Circle of caring

So completely sober, or as sober as i ever am, i started this project where i auto-stim a psychedelic journey from which i can learn.

I'd been reading wacky but reasonable versions of the plant-induced variety with accompanying sides of terror and physical revulsion.

But why? All of that only goes to show that the brain is perfectly capable of doing that all on its own, and that it may actually be always doing that anyway without our ever noticing.

So I surrendered to the colors and shadow anyone might notice with their eyes closed or partially rolled back into the head, relaxing.

The trip reports had mentioned being carried along on a current that you can't stop. I thought of the swollen stream rushing past right outside my door and what it would be like to be on it.

Distracting thoughts for me, a ruminator, don't have to be chased down, and my morbid imagination is not afraid of and indeed occasionally produces scenes of carnage and destruction, as does any red blooded. So i was not afraid, but that did not happen. There was lucidity as in partial dreaming.

But then i remembered my own last experience with a bio-halucinogen: the very real sense of another presence, not a cartoon guide frog sitting on a stump, but something round that was just next to me and actually overlapping into my own head, so like my head was a Venn diagram, except both halves living and potentially aware of one another, at least i of it.

Now tho as i hung my head in frustration, wishing for the ego obliteration splinters of which were variously described as lighting, ants, fractured bisected perspectives, no instead my hand on my head became the hand of that thing. It was my left hand and the thing had been intersecting with my left brain.

The hand was familiar and maybe it was someone i knew who is dead and earlier, even before the experiment, i had been experimenting with prayer and reflecting on how it's different from talking to the dead, and whether or not talking to the dead was more dangerous than prayer. Which assumes more agency? etc.

The hand not only held my head while I wept but let me bury my face in it and felt my face as if it had not felt it for many years and wanted to remember. It's not like i never feel my own face.

Lately also i've been saying thanks to my previous self: "Thanks, past self," and really meaning it. I do something that will help out later like putting the groceries where I can find them again, and it's a pain in the ass while i am doing it but i feel like i need to say thanks to that person for going to the trouble because so often everything seems like a lot of goddamn trouble but sometimes i find the energy to do it anyway because i respect my future self that much at least or at least have the optimism to expect there to be a future self.




Dr. Donna Thong
"Doing my time on the Chang K. Chang Chank Drunk Tank Chain Gang."

I Want to Get My Period

It's not about the silly ideology; they're auctioning off our property.
Are you wondering whether couples necking on a porch is an orgy?
That's a good measure of who's got your tissue decisioning remote.
I hear a roaring that could be patriotic, jarring, or an air conditioner.
You try and tell them: what if you wake up one day and ask how it
happened, and that will be a moot question; which corporation will
come and save you then, which religion? We must march to reason.

They make posters of themselves with your names on them
He simply nods to the highest bidder
Every day is an insult
You are dismantling the nirvanic system

Are they any different from common thieves?
Remember to change your registration when you move.
Everyone is gagging on their daylight ganking.

Mothers of Mexican-American babies make an easily identifiable scapegoat.
Only not because of the way they drive.
Their happiness compared to our misery while sharing the same dimension feels repugnant.
Have a day off and piss off someone who's rich for a change.
Ever imagined you could fly above it all?
Remarkable how insignificant you would become.

Fuckers are people who want a medal for the results of having fucked with no protection.
Unlike HIV brothers, who brag way less.
Cocks and balls are earnest, but they wouldn't run for president.
Kicking a man's groin over and over is like the daily planet.
Everyone hyperbolizes always.
Rest assured next we meet we'll have burned and replaced every molecule.
So fresh in, fresh out; may the goddess finally release her mercy of blood.



By Pussy Riot
(Donna)

As weather permits

i am an animal who stalks the killing field,
slinking twixt chainmailed calves, brooding
at my luck, in the coppery mist, on not so
much of a hunt as flower picking for men,
down and wounded, to carry them off and
have my way with them, oblivious to their
powerful original victimizers, i step in and
back in and keep them in my cave, fiercely
protecting and ranching them when i can



by Donna
"I can't find you, Mike."

