Read FIXATION PAINS: ...a true struggle for survival

FIXATION PAINS: ...a true struggle for survival

John Michael Molinari III

4.9/5 (12659 ratings)

Description:During the 1950's divorce slept as a beleaguered exception, not a fatuous rule of an experimental society, just one more personality forming twist to haul upon a laden back, and as a family process neared fruition, I denied reality of the parental breakup, not understanding what would become painfully obvious many years later; dad was mentally ill. Passionless jaws of a Cold War had already invaded street-energies of a tarred Brooklyn, biting a gripped nation through dread of nuclear confrontation, while a panicked New York City Board of Education hastily issued ominous labels shown off like grim jewelry, metal `dog tags' containing names and addresses, dates of birth, schools attended, and the sex of each student, although never actually used as identification for radiated bodies of defenseless children. Apartment building basements equivalently met criteria as Fallout Shelter's, yet no one detected a melting psyche masquerading as such vigorous innocence beneath phenomenon to suppress, a possible annihilation in a nuclear war using some Soviet psychopath catalyst, and maturing, partially naked, minus a father; vivid pictures of an intact family, a basket of memories from those formative years, don't exist. An escapist's modus operandi then became daydreaming, which felt like a comfortable shoe, or a ready vagina. Maybe almost twenty years on psychiatric medication erased all that was sacred, or could it possibly be a domino effect of an undetected illness, which wasn't even named yet; or perhaps pot smoking, numerous Bamboo inhalations, deleted precious visions, or even worse, it was an unconscious repression of verbal and physical abuse. Was it fate, self-inflicted or just bad luck, an air pollution effect, or maybe some unknown government experiment like the secret tests conducted during World War II, Frankenstein trialing to determine how a human body would react to an atomic attack? The glowing victims, nine of them in upstate New York, and three others in California, Illinois, and Tennessee, were injected with Plutonium. The federal government later on paid $4.8 million for injecting a dozen human guinea pigs with atomic bomb elements, without their knowledge, as a Cold War era radiation experiment. You never know, so it doesn't hurt to be a little paranoid. What I don't remember seems a circle of emptiness; what does remain becomes pulsing fixation, a needed purging of emotions, and a passageway into everlastingness. Every Wednesday afternoon at precisely two o'clock I jumped on a bus parked outside grade school, headed for an hour of instruction and guidance at Saint-Simon & Jude, and whatever it said in the Bible, whatever reformulated as practice or ceremony, had to be swallowed on an empty stomach, no logical questions allowed inside so many rituals. If anyone ate meat on Friday sin-reducing repent confessed that heinous act to a forgiving priest, but to evade bottomless guilt I could suck on a hot dog after 12 midnight, adore dissenting thought as a mutineer holding a training bra flashing breasts of restless nonconformity. "Bless me Father for I have sinned, it's been four weeks since my last confession. I had impure thoughts, even though given erogenous zones by the creator, and perhaps he intended for humans to use them. Father, God gave us sweat glands so that we could sweat, and erogenous zones so that we could be erogenous; right Father?" He replied in a somewhat George Carlinesque manner, "Be a good boy Johnny, say 12,000 Hail Mary's." An acutely escapist consciousness lacking biography objectives, a sense of self-knowledge, then began an effortless defection from controversial doctrine, developing from a gentle child arising to attend 7 o'clock Sunday mass, as Little League baseball began at nine, to a callous, confused teenager empty of spiritual packaging. Absence of a father-son relationship extended unscheduled misfortune, and it was only a matter of time before capricious attempts to escape a misunderstood environment became activated thru drugs and sturdy pretenses, all the while thinking peers meant freedom, as life became a constant confrontation between intellectual reasoning's and various arts of a compulsive reality. An explicit, diabolical regret began when Tommy C. willingly introduced us to pot smoking, after relocating to New Jersey, somehow wishing that fateful day could be abolished during justifiable sorcery, purged like dying cancer from bulging resumes of escapism. Tommy's Uncle Clarkie, a relentless body builder and physical specimen until sobering probes of heroin de-sculptured every effort and bead of sweat, deflated from a lawless materiality called dependence, as an intact mind faltered under the statistical death of an ordained junkie. Being a witness to oppressive tragedy held no significance, even though a lifetime of lessons, blight moistened in ferocious, energetic tears, characteristically screamed from a hallowed universe of thoughtless reactions. ...We have made it easy for you to find a PDF Ebooks without any digging. And by having access to our ebooks online or by storing it on your computer, you have convenient answers with FIXATION PAINS: ...a true struggle for survival. To get started finding FIXATION PAINS: ...a true struggle for survival, you are right to find our website which has a comprehensive collection of manuals listed.
Our library is the biggest of these that have literally hundreds of thousands of different products represented.

