. It had to be gently peeled off a couple of times, but then one day, the last layer came right off. I also got rid of 2 smaller ones on my face & a really bad one on my right ear.
You have to be consistent. Apply it ONLY to the spot a couple of times a day in the beginning. The area will get a bit red, sometimes it gets itchy, but that means it is working. Eventually you will be able to cut it back to once a day. Every couple days put a dab of antibacterial cream on it. After about a week or so, you should be able to gently start peeling off a little bit at a time and then when the final layer comes off it will be just healthy skin underneath.
- Nanci


“She has been CANCER FREE for 6 years…
“6 years ago we noticed that our 100lb Golden Retriever, Cassie, had a tumor on her back paw. The vet suggested that we have them remove the tumor and have it analyzed. Thus, St Pat's day 2000 Cassie had the operation. All went well. When we got the results back, they said it was a mast cell tumor type 2. They recommended chemotherapy. Knowing that God made provision for Noah and the animals, we prayed and felt that the Lord was directing us in a different way.
First, we checked the dog food we were giving her. We found that Sci Diet had carcinogens in it. We studied and switched to Innova, a natural dog food. We also recently had heard from the Christian Brothers about raw apricot seeds and their properties that would help the body fight cancer.

We also started giving Cassie Barley Green, a powdered barley leaf that would help make her body alkaline. Cancer can not exist in an alkaline environment. Twice a day we would give Cassie her seeds etc. Her paw healed nicely and the vet was pleasantly surprised. Then, as each year Cassie would go for her spring check up the vet would say how lucky we were. We would usually agree we are blessed.
Cassie had one other small tumor removed from her back about 2 years ago. It was not cancerous. She has been CANCER FREE for 6 years. As you can tell from her picture, she has gotten the raccoon look around her eyes as she has aged. Yet, she still likes to play.
We give credit for her long healthy life from Jesus directing all of our steps-in changes in food, supplements, exercise and B17. Thank you for making your products available.”
Karen Olsen
Elmhurst, IL





“This is when I prayed and asked God to show me another way because I knew the chemo was so painful...
“Hi, my name is Tina Brock and my mother Fanida Caudelle (Faye) has battled cancer for a long time. Twelve years ago she had breast cancer. In 2004 she was diagnosed with stage 4 ovarian cancer. She took chemo and the cancer stayed away for a year. It came back in her spleen, abdomen, and pelvic areas. This is when I prayed and asked God to show me another way because I knew the chemo was so painful. I began researching and found B-17. Thank God! I ordered her a bottle and she took it while taking the chemo and we were all impressed with how well her blood counts were each time. She is still using B-17 today and February 14, 2006 my mom turned 74 years old. I would like to thank you for making B-17 available.”
Fanida Caudelle, Age 74
Nicholson, Georgia





“Before taking the apricot seeds, I could feel a couple of small lumps in my *******. Within a couple of months the lumps were all gone and have not returned…
“I have been using Apricot Seeds for a little more than 2 years and believe they have made a big difference in my health. Before taking the apricot seeds, I could feel a couple of small lumps in my *******. Within a couple of months the lumps were all gone and have not returned.
I continue to take the apricot seeds every day and believe they along with whole grains, fruits, vegetables, avoiding red meat and seafood without fins and scales, and eating as organically as possible is responsible for the change in my body.
Edgar Casey had a vision of what he believed were almonds and that they prevented cancer. I believe Casey actually saw apricot seeds and mistook them for almonds because they look similar.”
Carol Loguisto
Nassau, New York




“I tell everyone that I talk to about the natural cure for cancer, which is Apricot seeds, just another gift of God...
“In 2004 I went to my Dr. and had skin cancer removed from my face and back. The cancer on my face was determined to be basil cell but the one on my back came out to be melonomia. Since that time they have returned and the Dr. wanted to do more removal but I decided to try natural remedies.
In September of 2005 I found information about Apricot seeds and Vitamin B17. I started eating the seed and taking Vitamin B17. The cancer on my face was red and sore but today the redness is gone and also the soreness.
The most remarkable part is the melonomia on my back is getting smaller. Once I decided to use Apricot seeds and Vitamin B17, I also started reading my Bible more and using the Bible versed that were given me. My health has improved and my worries about cancer were given to God.
I tell everyone that I talk to about the natural cure for cancer, which is Apricot seeds, just another gift of God.”
Fred Davidson, Age 62
Independence, MO


“The Doctor could only scratch his head and wonder. I have also used it on a dog who had miraculous results…
“I have used the seeds as a preventive for a few years and never have had any side affects. My mother-in-law was diagnosed with colon cancer the size of a grapefruit. A few months and less than $500 dollars worth of seeds and pills and it was reduced to a small mass the size of a grape.
The Doctor could only scratch his head and wonder. I have also used it on a dog who had miraculous results. Read the book "World Without Cancer" so you don't have to watch your loved ones die in vain.”
Steve Strasburg
Arkport, NY
“I believe that the B-17 blocked the spread of the cancer, and saved her life…
“My sister had been diagnosed with Thyroid cancer last year. I immediately started her on 500 mg of B-17 twice a day. She had her thyroid removed, as it was aggressive, and fast moving. The Endocrinologist were amazed that that there was NO spreading to the neighboring lymphatic system as is usually the case.
I believe that the B-17 blocked the spread of the cancer, and saved her life.”
Patrick Harris-Worthington
Minneapolis, MN





“The doctors don't understand how this could happened and finally we told them in March, 2006 that I had taken B-17…”
“In 2004 I contracted liver cancer. My doctor said chemo was the next step in my progressing liver cancer. I had been taking all the right healthy vitamins and eating right and now "cancer". When we were told there were NO guarantees that the chemo would work, my wife and I decided to try the B-17!
It was scary because we were not sure of how much to take on a daily basis but started with 100mg 2xday. We worked up to 500mg 2xday for about 5 months and then down to 100mg 2xday at present. I did take zinc and B-12 for 2 weeks before starting the B-17.
The cancer mass went from a 8cm to 6cm in less than a yr. It did not spread and it had shrunk. The drs. don't understand how this could happened and finally we told them in March, 2006 that I had taken B-17. My blood tests came back "normal" last month and all the friends and family are amazed and we are happy.
PS...the dr. called and gave us a phone # of a girl who was suffering as I was and could we call her and tell her what we did? My doctor said chemo was the next step in my progressing liver cancer. So, we did and she is now starting her regiment...”
Dennis Montgomery
Arcadia, CA

“I finally talked him into B17. He did however try it and was doing much better then with the chemo…”
“I lost my husband 10 months ago to cancer. He chose to take the doctors advice and have chemotherapy and radiation for his cancer which started in his colon and ******. Needless to say after 2 and 1/2 years of treatment he lost his fight with cancer.
When he died it was in his liver, lungs and stomach. It was too late when I finally talked him into B17. He did however try it and was doing much better then with the chemo. Although he lost his fight his cancer was just too far advanced to stop or prolong his life.
I have been on B17 since his death and will continue to stay on it for the rest of my life. I am doing it to prevent cancer because my father also died with colon cancer and it has been known to travel in families. I am cancer free and hope to remain that way that is why I choose to take B17.
I am 49 years old and I tell everyone that will listen that the chemotherapy and radiation killed my husband, not the cancer. It was his life and I had to respect his decision to... “
Gloria Snow-Lambert
Mercer, PA


"I was diagnosed with breast cancer a year and a half ago. I went through some Chemo and Radiation treatments...
I was diagnosed with breast cancer a year and a half ago. I went through some Chemo and Radiation treatments. I began researching cancer and alternative treatments and found a website on apricot seeds and B17.
I remember hearing about this being a possible cure for cancer many years ago, but had not heard any studies since then. I thank the Lord that I found this site. I have been taking the apricot seeds ever since I found out about them.
I started taking tamoxifen about a year ago and recently stopped due to the toxic effects it has on the body. I continue to take the apricot seeds and so far all is well.
I tell everyone I come in contact with who has had or has cancer about them. Thank you, thank you for making them available to purchase and at reasonable prices! I will be taking them for the rest of my life.
Carol Richards
Pittsburgh, PA

'Number four--the girl who died on the table--
The girl with golden hair--'
The purpling body lies on the polished marble.
We open the throat, and lay the thyroid bare . . .

