Psychedelic drugs being used to treat mental illness in East Tennessee

Phantom Thread - This film will be remembered as a classic over and above the classics

Masterfully and entirely novelly Written and directed by P.T. Anderson, this film is absolutely great in every respect. Run the credits. It all bends sharply toward cinematic perfection. DD Lewis, and Vicky Kreips are hynotic. Eleven out of ten, so where's it been for the last seven years? I never understand this temporal gap between the release of great art to the public and my cognition of its exitence. I have a very strong hunch that it has something to do with the marketplace. No problem.

I Love Ida Miller

Both her mother and her aunt had, in her words, very capable hands. She allowded that she unfortunately did not. In her days of dry land fish and dress makers, she looked like that girl in the picture in my Grandmother's front room. The rural Greene County topography was safe harbour for her ancestors, so later on down the line it bounded the lovely girl, who looked like the one in the picture in the front room at my Grandmother's house. On September 4 we went on an adventure. Time of our lives.

Glass Beams - Full Performance (Live on KEXP)

The Rusty Ol' Pot and the Pretty Little Jewish Kettle, Conflated with Joan Rosenberger

My little Jewish kettle lights me up inside and makes my whole body belch. I'm the pot, so I've got ample room to inhale deeply the pure love that wafts my way when her spirit steams up beside me, on the Appalachian stovetop, the front porch, her little ass, perched beatifully and barely flattened in the seat of the rocking chair my mommy gave me. I even saved her cigarette butts. I am completely happy. I love my little kettle. Understand that from time to time there appears this little kettle on my porchtop! It waits for me, too, from time to time to time. I may be a little late, but I always appear while she waits. When I touch her arm, her spirit taps me and I sound off inside like the lowbell. I ring for you, Little One. The kettle may not know that her spirit has befallen the pot, but I have a hunch she does. In fact, I know she does and I know she knows I know. I'm the happiest pot on the planet, with or without her. That makes me unafraid to lover. And she ain't even all mine. A woman like Danielle needs more than one man. Perfect. Life provides an infinite varitity of love, and this one seems to be very special, mutually shared, boundaries both respected, my stubborn and attempted breaches of her wailing wall notwithstanding. I just know that this wonderous thing has selected me, so I am entirely grateful and seized with stewardship; see, now and then, this pretty little kettle appears and steams up my front porch. Thank you eternally, Joan Rosenberger. You were my very first love. You lit the fuse. You kissed me on the mouth when I was a little boy. You were 15. I was eight. Greatest babysitter ever.

I do not, nor will I ever need her. I make sure she knows that, too. Voluntarily detaching from this woman, especially after ending thirty years of prozac, has been very goddamned real, and we're both better off on account of it. See, I fell in love with you, D.

Safari

Letter to Memphis - Tromp Le Monde

Trying to stay indoors on a day like this, Conflated with Kubla Khan

It must be like a young woman entrusting her body to me. Globally and complely. Complete, complete, Completely exposed. Nude, not naked. In full sway and completely away from the boundaries set by white men. While I play. My mouth and it's devilish tonguepice. Full of options. From which I select. Resisting the will of the centuries and its armies. Fuck them. I'm out to play. Fully. At. Play. Like looking out the windows into the tease of Autumn in late August. Staying put just because I can, goddammit. The wind won't be denied. But I'm not the wind. Trying to stay indoors on a day like this is like . . . not putting it in. The pleasure dome of Kubla Khan fully decreed, teasng the vulvic gates, withdrawing to spank those taught muffins, above and below, then the turning over, and returning to the gates, "where Alph the sacred river ran, in pleasures measureless to man." "The greater the resistance, the sweeter the release," said the wise old Frenchman at the beach.

Dope Lemon - Stonecutters

Omar, C.D., the the Worm - The Appalachain Trail of Meth Distribution

From Sinoloa, Mexico, to Atlanta, Georgia, to Hancock County, Tennessee, and War Creek, Mulberry Gap, Duck Creek, Kyles Ford, and Vardy and beyond.

The Martin Boys

Mean as hell. When they was boys, the younger one pulled down his britches, shat neatly in his cupped hand, and slung it at the elder. He would have made the most disgruntled, institutionalized prisoner very proud that day.

My Pineal Gland, Knuckled Violence, Paternal Pride Arising Eternal, and Robert Frost. (September 17, 2022 through August 17, 2024)

After slapping the shit out of the side of my face, and after I pleaded for another, he delivered immediately, but not in keeping with my request. In lieu thereof, he nailed me right between the goddamn eyes with a left hook, causing a flash-bang in my face, shocked and surprised bones and underlying tissues, and watering eyes. Even greater than the pain was pride's powerful rising, never to recede again, I suspect. In the days that followed, I recognized the love that made my obits and nasal cavities ache with just the right dollop of pain. And in those same days, the violence seemed to coalesce into the area between by two brows, so it wouldn't surprise me at all if all those calcified, rust-henged obstructive, chakrac seals were broken open when his beautiful fist came 'round and tagged me right in my fucking face. But, what's truly sacred is what it broke loose in my beloved aggressor. Exactly 23 months in the making. And let us not forget how his dear mother would have literally expanded outward with pure and perfect maternal pride, and ex-spousal delight, as well. But she wasn't, and in the words of Robert Frost, "that has made all the difference."