Probe Thong's Kidnapping and Involuntary Participation in K R&D

Did DT
sew the autopsies
was she drugged and
brought in because of her
exaggerated resume and
actual size of breasts?
Was she an indentured intern
to the RTD program at
Pharmsupply?
Was she released thinking
she could mainstream?
She'd become skilled in
many kinds of surgery:
reconstructive, exploratory,
organ removal/ replacement
and quasi-medical
K grooming techniques



"K's Fly Spread Eagle"

Personal Growth Now At Capacity

There are dead smells coming up through
the floors and a stirring in the bong water
but my golden center rocks imperceptibly
on its axis, still, no matter how the planet
shakes, an invisible thread pointed straig-
ht at heaven allowing me to bend only in
orchestration with the divine & timeless.
The growing of a self as nirvanic system
has been a fraught journey of learning 'n
veracity, but now at the edge of space as
I know it, growth has met its full capacity.

by Donna

RE-CAP: It's not sustainable girl

fourteen months oughta be a monument to something baby
you cant juss say you gonna go and quit on me now womachal
y'got two kids and it seems like yor gonna hava nervous breakdown
corporations callin ona telephone tryna makeyuh pay yo dues nau
cantcha stick witme tellwe figure ifwe gonna go brakeda banko fo-cloes

misery
and growing old
withoutchu woma i cd layme downan close my eyes dontchu see-e?
youma co-D penna docta-lady fo-ah cobra vak-scene.

Abstract: Annual Symposium of the Metacognitive Talk Therapy Apologists Association

Diseases of Denial and Recognition

Hypochondria is not a disease that tells you that you don't have it; it's a disease that tells you that you do have it, so if you're a hypochondriac and you think you have another disease that does tell you that you don't have it, does that mean you do have it or does it mean you don't have it, and how would you know in the first place whether you were really a hypochondriac because a real hypochondriac would always say yes, of course, I have that too, so you can't take their word for it; but can I take your word for it if you say no, I'm not a hypochondriac, even though to me you might seem like one? How is it possible for a true hypochondriac to even contract a disease of denial much less deny it in a chronic fashion? Would the hypochondriac not nurse a gnawing suspicion that yes, maybe I am a hypochondriac, and experience a not-unpleasant thrill of horror at the thought? Then how is the true deny-or of a disease of denial to truly measure their pathological burden if they are self-diagnosed with a disease of pathological recognition, an obsessive-compulsive hyper-vigilance, an error in the ranking and evaluation of signs and symbols? Are the paradoxes not tied in a knot when the sufferer is convinced that no recovery is possible without self-diagnosis and the power of honesty, reflection, and faith?


Dr. Donna Thong
Surgery Generalist
(Relicensure Imminent)
"Check out my back patio!"

Spin of planet laid bare

It's 2:25.
In a few hours, it will be dark.
Then it will be time to feed dogs.
I'll get hungry and eat something too.
Fighting against sleepiness will ensue.
I'll wake up tomorrow with the promise of coffee.


Donna
"Recertification imminent."

entificar

I promise to pathologize
and entify you, endeavor
to construe the closest
construct to a you you

With my whispers in
your heart, I'll send my
secrets in the dark to
find you you you


for Mike
by Dr. Donna Thong
"I remember the night."

The arch is not set

The arch is not set
even as the meat attached
jostles with enamel

for a bed
and the stress that lips apply
can't be disputed


Donna Thong
Transitioning

You're funny when you cry

Let me drag you around the
world as i use up the last
scraps associations places
while i remember and they
still live but hopefully do
not remember what i give
to a culture not my nation

How about a last tour to
confirm the invisibility of
what i think i know is there,
see in my face what's now
and new, plus you and
some cab fare, and a hotel
room to go discover or to

Cower where you can't hear
leaf blowers or sirens just
cooling fans in a cable box,
muffled hums of a garbage
disposal or the water softener
if you wander downstairs in
an hour when it's time to sleep.


Donna
Drama Night
Main Clinic
Centre for the Journal of the Meta-Cognitive Talk-Therapy Apologist Associations

Probably got another one

scrubs in sealed shipping bags
heavy lined plastic, bar code
stickers, shoes obvious shape

stacked unskewed in a tower
busy representing a symbol of
a meaning to life's true answer

was nursing assistant school a
reasonable choice for me, the
first person since in my tree

since our species's ancestors
that developed little more than
an anus and a mouth, and we

trace our lineage back to one
of those; though the model
they've identified it looks like

a mouth similar in appearance
to a butthole, but both takes
in and out or possibly blows

the shit out through ears all
over its body, which had hair;
a heart is an undersea creature

squeezing like a jellyfish, and
always in liquid, the ribs a
hamster wheel of swimming

what ligature has to strap this
demon in to lunge for life as
might a racehorse but to eat/

shit; never really free except
for chemically, and in mama-
lian skin, it's too dark to see

but these thoughts populate
anxiety attacks as much as
organizations jonesing to

know your race / "heritage"
so they can put you in touch
with genetically linked others


Dr. Donna Thong
"Licensure in Dispute"

Spots

Raised on open-ended talk therapy, they began to want a face to want their feelings and so began to feel unimportant and uncomfortably swollen with emotive language as the sessions ebbed.