One, who held the ether-cone, remembers
Her dark blue frightened eyes.
He heard the sharp breath quiver, and saw her breast
More hurriedly fall and rise.
Her hands made futile gestures, she turned her head
Fighting for breath; her cheeks were flushed to scarlet,--
And, suddenly, she lay dead.

And all the dreams that hurried along her veins
Came to the darkness of a sudden wall.
Confusion ran among them, they whirled and clamored,
They fell, they rose, they struck, they shouted,
Till at last a pallor of silence hushed them all.

What was her name?  Where had she walked that morning?
Through what dark forest came her feet?
Along what sunlit walls, what peopled street?

Backward he dreamed along a chain of days,
He saw her go her strange and secret ways,
Waking and sleeping, noon and night.
She sat by a mirror, braiding her golden hair.
She read a story by candlelight.

Her shadow ran before her along the street,
She walked with rhythmic feet,
Turned a corner, descended a stair.
She bought a paper, held it to scan the headlines,
Smiled for a moment at sea-gulls high in sunlight,
And drew deep breaths of air.

Days passed, bright clouds of days.  Nights passed. And music
Murmured within the walls of lighted windows.
She lifted her face to the light and danced.
The dancers wreathed and grouped in moving patterns,
Clustered, receded, streamed, advanced.

Her dress was purple, her slippers were golden,
Her eyes were blue; and a purple orchid
Opened its golden heart on her breast . . .
She leaned to the surly languor of lazy music,
Leaned on her partner's arm to rest.
The violins were weaving a weft of silver,
The horns were weaving a lustrous brede of gold,
And time was caught in a glistening pattern,
Time, too elusive to hold . . .

Shadows of leaves fell over her face,--and sunlight:
She turned her face away.
Nearer she moved to a crouching darkness
With every step and day.

Death, who at first had thought of her only an instant,
At a great distance, across the night,
Smiled from a window upon her, and followed her slowly
From purple light to light.

Once, in her dreams, he spoke out clearly, crying,
'I am the murderer, death.
I am the lover who keeps his appointment
At the doors of breath!'

She rose and stared at her own reflection,
Half dreading there to find
The dark-eyed ghost, waiting beside her,
Or reaching from behind
To lay pale hands upon her shoulders . . .
Or was this in her mind? . . .

She combed her hair.  The sunlight glimmered
Along the tossing strands.
Was there a stillness in this hair,--
A quiet in these hands?

Death was a dream.  It could not change these eyes,
Blow out their light, or turn this mouth to dust.
She combed her hair and sang.  She would live forever.
Leaves flew past her window along a gust . . .
And graves were dug in the earth, and coffins passed,
And music ebbed with the ebbing hours.
And dreams went along her veins, and scattering clouds
Threw streaming shadows on walls and towers.

toil, foil, toil, foil: fold

      stacked them high toward
a shadow of a commitment to say
likewise

like for like
eye for an eye
that is some bearing
to this current: simple un-gratified
loss of prayer

in a vague entrance to sight
from sigh
or the entrance to thought
through: perhaps a hum of om

the Hum of Om
like that fabled: research, please!
the Hum of Om
like Ayat
like Aql

                 i know an hour will pass
and i will think that i have written so much
but instead i'll realize
that i'm readjusting
to the hermit me
who would spend his time writing
and drinking

i just finished the first book of Dune
and unlike the film:
i'm trying to un-see the film
because in the film you only learn
of Paul Harkonnen
at the end of the movie with:
grandfather...
but in the book that is already realised
in the tent
while Paul and Jessica
are waiting for Idaho
or not waiting for Idaho

before Jessica drinks the water of life
the worm ***** or whatever
juice
of the ******* wriggling
to the death by water:
point being beside the noble worms
as perhaps whales
whales yes
because that's the mammalian aquatic
threshold

     and i mean:
i will not have written much but left enough space






      to look through...                from
the perspective of writing and living out the mundane
without Edie...
the time that is required...
all the fears and dictates of my mother
and father
are nothing
that i spent the day cleaning
the house
to only have mother come back from
hospital and reflexology session
with "Auntie Rajama"
well... sliding doors ahead of you...
i too live under a matriarchal oppression
mental gym-bro that's a girl
in the public square burning her bra
and competing with men
in the construction industry
or the security sector...

we had guys known as KLAWISZE
former prison guards
operate this sector...
now comes the time of the ex-military
brigade
but still so many loopholes
with the mass exodus from India to
the Crown...

             yes: some pause is a must right now
when i think about the length of
the task and all the curvature that
might come
not even asking: who is the thinker of thoughts
and the dreamer of dreams

perhaps ask, specifically for who is i
if i were, that is, asking myself with a hypnotic
hypothesis of pathology
and lack of pathology in the confines
of apathy:

      climbing the ladder of grammar i see something
of myself that requires a reminder
that is my selfish life
this bookworm this caricature
of man who elsewhere shine in glistening
a muscular
   a weird attentiveness to the sea
a local fisherman with no rod
but a hook and line
standing in the open Pacific
like this is my Dune not Dune
this glass ripple and all the salt
to juice the carnal feast in **** and bear
and ox tail and yummy yummy
some heroic end to my struggles
i thought not like but
heard all those warnings by men for men
and all that talk
i wonder could i end up like
a proverbial Friday,
  
        Friday the Idiot from London
shackled to Kauai...
           forgot his library...
what one book would i bring to have with me?

when i was younger i asked myself
the question:
what is the last music track that i will hear
before i die?
back then i was a Intrinsic:
the equivalent to a Mentat -
i would obviously not know the last track
of music i would have heard
unless i armed myself with
continually wearing headphones -
a commuter's hell and paradise
not exactly thinking machines
as automated beings,

thinking machines exist, but require
a thinker's input to be animate
otherwise thinking machines are inanimate
and therefore not a hazard,
threat... no...
they require input...
but... automate beings...
automated beings automated humans...
that's android territory of psychopathic
dolls and reels of cheese bad cheese good
melting canvas for:
silicone but what if moved the cellulite from
buttocks to the *******
give god his female rearing, fearing: form
of enough breast to *** ratio
and thighs and a very thin face
with no dub dub my own double chin
that i hide using a beard...

i heard of the toad neck
the toad neck of living outside of salt water...
the toad-neck is caused
by the Thyroid Gland...

        Thyroiditis:
all subjective experiences of each individual
body parts
is bound to the subjectivity of horror
without experience
the sheering horror of Sigma the All Encompassing
ego to letter focus
suggesting the ego-parasite will not wriggle
out somehow still not aware
but this symbiosis of ego as incorporating self
and other
and the plurality of us and them
and all that weaves itself into the earth of politics:

but at least i paid my dues
wit enough reading to writing ratio:
i always: feel: guilty: if: i: have: written:
more: than: i: have: read...

              made an old endorsement for paging
mr telegraph, paging mr telegraph
see the colon punctuation system
for the digital telegraph

             no STOP            for              .dot

i.e. words separated by colon
and finish would be a              sweet wipe
of the lips or lipstick off
or perhaps just finished a greasy meal therefore with ;
a semi-colon of             .
                                     ,

(enlarged)
                                   .
                                   .               (colon, enlarged)

or least there's the thought:
why the sudden conversion or what is this
even mean?

without knowledge
have sent astray?
so set your
man by nature u/p
which He has creat-
Allah's creation. T-
know not --
Turning unto
duty unto Him, and e/s-
who ascribe partners (u
of those who spli/
matics, each sect exulting
And when harm
Lord, turning to Him in/
tasted of His mercy, behol/d
to their Lord

those torn pages of the Quran
by my mother
when i was exploring different thresholds
of understanding
by no obscure way
i was going to depict the tares
at the Romans and ending at Luqman...

then i saw the tare and the following
sentence emerge:

WITHOUT KNOWLEDGE AND THOUGH IT BE IN A ROCK

i stand to poise, i do wonder whether
that means anything
perhaps to ants it does
but to humans?

