Detour

I never admitted to a soul that

I dreaded the caress of my g-spot.

The idea of ecstasy frightened me.  My

buddies in Kindergarten drew a star for me,

but I saw a pictorial landscape that lived in the

stars. I imagined a lawn so healthy it spoke

a text language, and so verdant, I caught a

breath of mint life through the fence beside

mine. I thought of my love for velvet dresses.

A slight, breeze with a beautifully, manicured,

Mother’s hand slowly caressed my cheek— the right

one.  The birds sang in choral melody. Ah! The pitch

of the birdies happiness helped me to forget my bullshit.

So, I let go for one blessed moment—of an entire blast

of foul air.  My spirit existed with a lioness’s anger.

If I channeled the quiet “mew” of a kitten—my mantra, to

eat, exercise, and protect myself, because it’s feasible now.

I never estimated a different life.

I closed my eyelids to meditate upon self-care.

I opened my eyes for want of a hug; instead I

studied and interpreted the scenery that told the

truth.  I stood in the parking lot of the State

Mental Hospital. I scored a two-hour ambulance

trip. The county hospital held a speedy trial

weeks ago. The psychiatrist committed me to the State for

180 days.  The welcome ward’s brick stature scared me

and commanded the respect of the patients—or else.

My regular breathing switched to gasps. My lungs

wheezed. My heart raced around the hospitals

cul-de-sac.  Vertigo climbed like ivy into my brain—

coupled with a tornado to spin me into a fretful state.

I followed the short pudgy case-worker with my eyes

squinted, and my will broke when I entered the brick

building. She neglected to let me smoke a much

needed cancer stick.

 

Cool and Creepy Story

 

 

 

At the State hospital, when a new patient arrives on the ward, the nurses put his or her name up on the dry erase “notes for the ward” board. When my soon to be husband arrived, I read his name and thought, “I’m going to marry this guy.” I never met him before then and it turned out to come true.

Truth Be Untold…

»censored« by anatol knotek

Hello friends. Bloodshed embedded itself out of the heart of America, therefore into the individual souls that America bred.

While in the State Hospital, after I lived there for 8 months or so, I wondered what in the hell goal,other than leaving the incarnate place, might I set for myself? I sit here stunned, because If I set a goal then, I would’ve short-changed myself. Boggled down by ruminations of  the aggressive type (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder), all I wanted consisted of a wrapped and very tiny package with an extremely rare and very valuable gem inside it. I wanted to think freely, clearly and kindly. Like a diamond, I desired to meet with acceptance the flaws in my character, and applaud the morality I knew existed at the core of my being. I joke around, because so much of my experience at the State Hospital facility fell into the “tragically funny” category.

For instance, a gruesome character of the female tenant started a laughable pattern of swallowing batteries. She experimented with AAA, moved onto AA, and then suddenly she sucked down a D battery. Why? She wanted off the unit, so that she might smoke a cigarette. Always the trouble maker, the staff decided to ban her from her cigarette breaks. It takes incredible intelligence or respectful stupidity to sit in one’s room alone, and swallow a battery with her express purpose. Of course the staff caught on to her conniving ways, and she no longer earned a trip to an outside hospital. If she ate a battery, her bowl movements worked the best to exit the battery out of her body. Just imagine…”Damn, where did I put my batteries?” “Oh my God, if I refuse to dig through my poop, I can forget listening to my CD player.”

I bet she listened to shitty music;)))

Now I still fall short of setting goals for myself. Might I clarify that I mean long term goals? The title I gave to the theme of my life, “Goal Interrupted,” still stands. However, within the points of nothing versus everything, or achieving a goal versus not achieving it…the interruption becomes the flavor, the spice, or the Mrs. Dash of my character. So, no matter if I set a goal and pursue it on a galloping horse, the pit stops where I read toilet poetry that makes me howl with every cell in my body I say thanks to the big man. Character precedes the goals that I meet that mean a great deal to me.

I never swallowed a battery, but not holding it against this terrified woman instilled tolerance into some aspects of my constitution.

Jessica Klein

At the State Hospital I Made $13+ an Hour at Doing Piece Rate Labor

This is the Possessive Case.

First things first comrades. Happy Labor Day!

When I spent two years at the State Hospital, my check for disability ended. Of course, now the State “took care” of me.  Well, I maintained a lovely smoking habit of no less than a pack and a half a day. I bought soda from the coke machine for me and my future husband three times a day. I walked to the store for coffee with sleepy dust in the cracks of both eyes every morning. Needless to say,  I required money to navigate my days in this gruesome place.