They began to wonder if they'd ever find the kind of begrudging rapt attention that a specialist, predisposed to listening and to caring, could give them; if they'd been genuinely interesting.

They noted at some level that it worked on one another but it felt a bit like incest, which it wasn't. The world out there was relevant while full of spots that wanted to defy them an existence.


Donna Thong
Registered Recertification Intern
Highchank Spa 
Highchank

Whoresbaths-on-Honeymoon

many swag of lace dripped,
fingers grew across silk-
blurred thigh. we'd skipped

the rite as well as the reception,
most of the precautions,
our future in a blip.

you can slide in on a dragging train
or read this book about sliding on in,
or you can shut up and disrobe.


Dr. Thong
"Hi, Mike!"

If it feels like a mental illness...

you've got a problem being logical,
or you can't scan the logic how its
laid out, and you can only speculate.

you can communicate it, but are you
just an explainer, a blah-blah to nowhere?
spend a tearless day, no inappropriate laughter?

if it feels like you want to be out all
night in the wind, and that's something
you've seen on television that's sick, is it?

Get your nose checked, or your feet for no good reason.
Multiple times swear in an hour while feeling anger.
Wishing it were another in every season.


Dr. Donna Thong
"Please have a professional take a look at that holiday 4U."

50-year-old Dildo

Sometimes when cherished guests have been to stay
and I'm lounging in around-the-house apparel
it feels as if they never went away

bird twisted like a fish into an 8
wild dog's high call
two-dimensional representation
balls of the hillside coyote

kill the night? or leave it to night mongers
irresponsible domestic predators
are not allowed to perimeter guard or roam
after dark or when we're not home.

Donna

Empathic Death Trance

Must have been 36 hours now a tabby cast this depressive jinx on a whole house, me, the dogs. I lay here unblinking with one hand up near my head poised in soft clenching just as, in the unmown grass near the hedge, did the cat. It's as if my bones'd been tentatively crunched like Kaintuck fritter in the teeth of a strong little bitch who wants to help her boyfriend put me down. He's at my neck. They've frozen to create a vacuum for my last breath or thump of chest tho I'm already blown out.

After at least a day of heavy brooding on the couches I say to Juniper sarcastically, "You the hunter, boy." Jumpy or abash to be urban, he stretches on his rug, catches sight of himself again in the glass fire door at the hearth and sits to stare, hyper self-aware, not just grinning, really trying to closed-mouth get his mind around the reflection. Don't know how you can stand to look at that, I add, aware of the projection. Then I turn to find a small praying mantis resting green in my bare leg whiskers.

Because I have PTSD from bad dating practices, witnessing a violent death and having to make manly judgements during and after can put me in a momentary tailspin, meaning a vortex of moments, visual playback, empathic shock, and unattractive tightened jaws, accentuated jowls I see now in the 7-ft mirror I had just installed in the master bathroom, which is prolly as big as someone's bedroom. I realize I don't know how I look talking to others because I don't ever watch myself speak.

I lift and drag it onto a black cloth wearing elbow-length, heavy-nap, dyed suede garden gloves, and I have never felt death so warm and fresh. LaLa and Juniper, strangers, had to be jabbed at with a push broom to relinquish their vigil and project. Cat had already taken hold of us and we were closer to mortality than we thought, or that's what we felt, when in reality, we are healthy and renewed. Or it's just the bloom of surviving that comes over you to help with the wounds, after a kill, even if you haven't any.

There are stages of waiting: for the end of dying, for the lack of living, for the weekly garbage truck that always came yesterday. The first overnight, cat spent growing stubbornly more still in a loose wrap on the garage floor, in a high-beamed room for two hoopties, with shelves and appliances. If I'd intervened more, it could've lived as mangled, expensive remains. The gentleman at the Ministry of Humane does not refuse to schedule a removal, but keeps repeating, "It'll be okay. Just set it in the barrel."