Parry the Wind High, Low

Real Estate - Stained Glass

Real Estate - Somebody New (Official Audio)

Younger Than Yesterday

Airdrop

Denied Entry Into the United States of America

I'm helping a man get his work visa. When I was filling out the forms, I was alterted to certain questions that, in my case, if anwwered honestly, would prevent me from entering the United States soley on account of my firmly held and well reasoned beliefs, all undergirded by notions of compassion, fairness, kindness and my intense hatred of the distribution of wealth in this country.

Antifa

Real Estate - Horizon

The Metrics of Narcotics

A local woman told me that she was present when kilos of cocaine, 2.2 pounds each, arrived in Morristown, Tennessee early one morning in the late nineties. They had dolphins emblazened in the centers, perfectly placed by cartel underlings, from the jungles of South America. She swore it her made her wet, especially when a AK emerged from behind the door, just in case. And terrified. In representing persons accused of narcotics crimes for almost 34 years, I've damn near learned the metric system. Big eights are an eighth of full keys, eightballs are 3.4 grams, which is one eighth of an ounce, keys are one thousand grams and suffer cuts with baby laxitive by greedy purveryors of what remains most dangerous drug on earth. Those little bumps eventually cause brain damage, e.g. Robin Williams and Anthony Bourdain. And as the brief, 15 minute euphoric, and deadly intense lift it provides wears off, it's time to reboot, all night long.

Joining the Resistance this Winter

If the election is stolen this winter, despite the will of the voting public, like in 2020 when an activist Supreme Court of the United States overruled the Florida Supreme Court's decision to award the sunshine shate's electoral votes to Al Gore, Jr., thus oblitering the "state's rights," mantra of the rightwingers, or on account of the promised refusal of the Speaker of the House to certify the results, and consequent, and kleptocratic fiat from the U.S. Supreme Court, and its consequent installation of an autocratic dictator into the white house, a resistance will emerge, the quadrinneal seeds having already sprouted. I don't know what form it will take. But it will emerge, and it will take. "That, I can tell you."

Really Brings the Porch Together

"Saw it on the wall, 'Motherhood Means Mental Freeze'."

The Ol' Boy

That's what I call him. At his essence, he's the dog tethered to his own hand, named, "Id." He's devious and entirely clever. He is puppeteer to craving and desire. But I do not even want to evict him. He has a life estate within his lair, which is painted shiny, glossy, oil-based black. So black it borders on blue, but it's not. Let's see what else. He's a cross dresser. His wardrobe is intoxicatingly stunningly beautiful. The vixen's modest little black backless, two stap, high thigh pleated black dress drives me fucking nuts. The staple garb of the seductive siren. He has outfits, tops, sandals and unshaven underarms contrasted with dark slick legs. He is a lemon drop. A cold sweating bottle of Pepsi and dark Dove squares. He smells like sex. His breath cold from spoonfuls of Tillamook Vanilla. His gravitationally seductive ass belongs to Elizabeth Shue. So do his arms, legs . . . the works. He's made of milk chocolate and soft Montauks. His eyes belong to the girl at the bank. I think her name is Sarah. His feet belong to a collection consisting of Kelly S., Pam T., Stacey T., London H., Jasmine T., Bridgit M., Kathy W., Danielle S., Ashley, Katie M., and Mila Kunis. Extraordinarily profane, he intersperses gasoline into bleached poetic verse, and whispers vulgarities into the ears of willing listeners. He tells tiny babies that he wants to fuck her mother. He hates. He's violent. He does not love. He's self-absorbed with self-craving and clinging, like the vine and hanging chimp's hands and feet. He smells like high school finger pussy. He bends, revealling that which no man can resist, but wait! That's not necessarily so, because underneath his veneer, he's as ugly as Madonna in the shower.

Why Don't Appalachian Women Dance?

I confine this to real Appalachian women who have not enjoyed the swelling experience of attending a college in an urban area because of generational poverty, unintended pregnancies, religious indoctrination, backwardness and ignorance. In narrowing the question, it seems I've answered it.

