Rumblitis--Chapter Eighteen

  
   As always--my books:  King's Books! 
  
   EIGHTEEN:
  
   Staci Rumble, the androgynous Holy Ghost Itself, into the spiritual vacuum of the mental ward, frowning down upon an opiate-induced Ray, knowing the poppy soothed, offering solace and contentment in the control of small doses, a needed theophany for the complainers of pain--and they must be able to control their own intake; otherwise, blaming the benevolence of physicians for their own dependence, unable to articulate respect for the majestic narcotic, thinking it candy corn and not the nectar of a comforting God offering consolation in modest ingestion--a blessing of the divine, not to be fucked with by the pseudo-morality of an American Government getting orally-sexed by Monica Samille Lewinsky underneath the ghostly resonation of Jack Kennedy's desk (possibly), ornamented in a Lime-Green Thong purchased online, back in the day. 
   "I have no testicles, but I'm happy sis."  Ray grinned.
   "I know brother.  Just as Christ was AMAZED in the New Testament concerning their lack of faith, He continued onwards towards the Good God, wanting to pilot that Holy Engine of Sublimity.  Now, let me tell you of the days of High Adventure."  Staci smiled, spilling--
   Ezra Pound is alive and living in Nashville, Tennessee; moreover, Anti-Semitism is the foulest and most toxic of all evils; nonetheless, there would be no WASTELAND or penile rants of Joyce without the horrible/insane poet known as Pound.  And there, amidst Nash-Vegas, born pre-mature, placed in an incubator, a father's wicked, adulterous entrance into a carnally cunning cunt mutating his discharge--yes, it takes two--no, it does not take three.  Him, unable to evacuate his bowels as a child.  Medical devices inserted into the rectal cavity, digging out the folly of unfumbled fecal matter.  Next, urinary tract infections.  Sanguine piss.  Surgical appendages inserted into a young urethra, way up inside, probing with pain and misery.  Cranberry Juice is drank.  Night terrors.  Obscene imagery, constantly, always, freaking tattooed on the brain.  Molestation from imagination.  Insomnia.  Sneaking into brother's bed; subsequently, getting punched in the face for fear.  Social Phobia; specifically, inability to urinate or shit publicly, meaning no food or drink till after school, bladder bulging till home and in the safety of suburban habitat, pissing brilliance; then, more bladder infections.  Now, pissing razor blades.  Mother bitching at mutations.  Low Intelligent Quotient.  Inability to learn.  Lost in school.  Stupid.  Cutting after puberty.  Punishment for loins being alive, it being innate knowledge.  Erections, spill of semen--disgusting, causing washing, asceticism; next, stalked by a child-molested female.  Only person he engages in intercourse with.  Only one.  Crabs.  Syphilis.  Penile gash.  Insanity.  Homo-erotic ponderings.  Fear of women.  Celibacy for a decade.  Punishment for masturbation.  Locking himself in closets.  Weights stacked upon his thin back, mimicking march to Calvary.  Esophageal cancer masked by high intake of raw garlic and lycopene paste.  Then, bloody stool.  Venomous, squirting, bloody shit.  Vanderbilt Nurse has him arrested for poetry.  Stupid.  Him.  Real stupid.  9th Grade Drop-Out.  No piss.  No crap.  No talk in public. Cysts on nose.  Self-induced surgery.  Facial mutilation.  But Christ is there.  Hope.  Redemption.  Virgin Mary soothes--every freak needs a mother.  Chronic, Inflammatory Bowel Disease.  Iron Deficiency Anemia.  Complete large intestine ulcerated and inflamed.  Colonoscopies.  Blood transfusions.  Surgery needed to remove gut.  REMICADE IV offers remission.  Anal fungus.  Psoriasis in anal cavity.  Cheating wife.  Epididymitis.  Testicles in abdomen for a year--the size of large marbles, red and severely sore.  Bruxism.  Thrush.  Bloody gums.  Obsessive Compulsive Disorder with Tics.  A goblin of a man.  117 pounds.  Ten to twenty bloody bowel movements daily.  Prednisone.  Disfiguring acne.  Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors.  Ant-Psychotics.  Christ is awesome.  Cheating wife, again.  Teenage curses from black magic witches having a Satanic Bounty on his sanity and genitalia.  Punches himself.  With tools.  Minor concussions.  Lacerations.  Facial stitches.  Burns.  Vanderbilt Burn Unit for facial cleanse.  Smashes hand for gay leanings.  A fucking hammer.  Christ is good.  Obama offers capitalistic communism--ObamaCare.  Free health care, but you have to pay for it--even if you're stupid, depraved, rejected, shapeless, retarded, psychotic, neurotic, dumb to it all.  Herb for medicine illegal in the Dirty South.  Satan is Drugs, they say.  King David, Solomon, using in mystical invocations--no matter.  Get in jail buddy.  Get ass fucked for freedom in the cruel and unusual punishment of the American Prison System.  Morality hates cannabis!  Testicular lacerations.  Makes pass at Publisher in Las Vegas.  Throws away paycheck.  Squeezes manpiece till it bleeds.  Christ is good.  Bill Clinton should remove a testicle for sorrow.  Liquid Metal Arch-Angels/Devils penetrate his barricaded room.  Attempt to smother.  Dog protects, sleeping on his back--all dogs go to heaven.  No depression--fuck depression.  Stands fantastic.  Bleeds more out the ass.  Two months of constipation, pain, weight loss.  Christ is the apex of cool.  Never addiction--that's for the ignorant.  Moderation.  Inspiration.  Christ.  Forever.
   Ray glimpses at the Ghost of His Sister:
   "I hear ya."
   And She wisely offers:
   "You think Sam Champion wears pink panties underneath his business suits?  Pope Francis loves Sam Champion."