Henry's Psychiatric Session to Determine Prognosis Part II

Henry returns to the room of Dr. Kentworth. He is smiling and fidgets with his hands, flops down on an empty chair, swings both legs over the left side of the chair,  and begins to laugh.

Dr. Kentworth: So, the cigarette went well I see.

Henry: (now very serious, no more laughter)
Create in me, O God, a pure heart--
but I am not pure!


Dr: Henry?

Henry: Create in me, O God, a pure heart--but I am not pure! The smell comes first,

but I am not pure! Then the man that calls himself "Frank the Master" pours into me and O God, a pure heart I am not!

Dr: Henry (pauses trying to capture henry's attention), have you ever been seen by a psychiatrist before?

Henry: On this day, O God, drop oil on my head as a symbol of healing. I saw a man once. His head was like a leper's tail. He told me I would be okay if I just stopped brushing my teeth. I thought, said, that sounds mighty dramatic, to the man...then he held out his hand.....and I took it....BLAST ME!

Dr: So, in other words, Henry, you have been to a psychiatrist before?

Henry: So much energy, and in one section. It tires me out to speak of it, but, nonetheless, yes, his name was O God! That's it! His name was O God! And he laid out his hand before me and tried to protect me from The Master (laughs) but, oh how The Master ripped off that hand of poor O God! And then I saw no one but Him. He told me to go to Kansas City and kill the board of Congress like I was some ol'white son-of-a-bitchi n'-dog-hearin'-son-of-Sam!

Dr: Henry, there is no need to raise your voice, I can hear you perfectly well when you just talk. (long pause, Henry kicks his feet up and down against the side of the chair and smiles at Dr. Kentworth) So, Henry, you're telling me that your first psychiatrist was O God?

Henry: (laughs and then swings his legs back to the front of the chair, crosses them, folds his hands and places them on his left leg, he now speaks in monotone) Yesiree, O God was his name-o. He told me that Frank was not real and that my mind was playing tricks on me. I was like, tricks. Who plays tricks. Not me, for sure. Tricks aren't anything but a young skeleton wearing a body, you know. 

Dr: So you have seen someone before me. Why did you see somebody before me Henry?

Henry: Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions. See that man there, that accompanies that wretched smell, be gone. I don't care if it's bloody fucking Siberia, send him away. Send him away. Send him away. His eyes are expensive and violent. They cause an explosion inside of me. It is very uncomfortable and I damn my mother. Mother-fucker go on now to Siberia like O God says I say.

Dr: God was your first psychiatrist Henry?

Henry: In a sense, I guess you could say. (fixes his eyes on a bust of Carl Jung that rests upon the desk of the doctor) Senselessly, all around me I see brokenness: children hungry, women abused, pastors harassed, legislators befuddled, immigrants deported, people discouraged. That ain't my bag, right? My dreams were determined by my illness. How he overcame me is not altogether clear. I saw him but a few times. He was ugly. He looked like that hooded thing that takes the life away. He told me a lot of calumniation-malarkey. This hog-wash spewed from his mouth. A liar he was. His pants, were, in fact, not on fire though. That is a blasted shame because deceivers belong in the fire. Dreams, art, mythology=malarkey. Now this trash-dreamer was trying to tell me that my English scholarship went to hell because the host had sent it there. The host in my dream sent it, that is. My dreams send my scholarships to hell. Now. Does that sound right. 

Dr: Are you asking me a question Henry?

Henry: Not Henry (laughs)-the bad man dummy.

Dr: Who is the bad man?

Henry: Uh, like, duh, The Master, remember.

Dr: Yes, Henry, I remember. You did not trust your former psychiatrist?

Henry: (Cries out) WHO SAID ANYTHING ABOUT TRUST!!!! THE FUCKER TOLD ME I WAS INFESTED WITH THE FUCKING DEVIL!!!! NOW AWAY O GOD!!!!

Dr: Okay Henry, okay. Let us talk about something else. When was the last time you took a shower Henry?

Henry: Nineteen fucking eleven. The last time the waters did roar. They accosted me like the dickens. How they burned up my skin. Goddamn nineteen fucking eleven all good fuckers go to Heaven. Yeah, Fuck all them too-good-for-you's. I'm done with this.

Dr: Nineteen-eleven. That was a long time ago wouldn't you say Henry?

Henry: (Uncrosses his legs, gets up from his chair and goes to the window dragging his shoes along with him, expressionless) All Hell after that. All Hell.

....to be continued.....

Henry: Psychiatric interview

Dr.Kentworth MD interview with Henry O'Malley to determine prognosis

Dr: What are the main problems?