without knowledge
and though it be in
a rock...

expand: i am not really prone to saying things
prophetically or pro-wisely
what what?
   man without knowledge
is...
           and even though
it be in a rock:                    knowledge?

no: fascination?
admiration for life and life-intellect
say god is of life
and no god is of death
and both are right
whether by sooth
to tooth to soothe and however i word
it there's this second parting
heavier than the first
but also lighter
because now i just realised
that it was a second parting
and i'm not too sure where she is on
this page
finally realizing that perhaps
i'm not for her
and perhaps she loves me enough
to leave me alone
that i might refocus on this cascades
these blues in wine
and tokes with starlight and friendly
neighborly conversations...
which might be not to ms claustrophobia's suiting
should that be a chasm a biological
fear a sudden
terrible monstrosity
given that she's not my daughter
and there would be to mention of ******
and inbreeding
for some Heb Gazzarye beast of the falcon
and the lizard and the clue as to how
gizzards became a sweet meat special...

         timely: onion gravy and mash p'oh
tatties...
the idea is timely and still refreshing
to think 38 oh 38
come my 60th i'll have
a wife aged 77
and a mother aged 86
and a father probably dead
and i will be renting a property on an island
a Pacific *** *** hello venture
like
there is no nothing zilch of me here
in the London Obscurity Digital Zoo Central

you have to live these parts girl
from text to text from whim to whim
on whimsical tides
arguing not arguing
not really a part of some collective
narrative but instead imploding to home
and to the maturity of manners
i just like m in that sentence
a letter a mem
        a mem is for example a maturity of manners
or for example the tinker tailor triad
a mem is a particular punishment opposing
             punishment itself
yet riddling the punished a punishment-in-itself
punishment itself is no punishment
without a punishment-in-itself

i think best exemplified by how abstract
German became
and not really read in popular circles
would never amount to unfolding the abstract
fabric of the simple change of wording
to gravitate toward the laissez-faire
of meaning in that: nothing is really just a pronoun
thing as in: a thing-in-itself
is almost like my questioning
the authenticity of having
a subjectivity of a thyroid gland?
apart from having been subjected to a body
in total by what comes after seeing
namely thinking or subtle-thinking
before the ego creates hatchlin' hooks of
parasitic symbiosis devoid of a name given
as responsive:
the ego responds to it's "ego"...
                i'm currently subject to:

no no... the thing-in-itself...
but if explored outside of the realm of "things"...
then a blueprint analysis
of say: heartbreak and heartache and
love and 3 years: what down what drain?
not against the waves of the sea
not against the river?
down the river? who knows?!

but these are my supposed days off
but they aren't so much days
off like days in between
where there is a glimmer of science-fiction
escapism but
a crashing crescendo reality licking check
for friction akin
to frost on a metal pole
like i know certainly realities
but i still want to be the ball-breaker
qureysh:         Qureysh                     winter...

metabolism sloth and fire breathing
bear... somewhere in a cave in a forest
centuries ago:
i too was teased by the fate of
Nebuchadnezzar -

my 20s are a vagueness but not born
a king could not have wed my feeding to grass...
Samyaza: Nephilim -
apocryphal Christianity -
in the old saying:
the books kept to be read in private
to children
as bedtime stories about Noah
and the giants and Angels...
not the protestant revamp
of the word: apocryphal...
not heretical no just obscure i.e. to be literature
for families to form outside
of the synoptic canonical text
spoken of in the church with authority

well if you want a functional christianity
you will have to allow the apocryphal library
to be reintroduced into the family
environment -
if you're serious...
if you want to go down the Quran Avenue
of having a sacred text:
you have texts!
not belonging to a single individual but many!
on account of that...

the apocryphal library needs to be released
for the understudy of family life
and myth formation
no other books outside of the apocryphal
HERESY segment are allowed
in the house...
and there is no book of authority
except the books of the old and new testament
depending on the fervor one
is cited more than the other
the two are interchangeable...
i see the latter as a greco-hebrew
conspiracy manual against the Roman Empire
and Jesus wasn't Jewish
he was probably Assyrian
or whatever and who knows
that trip to Egypt as a toddler
then returning back to Judea
because Joseph's carpentry shop wasn't
doing so well...
Africans love their stone and marbles...
who needs 'ud / wood in the desert?

but the apocryphal library will have to be
manifest...
in the houses of these christian families...
text that are obscure but
but... expansive...
you can't have: i appreciate the dedication
of the illiterate to the Quran
some reciting on trains as if literacy
is equivalent to learning how to ride
a bicycle or learning how to swim:
point being! once learned?! never forgotten!

Dear Dr. Krebs. Thank you for giving me another birthday (May 17). Please, again, remember November 15, 1979, when my doctor and four other urologists gave me a maximum of four months to live with my prostate cancer, and they set up appointments for radiation and chemotherapy, which I knew would **** me if the cancer didn't, and I refused their treatment. Then on a Sunday afternoon I contacted you by telephone and went with your simple program. I am 71 years old and am on my 13th year [of survival]. Three of the four urologists have died with prostate cancer, and forty or fifty people are alive today and doing well because they followed my "Krebs" simple program. Thanks again for giving me back my life. Your friend, H.M. "Bud" Robinson

15th March 1999
All I can tell you is that I had a growth about the size of a pea on my eyelid for two years and nothing would change it. The eye doctor said he thought it was cancerous but I did not have any tests. After 4 months of taking one b17 tablet per day and 15 apricot seeds per day the growth has totally disappeared.
Al Bresciani
abb642@aol.com 407-426-5832

“This is when I prayed and asked God to show me another way because I knew the chemo was so painful...
“Hi, my name is Tina Brock and my mother Fanida Caudelle (Faye) has battled cancer for a long time. Twelve years ago she had breast cancer. In 2004 she was diagnosed with stage 4 ovarian cancer. She took chemo and the cancer stayed away for a year. It came back in her spleen, abdomen, and pelvic areas. This is when I prayed and asked God to show me another way because I knew the chemo was so painful. I began researching and found B-17. Thank God! I ordered her a bottle and she took it while taking the chemo and we were all impressed with how well her blood counts were each time. She is still using B-17 today and February 14, 2006 my mom turned 74 years old. I would like to thank you for making B-17 available.”
Fanida Caudelle, Age 74
Nicholson, Georgia

“Before taking the apricot seeds, I could feel a couple of small lumps in my *******. Within a couple of months the lumps were all gone and have not returned…
“I have been using Apricot Seeds for a little more than 2 years and believe they have made a big difference in my health. Before taking the apricot seeds, I could feel a couple of small lumps in my *******. Within a couple of months the lumps were all gone and have not returned.
I continue to take the apricot seeds every day and believe they along with whole grains, fruits, vegetables, avoiding red meat and seafood without fins and scales, and eating as organically as possible is responsible for the change in my body.
Edgar Casey had a vision of what he believed were almonds and that they prevented cancer. I believe Casey actually saw apricot seeds and mistook them for almonds because they look similar.”
Carol Loguisto
Nassau, New York
“B17 still continues to save his life every day...
“We were skeptical when our holistic vet advised B17 therapy to our German Shepherd Baron, who was diagnosed with advanced hemangiosarcoma or blood cancer and given two weeks to live. It's now been 7 months and he's still with us. B17 still continues to save his life every day.”
Mary Smith
Oakland, CA

“I tell everyone that I talk to about the natural cure for cancer, which is Apricot seeds, just another gift of God...
“In 2004 I went to my Dr. and had skin cancer removed from my face and back. The cancer on my face was determined to be basil cell but the one on my back came out to be melanoma. Since that time they have returned and the Dr. wanted to do more removal but I decided to try natural remedies.
In September of 2005 I found information about Apricot seeds and Vitamin B17. I started eating the seed and taking Vitamin B17. The cancer on my face was red and sore but today the redness is gone and also the soreness.
The most remarkable part is the melanoma on my back is getting smaller. Once I decided to use Apricot seeds and Vitamin B17, I also started reading my Bible more and using the Bible versed that were given me. My health has improved and my worries about cancer were given to God.
I tell everyone that I talk to about the natural cure for cancer, which is Apricot seeds, just another gift of God.”
Fred Davidson, Age 62
Independence, MO

