From Toxin Tocsin! Or the Origins of Kelin Loe!

 

 

I have never been knocked up. I have been knocked out. I have asked my husband to

smack me.

 

WHY ISN’T THERE A NEUTRAL WORD FOR ASS?

 

BOTTOM IS A REDUCTION

 

I started the gut lavage the morning after our honeymoon.

 

The gallon jug and powder rode with our presents and suitcases from Minnesota

to Massachusetts.

 

My pediatrician introduced me to those massive q-tips.

 

My children will be from Massachusetts.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The psychologist asks me if I think things will turn out okay.

 

The psychologist asks me if humans are good. If people are out to get me. If I have a

smoking problem.

 

I have always been attracted to quiet men.

 

My pediatrician asked me to stand with my hands between my bottom and the wall.

 

She asked my mother if I had a bad gag reflex.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The woman behind the window leaned over and explained that some people have a hard

time getting the gut lavage down.

 

YOU CAN MIX IT WITH CRYSTAL LIGHT.

 

If I start vomiting and I can’t stop vomiting, that’s when I should call the on-call.

 

The lady said don’t eat anything red for a few days. Don’t eat anything that morning.

 

The lady said I can have broth for the first few hours.

 

The lady said I should have all the water I get in my body.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I want you to know that I can force a fall out.

 

When I want to go static.

 

When I want to go gray.

 

My pediatrician told me to open my mouth and push out my tongue.

 

If I had a dick I would pull it out and piss on them.

 

A GAG IS SIMULTANEOUSLY AN ATTEMPT TO SAVE YOUR OWN LIFE AND A

FALLING OUT.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My gastroenterologist, the same one to push and pull cameras though my systems,

explained that GUT SHIT AND PREGNANCY IS AN EVEN PHENOMENON.

 

She ran the cotton stick from the bottom of my throat to the top.

 

One third of women get worse. One third of women stay the same. One third of women get

better.

 

You should drink one glass of lavage every ten minutes. At that rate, you should be finished

in two and two-thirds hours.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I polled the middle-aged people I know.

 

My mother said it tasted kind of like Gatorade.

 

She said I should slick up my butt to protect it from the gut rain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I SAY, YOU CAN’T PROTECT OPEN BLOOD WITH LOTION.

 

It took my husband and I several massive conversations to decide to start dating.

 

My husband had a girlfriend at the time.

 

He said, I don’t mean I’m going to take you to the altar tomorrow, but I need to know if that’s

a possibility for you.

 

He told me that he’d reached a decision and we made plans to talk about it the next day.

 

I said, if you choose to stay with her, you won’t see me anymore.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I began the lavage at 4pm and we went to bed after midnight.

 

He said, I think we can work something out.

 

He didn’t say that he had chosen her. He’d planned to say that the next day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It did not taste like Gatorade.

 

It tasted like pop syrup supersaturated with salt.

 

It tasted like someone sucked the wet out of fucked ocean water.

 

I used a bendy straw. I have many taste buds in my throat. I moved the straw into my throat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I drove back to my apartment. I took the speakers off my desk and put them on the rug. I

turned them towards each other.

 

I lay down, head between the speakers.

 

I can’t remember what I played.

 

THIS IS A WAY TO BEAT A DRUM WITHOUT A DRUM.

 

I played it until I started hyperventilating and shaking.

 

Until I fell out enough to fall asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I could only get two glasses down an hour.

 

I was hyperventilating and shaking.

 

I was understanding what it was to swallow sea.

 

I couldn’t stop shaking, and I didn’t have the energy to sustain it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Birds call in the morning to signal who is still alive.

 

I will not know you died unless I get a call.

 

WHY IS ALIVE HUMAN DEFAULT?

 

I would like credit for making it through the night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My body needed to be stunned.

 

I thought about when I ran the teeth of keys into the soft part of my thighs.

 

I thought about the knives my parents gave us for the wedding.

 

NO MORE OPENINGS.

 

CUTTING IS NOT HOW I WILL KILL MYSELF.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Death used to be human default.

 

Did this change with the invention of language?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I asked my husband to smack me.

 

I wanted a bright force across my head.

 

I wanted to fall to the floor.

 

He couldn’t hit me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My husband and I wrote our own vows.

 

I said if you don’t know you would kill a human, I will not trust you.

 

A MARRIAGE IS BASED ON TRUST.

 

WHAT IS BASED ON MERCY?