Henry:Smoke? I prefer smoking I think.

Dr: Sorry this is a non-smoking facility.

Henry: (Chuckles to himself, crosses his legs)

Dr: What problems are you experiencing? Have you noticed a change in yourself? Abnormalities?

Henry: You see, the way I fold my hands has nothing to do with the normal structure of the plantation. The Greeks came in spirit and discovered this country. This obese country. But, the Great Grasshopper plague changed their minds. (laughs for some seconds) Little hoppers on the prairie! 1874 death-machine! (grimaces, sucks in his lips)

Dr: When did you last feel well? 

Henry: I was taking a stroll through the wood-like statues. The leaves were quite dim. Then, I noticed my body was out of control. The smell was somewhat stretching my nostrils. I was very uncomfortable at this point.

Dr: What kind of smell?

Henry: (places his right knuckle to his mouth for about a minute) Sad.

Dr: The smell was sad?

Henry: Sad? Mostly prehistoric. Ancient. Like a dead thing entered the vicinity.

Dr: In the past have you ever had problems with your mental health/nerves/depression?

Henry: OOOOOO....this is getting spooky. (widens his eyes) My mother. Her nerves were like winter freezing me up and down. My hands were often cumbersome mechanical stems. 


Dr: What about your nerves Henry? Were you often uncomfortable?


Henry: THE NEW YEAR HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH CHANGE! IT FRIED MY BRAIN! SUDDENLY BLIND TO MY COMPATRIOTS!!!!!


Dr: Okay Henry, take a deep breath. You do not need to raise your voice. I understand you perfectly.


Henry: (Bursts into tears)


Dr: Why do you cry Henry? Would you like to take a break?


Henry: You're a funny guy. Just like the last one.


Dr: Would you like to continue our conversation?


Henry: (Stands up from his chair, walks to the rear of the chair, leans over it) You should quiet yourself. The air is full of them. They hear everything. 


Dr: Who hears everything?


Henry: THE GODDAMN MENNONITES THAT"S WHO!


Dr: Okay Henry. Why don't you go take a cigarette break outside. Ms.Galen will escort you. We will take a break. How does 15 minutes sound?


Henry: All is well. Here and there. Smoke is good to me.


Dr: Very well Henry. Talk to you soon and enjoy your break.


....to be continued.

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Hebephrenia Happens

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I do not have transmitters in my brain or any stink-in' wang-dang paranoia-cysts. Everyone knows about thoses. No. I come from a different frontier altogether, but I was raised by ants. The queen was very demanding. We worked really hard. I do not like the pusher-man. His eyes are rocks and he kills the sky for ten bucks. They cut down the tree. This brought turmoil to my sense of self. The air became stale-like and thin. The lepers were all watching the game and I rode up on my steed with dire indifference. The boys had marbles streaming out of their cerebellums and the witch Mennonite teacher wagged her tale for the Lord to see: she said "shame." She said shame and the cops came and then the robbers pitched their tents in front of the pig station. It was a riot I tell you. It has been almost 70 years since I have seen the likes of positive action. See something? I don't see anything. My doctor asks me if I see things and I tell him where to go. If only he could stand in the corner. I slow down. I am slowing down. The lunatics get on my nerves. They pace like narcotic addicts. All tense. Oh Hebe! She is the slut amongst wolves. Crying out Jesus almighty Son of God to you Mrs. Fucker. Fucked up brains oozing out melodramatically. Oh please. Stop this facade! HA! HA! HA!.  Just like you to wince. Is it some kind of warning? Malachite shoots through the wires inside of me just like the next man. The white house-skeleton waits for God's hands to finish constructing it. I am so glad his hands are not broken and that he is an invisible man. Invisible anonymous. This is my name: HenryOMalley. Don't go to the swamp. A-MEN.

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Nothing. It all means nothing. This is my name: OMalley I am going to see Jesus tonight. He is so much a zombie these days-back from the DEAD and all. I am going to see him play at the local bar for over-sized losers and basket-cases alcohol conundrum fallacy rock and roll good times. The End.

HOW TO MAKE AN EX SOIL HIS OR HER BRITCHES

How to Make an Ex Miss you so Much He or She soils His or Her Britches.

Henry O’Malley walks us through life’s gut-wrenching, brutal, agonizing, wanting desperation of the Ex.