Donna

Lesbians Demand More Responsible Films

Chama Tilly's turning 40 and won't come down from the sea wall cave. In the middle of getting her preen gland expressed, the fully-organic K turned on her certified technician, flinging her more than 300 feet into the cloud cover over Cliff Suites. PharmSupply's medically licensed glandular biotics rep known only as "Phyllis" is passing a hard convalescence at Thong Clinic over in Chalk Chank.

"She was saying all day how much she needed me, how my skills were all that made her sane, and then whoop, flips out. Maybe I got too close. My rescuer was a level-2 protection boss in a flying-F suit."

We asked Phyl if her feelings had changed at all about having real K's or K blood/K love/K rule still flying, suffering when everyone would prefer to drive their own false K with closed legs or recycled K meat with privacy screens sewn on.

"No, because K's are not the only ones who suffer. None of us up in this chank or the crack that runs through it gets to live in an environment most suited to our "natural habitat" except of course for all humans. On the other hand, if humans and their actions are considered to be part of the natural habitat, then everyone and everything is entirely natural. If curing K’s would mean a major culling of the species for commercial gain, that's not okay. On the other hand, there is the odor, emissions, the sounds."

The K is a re-emergent life form that was named for the way it flies with its legs spread eagle. Barely living K's were hooked up to muscular positioning outfits and wireless saline IV's and flown remotely first secretly, then as a silent swell of cash transactions, and finally the unlucky target of public outcry. Flakes can't afford a K implant or the kenneling. But they deeply value the patrimony of K lore/ love/ blood/ rule.

We asked Phyl about all the hoo-ha on ground below the Chama’s lair: balcony to the world, sea salt and moss tacky. Though we understand now there was normally no more no less than pounding waves down there, with a narrow spread of rocks close as a penguin’s foot and only accessible at the pleasure of the moon, and where every low tide documentary reporters and free-speech zone die hards staggered under rubber ponchos in the mist.

“I asked them to give me a shot and bring me right back. Maybe I was the only one who could get her down. When I pulled up in the ambulance, somebody told me here, take this, and I did, thinking we were all a part of the same occupancy. Here’s a sign, they said, shout and walk around with it now. We were moving in a tight oval, no, an ellipse. I thought they meant it was a sign she wanted to be with me forever. But it said, “Lesbians Demand More Responsible Films.” Even when I put what the deal was together, I thought what better way to be where Tilly can see... that I’m totally willing to come out.


Chalk Chank [the Mp3]

Hell study

"Questions for Rev. Chama Tilly"
Hell Study
Chang K. Chang Chank Grain Bank Chain Gang Think Tank for Meta-cognitive Talk Therapy Apologetics
Dr. Donna Thong, Facilitating Surgeoness


) Have you ever felt as though you were experiencing Hell on Earth in a "real," non-figurative sense?

)) If yes, please describe the emotions, physical sensations and any other experiential items as thoroughly as possible. Avoid too much self-editing. If you are completing this questionnaire simultaneous with a Hell-on-Earth experience, please express your observations/ exclamations in the present tense. If you are not presently experiencing but are able to conjure or invoke a Hell-on-Earth event at will for the purposes of this study, please do so now.

))) If you do not believe you have ever experienced Hell on Earth in a real sense and/or do not believe that Hell can or does exist in our present Earthly reality, please imagine it at this time: what the most plausible expression of Hell on Earth would be, in as much detail as your pain centers will allow, and remember we are a non-profit cause that only wants to make it stop.

)))) If you see an issue with the concept of a Hell-on-Earth "moment," "event" or "experience," and especially if that issue is your position that Earth and Hell are one-- either for you personally or as a world view-- please fill in your understanding of the exact schematics of a Hell-Earth symbiosis, simultaneity or paradox below. Please avoid extended autobiographical illustrations of nameable phenomena/ paradigmatics.

))))) Check here if you accept the hypothesis of a literal Hell on Earth but cannot empirically verify its existence. Please indicate whether you have checked this box as the result of a religious and/or morality-based self-evaluation juxtaposed with your knowledge of others you suspect as more likely to be/ end up in and/or deserving of Hell. Further indicate the specific conclusion occasioned by any exploratory moral introspection. Which personal Hell can you infer to be the most likely outcome based on your findings: never going to happen, have been through and moved on, will/ may/ may not only occur after all medically-defined life has concluded.

)))))) True/ False: "I am most often free of Hell and Hell-on-Earth experiences/ anxiety as the result of regular and deliberate righteous thought /action as prescribed/ illustrated by familiar moral constructions/ codecs."

