My psychiatrist asked my why I went on my pilgrimage,

It wasn’t in my heritage,

I’m not religious,

And the way was perilous,

She asked me if it had helped me,

Kinda but not really,

She asked me what I learned from it,

I replied “ummm, not one bit!”

But…

Do you people know what it looks like when a man dies?

What you think his fucking soul flies?

As he serenely and comfortably lies,

And he flutters his contented eyes?

Not at all — there’s blood and pain,

And vomit in his mouth,

and foul brutal smells of bile…

I awake in a cold sweat,
but there’s no real threat,
at least not a perceptible one,
no danger, no man with a gun,
merely my brain firing violently,
as I lay my heart pounding speedily,
playing podcasts reading reddit posts,
pulse is slowing as smooth talking hosts,
lull me back into the to the sleep of reason,
where…

Dear MS,

You should have killed me when you had the chance. You had time, before we noticed the lesions enhance. You could have fled, or slowed down, or otherwise been smart. Now I’m going to tear you apart. I’m not a warrior — I’m a worrier, but like Khrushchev…

wake up,
check phone,
let out moan,

stand up,
take a piss,
water runs hiss,

dress up,
clothes on,
eye WORK! c’mon,

fess up,
to myself,
about my health,

I’m up,
downstairs,
I comb my hair,

lift up,
arm weights,
my coffee hydrates,

speed up,
brain starts to work,
muscles start to fire; jerk,

drink up,
a glass of water with my drugs,
I give my wife and kids some hugs,

heat up,
some oatmeal for breakfast delicious,
ooh and a banana how delightfully capricious,

ahhh I feel so much better, what am I going to do…

One of the big things about the internet is that it is a fantastic repository of ideas and (mostly anyway) to a large degree people on it are willing to help one another. For instance, I posted a career question about a field that I was curious about online and…

I awoke with a headache — tired, worn out, but better. Slowly but surely better. Having your eyes messed up is a surrealist experience. Supremely surrealist. When your primary method of interacting with the world is changed so fundamentally it becomes difficult to experience anything. Naturally I still am improving…

Let me sing you a song,
let’s all sing along,
the ballad of American Healthcare,

a byzantine mess,
of unhelpful stress,
designed so you give up and despair,

it means you must struggle,
paperwork juggle,
through phone trees that lead to nowhere,

and if you give up; you die,
I’m sure…

On this fourth of July I got to run out of medication that I need (and can’t get refilled). On this fourth of July my uncle informed me of atrocities his mother experienced as a native woman going to mandatory schools where her language was beaten from her. On this…

Pat Pragman

The way things are going has kind of changed lately. Time for new - albeit wildly different - adventures.

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