“I tell them to leave the “S” out of Ex, but they do not obey my command (good advice). What is it without the “S”? Boring right? Oh, yeah, like you two were ever going to survive on thoughtful discussion and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. You all make no sense. I try to do my best by contributing to humanity my insightful, yet detached opinion. It is not my fault if one does not take my advice and acts like a schmooze, an ape, an animal. Read and learn…otherwise turn away and cry…suffer your loss like a wounded buffalo.” –Henry O’Malley expert relationship manipulator PHD.

 

Make an Ex Miss You like a Big Douche!!!!

You've decided that you miss your ex’s raunch smellin’ bed sore mouth and now you want him or her to miss your whale-ass smellin’ toothache as well. Making your ex miss you is not an easy task. It can be 1.Difficult, or maybe even 2.Impossible.

You know your ex’s body well enough to know that he or she is a tight-assed lumberjack, but have you ever opened up his or her skull to experience the real DIFFICULT, COMPLICATED, weird-ass shit? Now, what will work and what won't. Take these steps and apply what I think will work for you.

Difficulty: Moderately Challenging

Instructions

1.      Step 1

Play to their cerebral pulse. You know what makes your ex’s mind tick. There are certain things that you can do to show that you care about him or her. Do the things they fear the most, the things that indicate you are the dominant: After all, you are no joke, and really, does this chap or chippy have the gall to make you miserable. Strindberg, no. Oh nothing.  You can also try to bring up the times you had him or her at your mercy. Yes, these memories that you share are very powerful and can induce an acute cataleptic state in the subordinate. The real work comes when your loved one is cataleptic. You must raise your voice and put your left hand over the area where your heart is embedded and scream “I call upon thee Roaring lion! Ruler of this world! Satan! Serpent! Son of the Morning! Spirit who now works in the sons of disobedience! Swine! Tempter! UNCLEAN Spirit! Wicked one! MY RIGHT LEG FOR HIS/HER SOUL!!!” be assertive. Be real. After all, who gives a hoot about a leg when you can CLAIM YOUR EX’S SOUL?

2.      Step 2.  Improve yourself.
It's time to step up your game. Nothing will make your ex miss you more than if he or she is made aware that you have finally showered and shaved after two-months. One sniff of dove or ivory or herbal assaults shall have them see that you are doing better than they are. Take a self inventory and see what you can scrub. Don’t think too hard! Think about your confidence, your style and your appeal. Dove, ivory, shampoo. We ain’t dealin’ wit no smell-ass loser now are we?

3. Step 3. Improve your looks.
After you improve yourself take a look in the mirror. UGH!!!! Would a haircut help? Probably not.  You need to lose weight. What can you do to make an improvement? A fast improvement? You’re stressed out? Well, that is only part of the fun of being emotionally entangled.  Your worth is always in your looks, but showering will at least help you get noticed.

4.      Step 4. Make them see what they are missing.
Now that you have shown them you care and made, well,  some improvements,  its time to show your ex what they are missing. Let them see you slightly more often the partial new you.

5.      Step 5. Act like you don't care.
It's a tough act to put on, but it is part of the game you have to play to make your ex miss you. By now you've already showed that you care, but now you have to stop acting like it. Stealth.  Hiding behind the drapery naked in the room in which your ex is performing the act of copulation with someone else is always alarming. An attention-getter for sure. Just before you sense the height of climax (for one, both, one or the other) jump out from behind your hideout and crash the chandelier screaming: “Father of lies! God of this World! LEVIATHAN! LIAR! Lucifer! Lying spirit! Mephistopheles! Murderer! Old serpent! Piercing serpent! I BANG MY BREASTS (bang your breasts) LEST YOU FORFEIT THIS PETTY KNAVERY!!”

6.  Step 6. Be happy and positive

Never be down or depressed. Your ex will think that your breakup didn't bother you and soil his pants all the way to China.  They will be drawn to the fact that you seem like you are ok and it’s no big deal. Just make sure to have your nervous breakdowns and pent up frustrations in the duvet: without the other present of course. You know?

7.      Step 7. Start dating someone else.

Once your ex is completely enamored with you, and you have given him or her just a tease of a taste of your succulent woman or male  faculties, start dating someone else. It’s time to move on and I can assure you, with high probability, your ex will miss you far more than you ever dreamed possible and end up committed for emotional trauma the remainder of his or her life. So! Nothing to worry! No Tommy-rot in the sac with good ole’ exy. The med-staff is rarely attracted to a slobbering invalid. Unless of course….well..nevermind.