)))))) True/ False: "I am most often free of Hell and Hell-on-Earth experiences/ anxiety as the result of regular and deliberate righteous thought /action as proscribed/ illustrated by subjective/ personal trial and error."

))))))) What would you want to know about this researcher's approach to Hell/Earth, and why would you want to know it? Do you believe that you as Chama could cure an outbreak of literal Hell were I myself to experience it in a very real way? Is it wrong for one woman to love another woman so much that she doesn't care about Hell at all?

Donna
"I am equipped to handle a number of medical procedures on the back patio of my home."

Sixty-Nine Cents an Hour

My first real corporate gig since shilling boner at private pool parties for the Chicago mob landed me right in the peaking tip of the dot-com boom. This time I got to be the old shuggie with the time-done-alive cred if nothing else. The mean street in between had been a beautiful government sliding down a rainbow of duty and patrimony, but I was ready for all the opportunity and glamor of a whurl-wide pyramid schemata. Even though you know already my only retirement income said and done now is from leasing out these tracts.

My new boss was half the size I had been at his age and twice as green. With a twitch. Always seemed to be sweating it out, this guy Pete Steeves-- what if they fire me, well it's curtains for me and the wife and kid, that's whut, and forget about the options. Just lettem get you drunk and goofy after work, dick-flip yr earlobe now and then, fetch a few things, learn the acronyms. VC is no longer Viet Cong.

But Pete also had another thing i didn't know he had, what they called hunger back then. It's also when they started leveraging the word leverage's leverage all over the place, almost like they were leveraging it. Just like when pundits and academics started saying the word "piece" all the time. Like, "And then the other... oh, i don't know...PIECE of this is, i think..." (they had to pause before the word piece as if they had just then thought of using it in that particular kind of brilliant figurative play). Around that time or a little before they also decided that the "UH" sound is too like a troglodyte. So everything has to be "AH" instead, as if a light bulb is going off over your caricature. AHnbelievable. Then the final golpe with the engine-like, throaty cackle talk, wicked-witch-of-the-west schtick to sound hip, ironic and also sassy!

Stumbling along a quaintly sooted, deeply rutted urban lane only meant for drunk young guys in ties leaving downtown bars at night, a street like the hormonally ergonomic curved charnel chutes for beef, Pete mistily confided that he trusted me in a special way. He expressed that as, "I feel like I can tell you anything." Next thing I knew I had responded to an urgent-toned invitation to his country home for a meal.

The Steeves' house was so old you could not even change a diaper in it due to its landmark status. It looked like "Shakespeare" condos, but lower, maybe where the ponies were groomed by jockeys. The double-dutch doored entrance with the capital X's on each under-wing opened wide to reveal an eerily medievally scene for riding the information revolution. The wife-- was it a bonnet? No, one of those prep girl tortoiseshell tiara deals--perched on a short stool across from the daughter, who was actually in a bonnet, being a baby, in a Georgian wicker, no, a varnished Confederate willow-switch ship bed, squeaking slowly. Was it a tyke rocking itself to some primordial Esperanto hymn in a flammable cradle edging our land's hearth, or another shriveled and catatonic relative?

As in a roadside "Mystery Spot," I could not stand up completely straight at any point, angle or coordinate in the structure. Pete and Nancy had developed stoops, though they could have geometrically fit erect in a technical sense, maybe just not psychologically quite like duck's backs around the time-travel/ anachronistic lifestyle piece. Pete, intuiting that I wouldn't stay on for whatever was boiling in the cauldron at the end of a hag's long spoon, immediately presented me with a gift. It was warm from being in his hand, and it stayed that way even after leaning-to in the cool vinyl toll-coin tray of my GM tank for the hour it took to get back home to Highchank.

Pete's gift is made of a hard, dark wood that holds energy beyond its own life better than most other previously living tissue. It is so much more valuable as a dead absorber of however the sun can stir dust into sparks and finally fish-lizard-rat-ape-calculator. Pete's gift you might call a totem he picked up from some port where they give a tourist a dark kernel of place and a little more, which can taint. You might call Pete's gift a fertility symbol with just the suggestions of parts carved roughly and all from one piece, but that was also the whole point. Along with how it can't stand up even though it's obviously a man. The soles of his feet are badly cut, really more like hacked at by a god making sixty-nine cents an hour.


by Donna
for Metacognitive Talk Therapy Apologist, Autumn Double Issue