Reprogram your brain (it only takes 7 days)

Leslie Feist in a Cherry Tree

I've learned to look up. There's an entire vista awaiting when one tilts her chin about 50 degrees. Especially in the woods. This simple act of tilting opens the spectre and glory of the canopy. I know a young woman who spent practically all of her ambling time with her eyes gazing groundward, searching for fascinating fungi. And she found a full patch. Later that day, she returned to the hollow-head and ascended through the deep sex of the woods, rising to the clitoral pinnacle of the vulvic holler, whereupon her eyes rolled upward in their sockets and her chin floated skyward into the canopy, and she realized at that moment that she had entered a spidery sky hence denied. It was just past mid-summer just south of the emerging half moon, so she sat there, sitting, angular and propped against a beech tree, soaking and scratching the back of her head against its skinny sheathing, whereupon tempanic vibrations alerted her eyes to the east and there she was. Sitting in the crotch of a crooked cherry tree, watching our young woman watching her, through rolling time, then watching her in return.

A Prisoner's Path to Nature (The In-breath is the trailhead)

Even assuming the human prisoner is in "administrative segregation," which is a euphemism for solitary confinement, she is not segregated from nature. In fact, one of the most intricate manifestations of nature is fully present at all times -- the human body that shares the stars. It is observable through all of the senses that it has developed -- a self observing manifestation of the whole of itself. The inmate thus observes, through the body itself the diaphram as it moves, the heart as it beats, the central and peripheral nervous system as it fires, the body's capacity to process food and water, its wonderful ability to shed, to regenerate, to resist gravity itself with muscles and bones, and to stand wiithin constant protection by its brilliant sheathing. But most fascinating of all is the singularity with which these functions operate. When the inmate recognizes that, the observatory is constructed within her otherwise closed quarter. She cannot be denied the temporal proximity of this marvelous generation of life so long as it continues to breathe from the surrounding air, which is the life-enabling hallmark of of the floranatural fact of a singular life.

Arcade Fire - We Exist (Official Music Video)

What Found Me Today, Conflated with the Thing Next Door

This mushroom found my field of vision from a height of seven feet in the clitoral apogee of a vulvic opening into a lovely Chesnut Oak on Tortise Hollow Hill. What is it, Nora? Taxonomy, please. Now, tThe Paw Paw fell to the ground as I passed it. THe two trees are heavy with these versions of ice cream, without ice. I stared at it and it taught me exactly how to eat it. No shit. Finally the Rose of Sharon came from Randy's yard, which was, de facto, Becky's yard. Beyong that, there's nothing really to say, is there? But here I go, fully acknowleging the negativity I will be releasing. This thing next door actually tried to speak to me the other day and I flipped him a most poetic and transactional bird, right to his stupid face, which, though axiomatic by now to all who've had the misery of being exposed to his toxic visage, was awned by a goddamned stupid fucking toupee, affixed by glue to his abominable scalp scape. I actually represented one of his relatives once. Another Mole. He, too, wore one. Toupees run in families? In any event, this is our neighbor, Miss T. Now, allow us now to return to nature, which is anathemic to this perversion of humanity, named, quite appropriately in this case, Randy Moles. Indeed.

Feist - Century (Live on KEXP)

Crooked Dice

Louie c k stands for "causes kancer."

Of the soul sellers and truth tellers. Louie C.K. is one of the worst people on earth, not necessarily because he exposed himself to noncomplict women, but because he folded the shame back into a comeback tour where he exploited his own experience, not to for any redemptive reason, but for cheap laughs that made him and his brand even more unnecessary millions. Please die and ressurrect George Carlin. Louie CK causes cancer. It's perfectly acceptable to hate this stupid mother fucker.

Elephant Revival - "Wildfire" (Original by Mandolin Orange)

Elephant Revival "Remembering a Beginning"

The Dialectical matches between the evolutionary life force and the spiritual human being is more like world war four. The synthesis? The Emergence of unwanted pregnancy,

unwanted children, and women who are frozen to the ground trying to manage the unplanned chaos. Potential is completely deleted for these breeders.

Don't let the Pimps of Materialism sell you a dream home on Mars, or tri...

Elephant Revival - Ancient Sea

Elephant Revival - Cosmic Pulse

I am thankfully old now. Just leave it on the porch, if you don't mind.

The Ultra Violence: Ron Wallace, Hugh Huddleston, the Lillelids, the Hispanic baby, Bubba, Adam Kelly, Glass Eyed Rick on Short Mtn., Jeff Fye, Clarence and Mary Gallop, . . .