So, the State Hospital provided an out for poor folk, such as myself. Seriously, they named it WAC, and yes Iobtained a WAC  job.  I worked in the “accelerated” program where we put things together such as beaded key chains. My 19-year-old buddy and I raced to see how much in 3 hours we could do. Oh my, we outdid one another until WAC paid each of us over $13 dollars an hour. Shameful huh? We worked before lunch for 3 hours and after lunch for two hours. We sat upon our asses and became the Queens of the Wac jobs. Unfortunately, my asshole future husband spent most of my hard-earned cash. Yes, back then I could have been labeled as “docile.”

The State Hospital housed a library in what they called “The E” building. I finally found out an opening existed for the library to help the librarian with putting together packets of information that the doctors requested. So I gave up my rich bitch job, and went to work for the librarian for possibly minimum wage, but I do think I earned a little less than that.

I quit the library job after several months to keep an eye on my future husband. Why? Delusions led to confusion which bred distrust and hostility. Please know, that my ex never lied to me about his drug habit. My history consisted of  drug and alcohol abuse too. When we left and moved into a one bedroom apartment, before everything else, he found a doctor to dispense opiates to him. Soon, he and I traded benzodiazepines for methadone or muscle relaxers. I became hooked on opiates.  Every day felt laborious, because if I failed to find my drug of choice,  I annihilated sobriety with cough syrup (robo tripping) or abusing my meds.

I have five years sober now, but it took a long time to do that. So I live 24 hours at a time, cause the past dissolved, the future is a theory, but the present, well it’s a gift. Have a happy 24!

Jessica Klein

 

 

 

 

 

Porn Star Found Her Niche

 

 

Bennet’s Truth from 1936 implies…FUN.

Okay, this entry is a quicky so all of you can proceed with your festive weekends. I’m pretty sure everyone knows about famous sex tapes. Pamela Anderson enters my mind immediately, and I believe Kim Kardashian “starred” in one too.  This detail of my life devastated me for a minute. I shared in an earlier post, I think, that I married my ex-husband while I resided at the State Hospital. Yes, patients have the right to marry, but try to divorce a husband while he lives in a State Hospital…Lawyer refused because he said my ex could claim he signed the papers “out of his mind.” Fucked up, right?

Even more fucked up, when he and I walked around the grounds together we did engage in sexual excursions in bushes, behind rocks, in the woods or even in one  of the few bathrooms that locked  (like at the State Hospital Store.) Apparently one of our “outings” composed of me performing an artistically, perfect blowjob while he sat on a picnic bench. I found out one morning when I walked to his building to meet him, and a pain in the ass tech said, “It’s the porn star!!” I thought WTF?

The Nurse from my building pulled me aside and requested an interesting suggestion. She said, “You and B—- were caught on video camera by the office buildings (that intermingled with Hospital Buildings, but still were sate jobs.)”  She asked, “Please go to a deserted, and well shaded area to do your thing.” So the security officers who patrolled the grounds saw my performance, knew it was B—- and I, told the “person in charge of that shit,” who told the nurses, who told the techs, who called me a fucking porn star for a month. The other fucking idiots that I loved for each of their  magic howled.

Should I laugh like a hyena or cry like a baby goat? How can I merge the two? Not with the chords of my voice. Taaa-Dahhh. Have a great weekend “peebles.”

(Behind deserted strip malls I found in the past provide a private and fun place to “get it on.” “FUCK” in plain english. ) Chow.

Six Word Story Called, “Poignant.”

»memories« by anatol knotek

 

“To write anything needs actual words.”

Jessica Kleinster (Think upon this ‘fact’) really heavy-like.

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This Proves My State Hospital Voyage

I think color coordination went out of style the day man met the rainbow, because free will reigns.

 

This is a Stick-up Asshole

I want your groin.  I planned to cast a light

on your balls to insult them. Not hard.

Your groin longed to relocate with honors

into my brain.  I guarantee that your groin’s

esteem carved a lovely/sickly sculpture

inside my cerebellum with slow undulations.

Thoughts bang upon my skull with the loudness

of a hailstorm on an old rusted tin roof.

I hunched my bovine body into a crouch—

in order to protect me from the dickhead

who assaulted me with his desire for an

“out of his skin blow job,” I crammed a virus

into his tiny brain to infect it with shame.

Our bodies collided with a single, spiritual,

oral-gasmic tube of ludeness within the universe—

another piss poor [Not Warhol’s piss on] creature

who begged to live in your groin, or my brain, because

after all—During an epidemic of extremists

in this world, heaven and/or hell reigned as the

number one vacation spot to visit in the universe.

I will go all Byzantine on some bodies ass. lol.