8.      Step 8. Screw everyone.

You now have free reign. ATTACK! Have scummy brutal sex with anyone that brushes your shoulder accidentally with their tongue. Take pictures. Smile a lot. Keep the shower maintenance all dove and Irish spring. Go to visit your ex, yes, there slobbering and moaning sorrows, unable to walk for lack of nourishment. Wheel your ex to the garden of the asylum and say very positively: “My! The petunias have blossomed! But no flower could be more delightful than a few pictures that have recorded my last escapades.” And with that said reveal the intimate and rather dirty (shame on you!) photographs of yourself in several different positions of delinquent ecstasy writhing in the sweat of your rather attractive partner. Say a few words to ward off any suffering: reassure him or her that their body parts are, and always will be far dandier than those other blackguards you seduce.

9.      Step 9. The trauma in the wheelchair has soiled his or her britches. This is your exit. A quick peck on the neck (slight tongue brush) and all is well!

Okay! All should be fair weather with you! Just heed my advice! Have fun! Never doubt the words of an expert. I’m certified; therefore I know what is best. Here is my card in case you get into a rut and need some healthy cheer-leading! Lex Talionis!

My Politics.

My Politics.
Originally uploaded by blazytory23

My Spitolitics.

A Day In The Life

Little Asylum on the Prairie. Stabilize and assess. Stabilize and assess. Acute schizophrenic episode chemically restrained with 50mg-25mg injections of thorazine, a “typical’ antipsychotic, given at intervals, the timing I cannot recall. Thorazine found Henry, submerged in the deep mass of antichrist: dissolved the infestation of I Frank the Master. I, Henry, was temporarily exorcised and freed, even in my state of catatonia, quite naked, submissive yet apathetic, mute. My eyes fixed on a certain point, but not seeing: the object was no object, just a stationary backdrop that had no name, color, shape, or purpose. Voices: professionals, assistants, volunteers, sometimes a practicing Mennonite, covered in layers of sterile air, mildly raised or dropped, hummed, lulled, never reached any perceptual logic or conclusion. In fact, the Henry of the future would most likely describe this past state, or lack of state, much like an involuntary vacation. Nothingness. Vapid. Vacuous. Non-being. An empty body chemically confined to a generic hospital bed, but nevertheless, FREED, from that awful raucous of the mind and body. Who would think this medication coma pleasant? Most relate such experiences to nightmares. But, to me, after months of deterioration, and the climax, an episode of acute violent schizophrenic outburst, the Delusion/ Evil entity I Frank the Master’s grand appearance and usurpation of all my faculties, this coma was not unlike having access or permission to a boat during The Flood. -Henry O'Malley

DATING?

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I saw something very disturbing today on my computer. My computer and I have formed a tight bond most likely due to the lack of interesting or worthwhile people to occupy space and time with. But, I saw this disturbing set of words on my computer screen today. Normally I am able to say "OK computer, you can slack a little, but please, please, try to keep the spam to a minimum." Uh, thank you. Not today. I was hyper-focused on some set of demented microbe/cyber formations of words. I was trying to write a bit about something I know a lot about, when all of a sudden, a smaller block screen rose up in front of my project that wanted to know my interests. First off, I know my computer does not give a fuck about what I am interested in since I have to tell it where to go all the time. But, much worse were one of the options next to the check-box list of "supposed" limited interests: DATING? WHO THE FUCK FINDS DATING INTERESTING? What does one do on a date? Or is it before the date that is most um, interesting? Get dressed? Why get dressed for someone else? Let alone get in the shower. Really, Is there not more interesting things to do? And what is expected of one on a date? What is it? A date? Do people actually still do that? FUCK MAN! Sounds like a complete unnecessary mission. What is it? He pays for dinner and then she rewards him with a bit of pretense of procreation? Or is it go with other dates and have a date filled evening? What do they do? Go to the movies? The Bar? The hot dance club? Do they talk? What do they say? They must be incredibly uncomfortable or, more disgustingly, horny pigs. I think that horny pigs should just skip the date and fuck. I mean, if that is all two people want from each other, why waste time with all the boring lallygagging? People are so strange to me. Hot dates on a hot Friday night. Why is Friday such a big deal anyway? All the miserable nine to fivers get a measly two days away from slavery? What is it that makes the weekend "party-time?" Why not party everyday? Why wait? People make no sense to me I'm afraid. And flirting, now that is a crock of malarkey. All these little games people play. They take up so much time. Why is it so strange to me? It always has been. Yeah, hot date tonight. I'd rather pick my nose and read. Stab at my keyboard and see a world of words, that I control (usually), assemble before me like my head split open and my brains got sucked into the computer monitor and the knowledge and the horrid spelling these days make for unpleasant contrast. Hot Date? Get real. Boooooring. Stabbing and reading make more sense to me. HA!-Henry O'Malley  

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