“The Doctor could only scratch his head and wonder. I have also used it on a dog who had miraculous results…
“I have used the seeds as a preventive for a few years and never have had any side affects. My mother-in-law was diagnosed with colon cancer the size of a grapefruit. A few months and less than $500 dollars worth of seeds and pills and it was reduced to a small mass the size of a grape.
The Doctor could only scratch his head and wonder. I have also used it on a dog who had miraculous results. Read the book "World Without Cancer" so you don't have to watch your loved ones die in vain.”
Steve Strasburg
Arkport, NY

“I believe that the B-17 blocked the spread of the cancer, and saved her life…
“My sister had been diagnosed with Thyroid cancer last year. I immediately started her on 500 mg of B-17 twice a day. She had her thyroid removed, as it was aggressive, and fast moving. The Endocrinologist were amazed that that there was NO spreading to the neighboring lymphatic system as is usually the case.
I believe that the B-17 blocked the spread of the cancer, and saved her life.”
Patrick Harris-Worthington
Minneapolis, MN

“The doctors don't understand how this could happened and finally we told them in March, 2006 that I had taken B-17…”
“In 2004 I contracted liver cancer. My doctor said chemo was the next step in my progressing liver cancer. I had been taking all the right healthy vitamins and eating right and now "cancer". When we were told there were NO guarantees that the chemo would work, my wife and I decided to try the B-17!
It was scary because we were not sure of how much to take on a daily basis but started with 100mg 2xday. We worked up to 500mg 2xday for about 5 months and then down to 100mg 2xday at present. I did take zinc and B-12 for 2 weeks before starting the B-17.
The cancer mass went from a 8cm to 6cm in less than a yr. It did not spread and it had shrunk. The drs. don't understand how this could happened and finally we told them in March, 2006 that I had taken B-17. My blood tests came back "normal" last month and all the friends and family are amazed and we are happy.
PS...the dr. called and gave us a phone # of a girl who was suffering as I was and could we call her and tell her what we did? My doctor said chemo was the next step in my progressing liver cancer. So, we did and she is now starting her regiment...”
Dennis Montgomery
Arcadia, CA

"I was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer in both ******* in December 2003 and had an operation to remove 2 lumps, some lymph glands and some nerves. Thankfully, I heard about B17 and did not proceed any further with another operation for a half mastectomy, chemo, radiation and tamoxifen.
I am pleased to say that I am doing very well. The doctors at the hospital have ignored me since February 2005. I had requested that they continue to monitor my progress with ultrasound. They insisted that I see a particular radiographer because they wanted to see the results they wanted, whom I knew was a particularly rude and rough ultrasound scanner. So I requested to see another radiographer. They kept sending me appointments for the same radiographer and I kept phoning the Ultrasound Department to change to another radiographer. Each time they said that the consultants refused! This went on for months and from February 2005, I have not heard a word from them.
They were not happy that I had refused their barbaric ways of practising medicine! They told me that if I continued to use alternative medicine, my condition would worsen and I would be back to go on conventional medicine, by which time "it would be too late"! I did offer to give them information on all the supplements and about B17 but they flatly refused saying that they didn't care about what I was doing because it won't work!!! They kept saying that as I was in my late 30s the cancer would advance at a great speed and I should think about my daughter!
That's my story in a nutshell! Keep up the good work." - Laila T, London, UK

Dear Angel,
I don't know if you still remember me. I wrote to you early 2003 about my dog, Life, she's got cancer in her spleen, and was undergoing chemotherapy with the vets. Well, I think you do remember haha. Anyway, just to update on what happened - her chemo finished May 2003, and I've been giving her 3-4 apricot kernels a day ever since. She is now still alive and well. I take her back to the vet every 3 months to do blood counts, and all her white blood cells are within the normal range. So, it has been 1 year and 4 months since her last chemo session, and the vets are very very surprised! Because out of all the vet's chemo patients, Life is the only one alive and still under good condition - which is totally out of their prediction!
Oh well, just want to thank you for the apricot supplies. At that time I really didn't know where to find them. You've opened the door of hope! And now I'm ready to order some more! Annie, Australia

To The BBC
"Sirs. On the 6 o'clock news tonight a medical professor was stated as saying that it was dangerous to try to cure cancer by 'untried' and 'unscientific' alternatives to the usual methods applied in hospitals.

May I say briefly that I have been cured by one of the horrors he mentioned, namely 'eating apricot kernels.'

Some years ago a nasty oozing swelling on my right ear would not respond to any treatment, but just grew in size. It was painful, it messed up my pillow each night and caused me emotional worry. Eventually I was sent to the Lincoln Hospital by my GP. They took a biopsy, and a specialist told me that I had a squamous cell carcinoma and that I would have to have a certain percentage of my ear removed. This was not good news. I deferred having treatment. I said I wanted time to think it over.

As it happened, I soon got to hear about apricot kernels, and began taking about ten each day, together with a generous helping of pineapple plus supplements. Within a couple of weeks I began to notice an arresting of the ulcer, and then it gradually began to decrease in size until finally, after a few months, I was left with nothing but fresh pink skin. The specialist was very interested, and took photographs, and said he would confer with other specialists in the hospital. He asked to see me on a regular basis, in case the cancer had spread to glands in the neck. But after twelve months he declared that I had been healed, and didn't need to attend the clinic any more. Strangely, he didn't seem inclined to discuss the matter further. As I understand it, the medical profession is not willing to accept 'anecdotal evidence.' Let me say this. I am not a medical man but a physicist. Even if Newton's apple is apocryphal, he certainly knew about things falling to the ground, and using his keen mental acuity, formulated the theory of gravitation. Astronomers knew all about the peculiar motion of the orbit of Mercury, but it took the mind of Einstein to provide us with the reason via relativity. These 'anecdotes' were the stuff of scientific method and advancement. If I (and apparently quite a number of others) are finding that skin cancers respond quite quickly to the eating of apricot kernels, the medical profession should be asking why, and coming to a scientific solution, rather than denouncing the anecdotes as 'unscientific', and the apricot kernels as 'dangerous.' Arthur E., Alford, UK

My introduction to apricot kernels was through a friend who lives in New South Wales. She visited my house in September of 2000 and was very sad as she had been diagnosed with metasised bone cancer and had spots on her rib, spine and hip. She previously had had breast cancer some six years before this diagnosis. I know she thought her life expectancy was doomed and I felt quite shattered as I also had breast cancer 18 months before this and had used my friend as a benchmark of how I was going to progress.
When speaking to her some months later to check on her health, she informed me she was eating apricot kernels, and in huge quantities each day. I believe it was around 30. This intrigued me as I had no idea there was any value in the kernel of this fruit but decided to start searching the internet for information and this is when I started to come across Phillip Day and other sites which endorsed this cancer strategy. My friend is now cancer free according to her professor/specialist and a hair test, she has a lavender farm which she works from the bush to the end product and also has alpachas...hard work......what an inspiration she is.