Pages: —

Format: PDF, EPUB & Kindle Edition

Publisher: —

Release: —

ISBN: 1425744206

Description: During the 1950's divorce slept as a beleaguered exception, not a fatuous rule of an experimental society, just one more personality forming twist to haul upon a laden back, and as a family process neared fruition, I denied reality of the parental breakup, not understanding what would become painfully obvious many years later; dad was mentally ill. Passionless jaws of a Cold War had already invaded street-energies of a tarred Brooklyn, biting a gripped nation through dread of nuclear confrontation, while a panicked New York City Board of Education hastily issued ominous labels shown off like grim jewelry, metal `dog tags' containing names and addresses, dates of birth, schools attended, and the sex of each student, although never actually used as identification for radiated bodies of defenseless children. Apartment building basements equivalently met criteria as Fallout Shelter's, yet no one detected a melting psyche masquerading as such vigorous innocence beneath phenomenon to suppress, a possible annihilation in a nuclear war using some Soviet psychopath catalyst, and maturing, partially naked, minus a father; vivid pictures of an intact family, a basket of memories from those formative years, don't exist. An escapist's modus operandi then became daydreaming, which felt like a comfortable shoe, or a ready vagina. Maybe almost twenty years on psychiatric medication erased all that was sacred, or could it possibly be a domino effect of an undetected illness, which wasn't even named yet; or perhaps pot smoking, numerous Bamboo inhalations, deleted precious visions, or even worse, it was an unconscious repression of verbal and physical abuse. Was it fate, self-inflicted or just bad luck, an air pollution effect, or maybe some unknown government experiment like the secret tests conducted during World War II, Frankenstein trialing to determine how a human body would react to an atomic attack? The glowing victims, nine of them in upstate New York, and three others in California, Illinois, and Tennessee, were injected with Plutonium. The federal government later on paid $4.8 million for injecting a dozen human guinea pigs with atomic bomb elements, without their knowledge, as a Cold War era radiation experiment. You never know, so it doesn't hurt to be a little paranoid. What I don't remember seems a circle of emptiness; what does remain becomes pulsing fixation, a needed purging of emotions, and a passageway into everlastingness. Every Wednesday afternoon at precisely two o'clock I jumped on a bus parked outside grade school, headed for an hour of instruction and guidance at Saint-Simon & Jude, and whatever it said in the Bible, whatever reformulated as practice or ceremony, had to be swallowed on an empty stomach, no logical questions allowed inside so many rituals. If anyone ate meat on Friday sin-reducing repent confessed that heinous act to a forgiving priest, but to evade bottomless guilt I could suck on a hot dog after 12 midnight, adore dissenting thought as a mutineer holding a training bra flashing breasts of restless nonconformity. "Bless me Father for I have sinned, it's been four weeks since my last confession. I had impure thoughts, even though given erogenous zones by the creator, and perhaps he intended for humans to use them. Father, God gave us sweat glands so that we could sweat, and erogenous zones so that we could be erogenous; right Father?" He replied in a somewhat George Carlinesque manner, "Be a good boy Johnny, say 12,000 Hail Mary's." An acutely escapist consciousness lacking biography objectives, a sense of self-knowledge, then began an effortless defection from controversial doctrine, developing from a gentle child arising to attend 7 o'clock Sunday mass, as Little League baseball began at nine, to a callous, confused teenager empty of spiritual packaging. Absence of a father-son relationship extended unscheduled misfortune, and it was only a matter of time before capricious attempts to escape a misunderstood environment became activated thru drugs and sturdy pretenses, all the while thinking peers meant freedom, as life became a constant confrontation between intellectual reasoning's and various arts of a compulsive reality. An explicit, diabolical regret began when Tommy C. willingly introduced us to pot smoking, after relocating to New Jersey, somehow wishing that fateful day could be abolished during justifiable sorcery, purged like dying cancer from bulging resumes of escapism. Tommy's Uncle Clarkie, a relentless body builder and physical specimen until sobering probes of heroin de-sculptured every effort and bead of sweat, deflated from a lawless materiality called dependence, as an intact mind faltered under the statistical death of an ordained junkie. Being a witness to oppressive tragedy held no significance, even though a lifetime of lessons, blight moistened in ferocious, energetic tears, characteristically screamed from a hallowed universe of thoughtless reactions. ...We have made it easy for you to find a PDF Ebooks without any digging. And by having access to our ebooks online or by storing it on your computer, you have convenient answers with FIXATION PAINS: ...a true struggle for survival. To get started finding FIXATION PAINS: ...a true struggle for survival, you are right to find our website which has a comprehensive collection of manuals listed.
Our library is the biggest of these that have literally hundreds of thousands of different products represented.

Special Offer | $0.00

Special Offer! | $0.00

FIXATION PAINS: ...a true struggle for survival

FIXATION PAINS: ...a true struggle for survival

More Books

SEEKING ABSTRACT AND SURREAL: The Drawings & Words of JOHN MICHAEL MOLINARI III

SEEKING ABSTRACT AND SURREAL: The Drawings & Words of JOHN MICHAEL MOLINARI III

FIXATION PAINS

FIXATION PAINS