All cut short. These are the ghosts and institutional ranks of vilany from Alex DeLarge's "ultra violence," vibratting like battery operated plastic cocks, withn the anal reach of the Appalachian ethos, by my own account. This is Appalachian American Ennui. Bloody as blood sport blood cock fights and blood banks split wide open and spilt down porch steps and bloody stairwells from bloody bodies and their bloody body holes. Blood on blond bangs and behind little ears and baby seats. "Hold his fucking head under to the bubbles quit." Rage threw that dead baby against the wall on the West End of town. Clarence and Mary, old coupled, kicked to death so Tommy and Eddie could pawn their sentimental keepsakes and re-up with new bags of nose blow. Face shot off. Shot and run over. Bubba's face shot clean off. Rick got his glass eyes shot out when his lights went out. Jeff got killed by a detective. Shot all to fuck. Split wide open. And that's not all. I both advocated for and actually liked them both. Client kills client. Shot in the mouth. Shot in the mirror. Shot in the gullett and the solar plexus. Shot in the phone. Goddamn Steve Barnard shot Nate Ivy's leg clean off at the knee. Barnard now lies in that subterranian stinkng. Little girl burned up beside her daddy wearing my gift from the day before around her neck. Same age as my daughter. Her name was Amber Sumner. Judge Ben Strand caused the Kline boy to kill himself. Juvenle injustice times infinity. Now Ben lies stiking, too. "Fuck you, Judge Strand," lamented aloud in open court from the black man who had grown internally free from his serial sentences. Consecutive. Consequential. Lie there stinking up your subterranian six feet, Judges Strand, Beckner, Brand, Hagler, Johns, Mooneyham, Thomas, Scalia, Roberts, Cavanaugh, Barrett, Gorsuch, Slone, Ogle,. . . . Even if you're not even dead yet. My Hancock County client then instructed his new victim: "Now turn around, you mother-fucker, so your guts will spill down into the holler." That's what.

Elephant Revival - Echo's Rose. The Zenith of the Two Most Beautiful of all Art Forms - Music and Dance

Vilification Empowers the Vilified's Exodus from the Oracles of Gossip. It's another example of the law of paradox; pairs of opposites. Beautiful.

This life is beautiful when lived in the absence of these sad people. "Food tastes better."

Bloodsports: They Were Both Present at the Infamous Rosethorn Cocke County Cocke Fight, But Not the Red Lantern Massacre. But Both Were Massacres, Nonetheless.

Clarence Thomas, Associate Justice, U.S.S.Ct.

I heard that he got called "a goddamned nigger" by a young woman wearing a wife beater, exposing her intoxicating hairy armpits and Maoist inwork on her surface of her decolletage in a weed themed coffee house in Austin, Texas in the small hours after closing.

2025 Presidential Prediction

When a woman of color wins the presidency by defeating the flawful, fascist opponent, his body will immediately begin to react causing his flabby fatwork to turn against his autoimmune system which will trigger the relase of decades old fried chicken cancer and cause his death. Cause of Death: KFC and Lies. Manner of Death: Vanity.

Heroin

Heroin's now neo-heroin and not like the China White or black tar in the daze of the days. Opium. Poppys. Afghans. While that provenencial substance is still present, so is fentanol and MDMA and a littlen blow if she get's really lucky. But, most graciously, they get charged in the singular with possession of a schedule two narcotc, salvaging them from some rogue ex-prosecutor who's probably killed people who is situated in dark red upper east tennessee from charging for them with all four. "Smoke don't spike." has been my sage counsel for decade to my many sad stories who have fallen off the bluff in the different kind of awaiting hell, which is their last best hope. Methadone maintenence and the concommittant rides to Newport or Mosheim six days per week. They have no drivers' licenses, so family gets called up. Forget about he lies for now, though they're innumerable as a sea sand and the size of the centuries, epic,and seemingly global when fitted up against the ones they have to tell to cover up their progenitors. It makes them much sicker. Problem: doing ten days in cust0dy draws into what's left a hideous and abomidable withdrawal that feel like the killer body flu coupled with a massively deep depression and most unpleasant bodily reactions. But if they do stay clean their reward is death because the next time comes the spike is the last time. Their tolerance has been drastically mitigated on account of the forbearance, and death's doors swing wide for them. I've known so very many.

Beck - Modern Guilt Full Album (Extraordinary Collection)

Presence

Presence is immersed in an acute swirling, warm, boiling and bouyant suchness and is-ness, empowered in the acute nowness by innumerable temporal, proximal increments that pass back and forth and back again, through and into themselves at lightspeed in the house and the yard, above and below, ad infinitum, both simple and infinte, and within and without, and completely soaked through in this sitting body of mine, which is, in truth, boundless and vibrating, dancing in concert with everything else, and all the other dancers, and has not even once thought of itself as itself, because that's not at all what it is.

Donovan - Hurdy Gurdy Man (Official Audio)

Fight Club Soundtrack - The Opening of the Most Honest Film Ever Made

Beck - Orphans

Little girls in leotards and human competition are tools

Tools of capitalism in the aggregate to further divert the attention of the stupid masses from social injustices created by the monster itself. Fact, goddammit.