My cancer was bad, aggressive, two tumours in the left breast and 14 of 17 lymph nodes cancerous. I had a mastectomy of the left breast, undertook 4 intense doses of chemo and 6 standard doses, spaced 3 weeks apart. I also had 6 weeks of radiation therapy. I knew I had a fight on my hands as the specialist was very clear to explain that their belief was the cancer would be elsewhere.
I made a decision to take other vitamin supplements, including selenium at the very beginning of my diagnosis and then when I heard about apricot kernels, I thought maintenance and prevention was my next option. With experimentation I had the kernels daily but found I had reflux so interpreted that my body was telling me I did not need to have these so frequently and have now taken them twice weekly...the equivalent of a flat teaspoon of crushed kernels each time. My five year extensive check up happened in March of this year and all my tests are great. I am very well, feel terrific and know I have lots of energy to enjoy a wonderful life with my precious family and friends. My health is my wealth and the help and joy I give to others, who are embarking on a journey with cancer, is a wonderful reward for being a survivor.
Thank you again.
Regards
Judy


In 1987 a sun spot of many on my scalp developed into a malignant cancerous tumour which grew for ten months. For only the last three of those months I began eating apricot kernels daily, but the tumour had already grown to considerable size; invasion of the bone (skull) was suspected. I finally agreed to operation to remove the squamous cell carcinoma on 28/6/1988. The plastic surgeon was puzzled as to how the cancer by then had not spread to other areas.
Over the following year a new tumour started slowly next to the skin graft area whilst I continued to ingest the kernels (Vitamin B17), three times a day before meals. The new tumour was excised without skin grafting on 2/5/89. I declined to undergo follow-up radiotherapy after the operation in spite of dire warnings from medical staff that the cancer would almost certainly spread.
Many years later no cancer has developed so far. I have continued to eat one handful of kernels a day before meals, drinking some water before chewing them to reduce saliva contact. Doctors at Royal Perth Hospital expressed surprise that their predictions had not been realised. I continue also to concentrate on a high fibre and low fat diet. Combination with selenium is said to enhance the process.
The theory of the above is that the cyanide content of fruit kernels (mainly apricots) penetrates and attacks the cancer cells but leaves the healthy cells unaffected. The medical profession, who pour scorn on this theory, and government have caused the sale of the kernels to be banned in the shops and elsewhere. Consequently I have to obtain my own supply of stones and then have the dreary task of hulling them with a mallet. I suffer no ill-effects eating them. Incidentally I have found the kernels are
freely for sale in the United Kingdom! - D.B. Wundowie, Australia

Dear **Just a short line to thank you for all you done for us and all the help you gave us.
we got a phone call from Dorothy's brother George this morning. He went for an x-ray yesterday and got his results this morning. Apparently the lung cancer has gone completely but they still want him to finish his chemotherapy.
We think it is a combination of all the therapies he has been taking, but mainly the B17 as

puffing out smoke like the entangling of long hair
with my portable hookah of acid apple palette experienced;
then eyelid the softest skin the warm puff puff experienced
when unable to see the gaseous
entangle of thus compared:
cut off the eyelids and become
serpents, rather than circumcising
exchanging loss of masculine
additives with excess of feminine
pin points of skin like the bloating
of the throat: larynx region with a thyroid
cancer bubbling and blubbering:
circumcise and make men eagerly warring...
and women prone to consecrate approval
as if dreaming... a naked sword without a sheath...
but instead of circumcision, the cutting off *******...
cut the eyelids! what then? i'd begin revision
of man by cutting off the eyelids rather than the *******!
**** me, why not both?! cut the eyelids
and cut the *******, then narrate what excesses of
womankind are worth disregarding:
feminine ******* and perverted religion,
hey, excess skin of man was the culprit once,
now the woman's chance to equate kippah with
a monk's hairstyle, with her own slit of
niqab and postbox of forcing through a hole
as narrow / as tight so that an object capably sat on
can be delivered.

Camel-colored corduroy, light wood
As comfortable as a chair in a waiting
Room of a diagnostic center can be,
The center of each chair sinking
With the invisible weight of bad news

Shadowed walls -- fluorescent lights
Surrounded by glass windows (it's going to rain!)
Making it impossible not to notice
Grey skies, dying trees

Is there really healing in a place with no feeling?

Chattering of the women behind, in front
Surrounding (no, those pink pills are for evening)
They're here every week -- used to fading

Family in the corner
Fear radiating
In the shaking of the knees, the hand
Running through a father's brown hair
Pacing -- new to the waiting

Pounding head matches pounding heart
Pounding veins (the door
Is flung open) (anderson!)

Not the right name
Another minute still to dream
Of new diseases unknown cures
An alien baby with six fins
Growing in my thyroid,
Maybe a new form of mad cow disease

Has it really only been fifteen minutes?

Man with sunken eyes, shriveled hands
Staring at me, whispering to his nurse
That I'm a demon red (don't mind him)
His wife has cancer and his body's dying

Thank the black woman turning the tv to silent
No one wants to hear about politicians' affairs
While they're waiting for their cure
Or diagnosis

Marean, sarah? sarah? once twice
Flashing orange
Second door on the left
The left, the left -- okay, lay on the
Plastic (how's middle school?)
I'm 20.

Then a long-haired woman hovering
Lights out
Blue glare of screen
Memorizing past accidents, unnatural
Genes (how's the ankle)
Aches on snow days
(Take this towel put your head back
Don't move  have you done this
Before?)

Expecting to feel a cold gel
But instead having an almost-
Liquid that shocks the skin -- pour on
The throat, torturing the nerve endings
Heated

No further description or
Terms of consideration (violation)
Plastic scanner pressing,
Digging into the esophagus, )(just
Sit still shhhh )

Like thick, rough fingers
Fingers scratching, squeezing
Choking -- panic (don't panic)
Resisting the urge to claw, white spots
Don't fight (silence)

Breathing
Fists clenching tightly
Woman's eyes changing, medusa
Coming alive in a
Spinning room
No breath
Falling

.

Door opening, flash of green
Fingers disappear to a cart being
Wheeled away
Neck (throbbing)
Machine blue screen flipped off

Now that wasn't so bad, was it?


Jump up, coat on running out
The door to the safety of a
Car with yellow lights, results by
Friday (smells likes rain)
Trees skies dead grey
Still

There’s a line in a movie which goes something like “pain is good, it lets you know you are still alive”. The obvious question that I can hear you asking is “So when the pain goes away you know you’re dead?”  This inevitably leads to a conversation about life after death.
Now that topic can be dangerous if you don’t walk away from the conversation quickly enough, at one of “those” parties, you know the ones; the one you would not have gone to if you knew that the person who invited you believed in the power of healing crystals. So as the bottles of wine get emptier, the part time philosophers get louder and more opinionated about everything from the existence of an afterlife to what was the “real” message behind the final episode of M.A.S.H. And yes, I have been unfortunate enough to actually hear some overfilled part time philosopher postulate a well thought out, theory on the subject at an Italian restaurant in Brisbane and unfortunately was only up to desert so could not escape without missing out on coffee and Muscat and cigars. It was a tough call though.  Ah smoking in a restaurant, those were the days, now where was I?
So given the opportunity to choose an activity which you know involves pain, i.e.: Rugby League, running a Marathon, Childbirth or  listening to drunk part time philosophers at parties, why would you knowingly throw yourself into any of these extreme sports? Well maybe because the rewards of the end result are worth the pain involved during the activity. So that cool night in that Italian restaurant I sat through Scott’s theory, not knowing at the time if the pain of the story was going to be offset by the quality of the temptations to follow desert. And so that leads me to the reason for writing this. A friend of mine recently wrote. “Apparently any given situation can look good if viewed from the right angle. Sometimes I get cramps!”
Well my friend the Muscat was good that night, the coffee rich and earthy and the cigars cheap but free. Scotts actual theory is long gone from my head but the memory of that Muscat coffee and cigars lingers for twenty years.
I am lead to believe that cramps may be a symptom or complication of pregnancy, kidney disease, thyroid disease, hypokalemia, hypomagnesaemia or hypocalcaemia (as conditions), restless-leg syndrome, varicose veins,[2] and multiple sclerosis.
So, given that if in fact it turned out that you had one of these afflictions and the cramps lead you to discovering this fact, I would say the cramps; like my terrible dinner experience, viewed from the right angle looks good! Now off to the doctor with you, I’m off to the bottleshop.
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

When my ear first orbited your throat
to listen for a roaming balloon of nestled flesh
I heard trailer home hollowness
in copper vein pipes.
You draped a scarf over your superglued
neck, telling me it was normal to fistfight
death at 35.
On Dad’s desk, your weight breathed feebly
inside a sandwich bag. At night
its nuclear green cast Orions across our ceiling.
I never knew what real stars looked like,
while you had completely forgotten.

Years later,
in the dark of our 17-acre home,
you handed me your thyroid in its bag
swimming in opalescent fluid
and you looked at Polaris for the first time,
as that same glow painted the Big Dipper
on neighboring snowbanks.
I dropped the bag on the dry rot porch.
We heard your cancer flatten to a deflated bicycle tire,
sweating from death,
watched through squinted eyes as its glow turned
from hazardous neon to cinder.
It dried in the moonlight,
a forgotten, frostbitten raisin,
and our eyes readjusted to the perpetuating darkness.

I saw it then like a long constellation
line connecting star to forehead.
It had been a lie before,
but the North Star is truly the brightest
in the sky. We looked through its surface
underneath the star’s skin to its heart space,
and we realized that Polaris can only be seen
when thin plastic holds inside
damaged shadows of family
dinners bathed in deionized salt,
where I ponderously stared at the ****
in your esophagus, drawn with knife
like ruby crayon into office paper.

I used to long for death.
Now I'm pleading it to stop.
Never appreciated life.
Now I can't get enough.
No forever is never promised.  
It can never be set in stone.
Lately my body has been deteriorating.
The only way to vent is here.
You see I have two lumps in my neck.
Nobody knows what it is yet.
Could be nothing could be something.
It varies from thyroid... lympth nodes swelling... all the way down to lymphoma, aka cancer.
They tell me not to worry.
It's best to prepare yourself for worse.
What if I am dying.
Atleast I'll be ready when my time comes.
After all we are all dying.
Life is inevitable.  
Life is unovoidable.
But death is inevitable as well.
There is no going around it.
You and I.
One day we are both going to die.
Maybe tomorrow maybe 13 years from now.
Life is not promised.
I remember last night.
I told her I could potentially be dying.
I told her not to worry.
I told her it probably isn't anything bad.
She tried to fight the tears then the began to flow.
Steady like a stream.
She was breaking because of me.
I told her I need you to be strong.
She said if I died she wouldn't go on.
She said you are the one I wanted all along.
What if this sky wizard called god is out to ruin us.
I asked why he would do that.
She just replied don't go cursing Sky wizards.
If there's a god I couldn't imagine him doing a thing.
Killing a girl at 16.
Taking my life when I've only just begun.
I used to beg for my end.
Little did I know I had only just begun.

I wish to be the girl you hold so tight
I wish to be the one you lay with at night
I wish I could be able to trust again
I wish I could stop writing with this blood pen
I wish I was beautiful, thin, and tall
I wish I could just sleep and forget it all
I wish I could go and live on a star
I wish I was strong enough to go that far
I wish to be confident, important, and smart
I wish my first job will be a good start
I wish to stop growing and always stay young
I wish I could hide my nicotine stained tongue
I wish that I will graduate and live a great life
I wish that my husband will think me a good wife
I wish to have kids so I can watch them grow
I wish I was strong enough to just let go
I wish to move on, forget, and forgive
I wish to be happy so I can just live
I wish that soon you will understand
I wish I could replace my thyroid gland
I wish that I was a healthy child
I wish that I could fly for miles
I wish that my family will begin to be kind
I wish to rid the suicidal thoughts from my mind
I wish to be recognized for my art
I wish that the right boy will fix my heart
I wish that I will be more optimistic
I wish that my wishes were more realistic

I look into the mirror
And who is that I see?
Someone I don't recognise
Is looking back at me

The lines upon the forehead
That are called ‘worry lines'
Are caused by getting stressed
Far too many times

A line next to the right eyebrow
It’s the liver that's to blame
Due to excess alcohol
Or so the doctors claim

The line next to the left eyebrow
Is connected to the spleen
So much for thinking the body
Is like a finely-tuned machine

At the corner of both eyes
Are very deep crow’s feet
These are connected to all organs
As they admit defeat

We used to call them ‘smile lines'
But not much smiling has been done
When you have ill-health
Life is not much fun

Black bags under the eyes
Are signalling poor circulation
Or maybe just a lack of sleep
Nightmares without an explanation

The pancreas could be at fault
If there are ‘laughter lines'
But they could just be caused
By laughing numerous times

Lines above the upper lip
They could be caused by smoking
But they also indicate spleen trouble
Those lines are thought-provoking

Lines upon the neck
Otherwise known as a ‘double-chin’
Can be caused by too much gluten
Putting a thyroid in the spin

In the mirrors reflection
There are so many lines to see
Then I realise the person in the mirror
Yes, it’s me!

Ectopic heart
beat. Acoustic
neuroma. Sleep
apnea. Getting
older blessing
against alternative.

Neither hate
nor repair.
Immediately
the woods were familiar -
bunchberry, clintonia.
Red spruce, yellow birch.

Heron rowing
northward overhead
a sign: good luck.
Or was it just
a crow. Rock thrown.
Don't know.

Life's ending.
My sons
have each other
for laughter
at their tragedies.
Avalanche, cataract.

Clean house or
run for president.
Power and talent
are bones in your feet.
Nature's the bed
you'll sleep in.

Thyroid storm.
Screech
of the long-eared
owl. Even if
portent of death,
it's welcome.

i hope to vacate a corner of some room,
spider-architect
           who's intrinsic basis is to craft
a spiderweb...
     yawn poetry...
   usualy the kind that's not worth a whole
lot of grit, and is ah, ah... all sighs...
well, hence the intended vulgarity...
  but i know that even that doesn't work
all the time, unless i'd be used to
listening to a waterfall playing the drums...
   and at best: i can only theorise language,
or that's what i think is my adequate role...
the rest of my life is fiction anyway,
a fiction where i don't actually write
a book, but live it... and only invoke
"poetry" to be used as a reference to how:
    nothing happens in philosophy books happens...
the only "adventure", the only "plot"
      is solely thinking...
      and isn't that something to be depressed about?
aparently that's not the case...
    apparently there's a layer of humanity
that prefers a thinking adeventure, to a, say:
   a cruise-ship holiday in the Mediterranean -
nothing happens...
    the only action is the stressor: thought:
or as i like to call it: the ought,
   and the subsequent cascade of choices...
         i can't believe there's a complexity in
thinking, other than making choices...
           making choices and then nostalgia,
euphoria, blessings, regrets...
        it can't be as complicated as it sounds
to the numerous adherents
       of practising the so called art-science that
philosophy deems itself to be...
   i don't know what sort of person you have
to be to read Heidegger over Dumas...
   when i was younger i only tickled myself
with fiction...
                when life became unnecessarily complicated
i decided to read a philosophy book...
     i don't know why, but that's how it happened
and my final bid worth descriptive
        analogies: philosophy books teach
you nothing but lethargy...
     i don't know whether you just dumb-down
and fall into posing a pretesence...
but at the same time... it would be nice to read
a feminine-ego in philosophy that has no origin
based in a "movement" / revolution
currently known as feminism...
   it would be nice to see a woman writing,
hermit like, branching off into a solo expedition...
   it's not that i'm ignorant,
the only female examples in my library are
pop... virginia woolf / ophelia..
   anna kavan and sylvia plath...
      evidently writing breaks women...
      when man came ******* and writing
  with a book... she had a *****...
    well... that too, and castrating men
for the purpose of creating the most perfect
choir-boys of the Vatican...
            i'd like to read what a woman actually thinks
(on the basis of the title, i.e. the two incidents in
the night involving women)...
  but i know i will never come across a naked
woman in writing...
      completely devoid of technique
  aspiring to poetry fakes, fiction fakes,
   always running away: having "fun"...
    i mean: something written by a woman that
could be equivalent of handling beef, or pork,
at a butcher's...
                 but that's not exactly based upon
a care to moan...
        i write on the basis of having a "leisure"
activity... well... i write on the basis of
   having the capacity to forget myself...
    i treat writing as a mode of anti-memory,
writing is anti memory...
              and it can become a sort of forbidden fruit,
given economics and how more bricks are sold
than books and how books can sometimes become
akin to bricks...
        i don't write because i want to,
    i write because: i also have to take a ****
  sometime in the night...
    so out with poetry's ah ah and sighs...
         it's not happening...
       say you watch either romeo + juliet
or tristan + isolde...
    now i use a language that has these myths...
the only polish myths i know are those
concerning the Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth,
the Wawel dragon, the mongols...
  world war ii...
                     i have nothing, not even a puddle's
worth of depth, i use language as i do:
only because i have no soul:
  and that doesn't mean i sold it for private islands
in the Caribbean -
   or fame...
         i literally having one attachment point to
consider:
     to play on theoretics of language akin to linguistics,
but less so, i.e. with "identity",
    best summarised by verb language...
i just use a language...
        i don't necessarily care to have an identity in it...
  perhaps if i was akin to an octopus
with the so many wriggling limbs...
                    ah yes,
life underwater... so much more spectacular than
in the air...
                    and space exploration,
   akin to us with our space projects...
  and in the depths of the seas, life akin beyond
the vacuum of space: humpback anglerfish...
       or what ridley scott depicted...
        funny, that inquiry, that curiosity killed the cat
scenario...
          but being so warm-blooded wasn't enough
for us... i can't help it if i say that i'm not that lazy
in my observation...
    so back into a theoretics of language...
   using the necessary tools a (indefinite article)
     and the (definite article)
   or using the prefix rule a-      and the
         i.e. without a point.... atheism...
                 so just add the suffix -ism to that...
   otherwise known as vogue at certain times in history,
most notably started by either biiologists or
physicists... guess who brought the fireworks? chemists
with Faust and the devil at the fore!
  added fact: no one in the medical profession
    (they're the actually useful "biologists") don't
disregard that it becomes pointless
   to leverage the universe on the basis of
a single theory, a single mind, that's based on
both abstract ideas, and ******* genitals...
well d'uh... well done! clap clap clap clap clap...
       whether that's as a priori / instrinsic / genetic
       / predestination orientation
     as a spider and a spider-web...
                  i like to see that my ego is like
a spider's **** (or whatever you call it... sure,
gland... like a thyroid gland / sweetbreads)
                       that just produces these
god / no god arguments... and the reason is perhaps
obscure... it could be just that,
that i have this artificial intelligence implant in my head
that thinks if not believes in god (i'm not that keen
on the rituals, not a big fan of flagellation)...
      and so saying that: even a vacuum is something...
so you could say: i won't engage in religious Bar Mitzvahs,
but i'll argue for the non-existence of...
                  then back into the theory of language...
   a-          +         -th   (indirect article / direct article rules)...
articles in the pronoun category...
   what could possibly be the perfect e.g.?
   mein kampf...
            we have two examples already,
the obvious one, and the Norwegian one...
        what i want to consider
   is the alternative: ich kampf...
       as odd as it might sound: i consider
  i struggle to be an indefinite expression,
       and my struggle to be a definite expression...
   i.e. it's mine, i am the possessor of the struggle...
   ich kampf can very literally be an airy-fairy approach,
a pinata, hanging off a fishing-rod while sitting
on a scythe / crescent moon...
or: against the taboo of scientists feeling,
admiring art, reading novels...
    i can not not see the taboo against scientists not being
fully "human"...
       completely detached from art, from humanism,
never mind philosophy being the mediator
not really helping, that strand of it attacking
poetry...
                   but given a and the are the primodial
tools: say, hammer and scissors...
   and applying them to migrate from their
original grammatical boundary,
   it is necessary that they first experience pronouns...
    which is counter to what you might have
considered the pronoun i to be stressing...
given we're of the mortal caste,
   neither thinking nor being, or however argued
by Heidegger as being there / here allows...
given the numbers of us: it's still a case of indefinite
notation... or a Simon says / Solomon notes type of game...
    it's all vast, and empty,
    man's quest to be akin to a god's footprint
or a fingerprint...
                 with his copper statues of world war ii
heroes, or mentions of Achilles...
               but that's how it works,
there are theoretical physicists and there are men who
build actual atomb bombs, and that thing beneath
Switzerland...
                      it was in my belief to suggest that
black holes are 2 dimensional objects in 3 dimensional
space... a bit like those ferns in the Lara Croft video games,
the first types... from the 1990s...
    i believe that black holes are actually two-dimensional
objects, enclosed in a hyper-dynamic
           surrounded by three-dimensional space...
i haven't seen one up-close, sure... but i've never seen
jupiter either...
   so you guess is as good as mine...
i mean: how to transcend the harrowing experience
of writing poetry and fiction and write theory...
   to become a linguist without
              having to be burdened with a linguistic
alphabet...
   i.e. [flaj-uh-ley-shuh n] / (flāj'ə-lā'shən) /
flagellation doesn't really do it for me...
   can't feel a hard-on with that crap...
                        flaj? jammy ******* dodger...
   dodge ball more like...
                  i'm bilingual, i get the picture,
   and given the close proximity and the evident difference
i can have my little chemistry set, and a shed...
   evidently if i was bilingual from Hong Kong
i'd be a a yarn ball enclosing a silver tea-spoon,
that i'd later shove up my *** to question whether that's
a privilege...
    a bit like that mad lady with 20 cats...
  or thereabouts...
           so it has to be a case of ich kampf categorising
the pronoun as indefinite...
    there's me tomorrow, the struggle might not be...
my, as a definite article:
    say: keeping grudges... count de monte cristo's
zeal...
         in the same vein:
    they / them are usually noted into ditto /
ambiguity... hence they are indefinite pronouns
(working from the base of article)...
                    such as we / us being likewise noted
but based on an enclosure, endorsment,
a definiteness...
   thus said: how can a grapheme be the smallest
unit, when it encloses two vowels?
   aren't vowels and consonants the smallest units
of encoded sound?
         well... evidently not...
so why read books where nothing, absolutely nothing
happens...
   well... the last time i checked books were
not invented to compete with movies,
there's a clear dichotomy in that "∞",
   what at best i can ditto to invoke: relationship...
O 0, ∞ 8... look who's the fatty...
                      hard to see why the only
books worth appreciating are the books translated
into a movie, kinda makes the original books
a tad bit pointless, what, with the abandoned
mental effort of actually having read them
   (past tense of reading can't be grounded
within the colour red...
   keeping the grapheme as become more and
more bewildering)...
   reed, read, read.... no Persian is coming near this
soil, no Iranian is going to blow himself up,
by the looks of it... the Shiite Muslims
are the only sensible ones these days:
     you need to allow for a schism...
i also note that, Christianity has become
   omni-schismatic, and, well... that's just
ridiculous...    
                                  it's too much pick-and-choose,
buy and sell for 99 pence...
                    it's hardly as romantic as
r.e.m.'s losing my religion,
i pledge nothing to the cross, nor
   the shadow of the cross,
                  i have no allegience
to it, or the crescent moon,
in scientific terms: i'm a free radical.
     but what i really wanted to "talk" about were
my two incidents in the night concerning women,
i must have probed the right buttons on this thing called
universe to get this sort of reply...
the 2nd example (stated first) was just weird...
walking down the street with a beer and cigarette in hand...
a Mazda MX-5 pulls onto the pavement...
i walk past it...
    30 metres down the road
this blonde runs up to be with a rollie cigarette
   and asks for a lighter...
i notice all the power-cursors of a ring on
her right hand... the car she owns...
            i'm really the pauper and she's really
the queen bee...
            the weird aspect is that she ran 30 metres from
her car to ask me for a cigarette lighter...
    the first incident is even more demanding
a written absolution...
    in a pharmacy...
                  asking for my sleeping pills...
ordered in the afternoon... most likely arrive in
  3 rather than 2 days... 2 days if ordered in the morning...
   and there she is, the brunette deer,
  i swear to you, English girls have deer eyes,
  not dumb-like, wild ready for unknown...
i should know... i spent 22 years in this ****** country,
drank the local milk, ate the local beef,
   never had a local girl to bed...
                     boo, hoo... which just makes them
all the more fascinating...
        it was one of those: love at first sight moments...
there she was, pristine milken skinned anglo rose...
    with braids either side of her cranium...
   a very slavic accent...
              she moved from beyond the far-away counter
to a counter near me
while i asked for my prescription...
             and waited, and she looked at me,
or rather: eat me with a nearing claustrophobia i
felt in my chest...
           this really does sometimes happen...
this realisation of love at first sight, the love:
without a fight...
             those eyes can cannibalise you in an instant,
esp. in the locket of an english girl's cranium...
      my **** and ***** shrivelled up,
my heart imploded
     and could only fathom a fear in my head
that didn't arouse a single, god-identifying word
of sanity and action, or adventure,
and the whole nine-yards of marital contract...
      just this girl in the pharmacy...
      how she moved, how she eyed me...
   well... my face isn't exactly a da Vinci...
but it isn't exactly a Picasso's impression
of a pig's buttock...
            i can only stress a hypnotic moment,
as if impregnated by her...
        i was only there asking for my insomnia
pills... and i left that place thought-******
       and emotionally ***** by those daring eyes...
as if the whole point of woman was
to ascribe a man to her delving in utilising a womb,
meaning i was almost inside a stomach,
        meaning i was no ego, meaning
i was foetus...
                oh sure sure... Helen didn't send a postcard
to 1000 Ships

I sit in my cage and wait for you to open the door
I've hidden away so long, that you don't even know who I am anymore.
But I see your face and it conquers all the rest..
I wish I could have realized that, for me, you were my best

But I've changed so much since the day we met
And when you said you loved me, I didn't think it was true
How could you love someone you barely even knew?

Since you've been gone, I locked my heart away
But now I'm gonna expose every inch of it
So I cant stop hiding and so the pain will go away:

I love to write poetry
I find comfort when I'm in the dark
I used to cut myself
And I believe every person is a work of art

I've tried to commit suicide
I never had a lot of true friends
I'm terrified of gorillas
And I'd really love to see the oceans

I have tripled the amount of people you said you had slept with
At least four of them are people you know
When you met me I was ******,
So you can imagine that I didn't take things slow
I hung out with the "wicked witch" of your group
And she introduced me to something that helped me not feel so low
And as I was up for days, hiking and praying to find love
Pupils dilated, lying to the ones I loved
I kept think of you, and why I wasn't your one

I stopped taking my pills,
Which were for Bipolar Disorder, not my thyroid
I didn't tell you the truth because I thought it made me sound crazy
I made out with your best friend..
But at the time I didn't know his ex was pregnant with two babies

I slept with your dealer
I dropped out of college
I'd rather have love than knowledge

Hard to make possible, when I'm addicted to ***
I crave human touch
Especially from the one person whose love I will never get.
I understand if you hate me
I hate me too
But I also love myself for finally telling you the truth

I'm afraid to grow up
Afraid of being alone
I'm afraid you wont show up
And that I'll forever be in this cage that's called Home.
But I've been sober for more than two weeks
I'm rebuilding myself
I have to take the initiative and take care of my health
I miss you like crazy..
And when I see you on Facebook I think back to that day
when you told me you loved and then I walked away..

I know that we'll probably never be together
And I guess that's okay
I just hope that you'll be able to forgive me someday.

Upon your leave my body crumbled.
The doctors said thyroid things but I found it
poignant that you took ten percent
of my body weight and half my hair
when you went. My teeth broke,
but now you're back, and as I stood blind drunk
in your kitchen you said kind words to me
that I don't really remember but I know
in my heart they didn't fix me.

all dealing off the bottom of the deck,
politicians ought to swing by the neck.

This is not a political post,
it's just a lamppost that I'm
leaning on,
because
George Formby's gone
dontya know.

I also played dominoes
with 'Fats'
he's gone too
and that's that,


basically
which all ingredients are made from
is where we are all going
except for me,
I'm off to Skegness,

rebel, rebel,

be a nun
a monk
a wimp or a hunk
pass go and dunk
your biscuits in
Lucozade
eat marmalade
with bacon
quick
quick
get your skates on
pick a colour
or combination
unlock the doors
find your station
but don't
be stationery
it's
better to be a
dictionary,

don't forget your medication
incantations work too
as does voodoo
dontya know.

You annoy me very little and I hardly think it’s fair
To place a box of scorpions beneath your favourite chair
I so enjoy your snoring and your dodgy thyroid gland
I don’t stand at your bedside with a pillow in my hand
Your laughter doesn’t make me twitch or sound like mating seals
So I won’t be crushing any glass to sprinkle on your meals
Adorable, your litany of whys and wheres and ifs
I’ll not be booking holidays near isolated cliffs
I love your lack of empathy and sullen, lifeless eyes
No need for poison pancakes or exploding custard pies
If ever you should doubt, my love, the way I feel for you
Recall this host of nasty things I’ve managed not to do
Thus far…

So, here it goes…

Had a follow-up appt today with Dr to go over some tests I had done last week, we are now 30 days post-heart attack. I go in all cheerful expecting to hear good news and yeah lets start the exercise and getting healthy!

Nope…No…NO…NO…NADA….NO….NO!!

The doctor was all, “Um, yeah, we got your test results back, and there is cause for concern.”

Wait, what??

And then I was not even expecting the next words out of his mouth…

we found several masses on the MRI.
                           3 in left lung,
                           1 in right breast,
                           and 1 on thyroid.

He was just so matter of fact, he was just “delivering the news.” And then he rattles off the appts I need to go get done as soon as I can and then bye, we will see you later…have a nice day. ***!
Somehow I managed to drive myself back to my house.

Crying the entire way.

My ears are ringing and I think I may ***** but I don’t. I sit down and put my head down because nothing feels real and my first thought was: I need my grandma. But my grandmother is dead so I can’t call her. I started to call a friend of mine but suddenly everything felt so loud and overwhelming I hung up before she answered. What was I going to say to her anyway – I didn’t want to sound needy and pathetic. Or afraid.

So I called DT. He knew I had been having health problems, he knew I had been having tests done, he wouldn’t be surprised to hear fear in my voice, and I didn’t know who else to call. It was the middle of the afternoon and I didn’t expect him to answer the phone anyway. I could leave him a voicemail and try to compose myself to speak coherently by the time he called me back. He answered. I tried to squeak out the words, but all I could do was cry.  I don’t know how successful I was since he kept asking me to speak louder…slower. Finally I told him that I would email him and we hung up.

It’s funny, as I write this now, tears welling in my eyes, it feels as though I am reliving it again. You never know the day your world will change forever, it’s a day that starts out as any other day; you get up, tired from not getting enough sleep, shower quickly, get dress, head off to school. You hang with friends…I mean it’s a beautiful spring day. You make plans for the summer.  And then in the middle of the day, with a few words being said and your life takes a dramatic change.

I don’t know how this is all going to play out…

Hoping this is not really the end of my world as I know it.

Can I survive one more hurdle???

Feeling a little hormonal?
If your blood sugars run out of sync,
See Dr Jimmy C,
He’ll have a good think.
Maybe,
You’re maybe feeling rather chubby,
Dr C may diagnose,
An issue that could be right in front of your nose.
He’ll request a check of your bloods,
He will send you to see the vampires,
To check if your thyroid is playing games.
Perhaps you’re just a little hairy,
Spoils your pretty face sweet Mary.
Dr C.
He may be able,
To sort you out and keep you stable.
© Livvi

I am a poetry site addict.
I get on a site, and I just
Don't know when
To stop writing.
I'm not kidding.
I'm serious.

I'm also a people pleaser.
I want people to like me.
So I overwhelm them
And try too hard.

I love to bless people and
Make them feel good
About themselves.
But it can get to be
Too much of a
Good thing.

I have a thyroid condition
And slight bi polar mania
At times. I'm medicated,
Which helps. But I can't
Sleep when the writing
Bug hits.

You may be saying to
Yourselves, what?!
That's great for a
Writer! But it really
Isn't. Cause I alienate
People. I really would
Rather read and
Leave the writing
Alone for a while.

Please forgive me.
I'm truly not trying to
Overwhelm. I just love to
Write so much.

Thanks for understanding,
And for all your inspiration.
All my comments, etc
ARE SINCERE!!!


Soul :)

My doctor goes
crazy about
my thyroid
flutt'ring
here and there not
giving
any
steady
values to be
accurately measured
I soothed her today
saying
thinking
It's just
Life calibrating
my body balancing
itself
It's just the
Butterfly Effect
She says ok but
please
get yourself another
appointent
I smile we
both know
It's just my body
calibrating itself
It's just
Life
calibrating -