The Clinic

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

Doesn’t that sound clean, clinical?  There was a trauma, it stressed me out, and forever afterwards I will be disordered.  Sounds like I got my feelings hurt and now I walk on eggshells, stressing and hyper-alert for another stresser.  Fragility. Fragile as egg shells.  Hey, watch where you’re going . . . step light on all toes . . . sounds like I’m incubated in my feelings.  I’ve gone all emotionally fetal.  Shit, man, shit, how’s my dick?  Is it ok?  - after a wound.  Yep, it’s just fine, but if your leg is broken we’ll have to destroy you.  So we go fetal under bombardment.  Remember the most important member and protect it.  Make our bodies a womb to fetalize it.  And now, after survival, we are stressed and disordered after the trauma.  

Trauma is -

Wan:  Where’s _______?

Which part of him?  He’s everywhere.

Tup:  Shit, man, what happened to her?  No bullet wounds, nothing, like she just . . . fucking died.

She was raped to death.  

That so?  How can you tell?

Look at her crotch.

Yes, the crotch of the matter, not the crutch of the matter.  Trees have crotches.  They’re raped to death too.  By conversion to agriculture, logging, mining, urban development, humma humma . . . and even by the rapists of nature:  fires, windstorms, insect outbreaks.  The trauma, the stress, the disorder.

Threep:  You are cleared to eliminate.

Eliminate a mosque?  There’s a wedding party there.

A wedding party 13 miles from Syria, well, it’s gonna be one helluva honeymoon.

Chop chop chop thwap thwap thwap chug chug chug boom boom boom chug thwap chop boom boom helluva honeymoon!  

Disorder after the stressful trauma is like chugging moonshine as hair of the dog to cure a vodka hangover.  No matter what you’re wearing you are wearing fatigues.  Ha, yes, battle fatigue, that’s what they used to call it.  Sounds like you’re just tired of lugging around you S.A.W. and your ruck all over God’s creation.  Like you’re just tired, goddamn (Jesus forgive me) bored with the everyday copper stench of blood and cordite.  

Sniff

Sniff

Yep, some folks got blown up shot up raped down shot down killed sideways on the highways of the Green Zone.  Mean Green Zone.  Green, HOO-ah!  The mean green machine of the the US Army.  Us poor fucks.  Proud and poor and diagnosing rape in a combat zone.  Punjab pussy, we called it.  Rape victims were punjab pussy.  

Couldn’t help ourselves.

We were stressed by trauma, disordered in its aftermath.

See that hijab hussy?

Ah-yup.

She gonna be some punjab pussy.

Roger that.  

Disgusted with ourselves everytime.  But what could we do?  We were fatigued by all the battle.  Label our behavior and we will live up to the label.  Too bad we weren’t shell shocked.  Shell Shocked.  SHELL SHOCKED.  Might’ve made all in/difference.  But we’re just afterwardsly stressed and disordered by trauma.  Clean and clinical.  Cleanliness and clinicality makes it seem treatable.  Repressible.  Hide it away and get on with your day, motherfucker.  

Wan tup threep fower who the hell is war for?

Fife six seven ait covet order and appreciate.

And I do.

I do.

Always I do.

Probably that’s why I am clinical.  Because I recognize it all and regret none of it, fuck, would volunteer for a repeat performace of it.  Because I am post traumatically stressed?  Fatigued by battle or my shell has been shocked?  

Battle Fatigue.

Shell Shocked.

PTSD.

Damn, don’t we love our innocent virgin letters?  Little nyphmet letters?  Used by nonvirgins, indeed, fuck veterants, PTSD, that’s bullshit, that’s clinical, that’s denial, that’s 

That’s

that’s 

go ahead

I are you

define me

Me.

Full frontal

Me.

Naked as can be

Sleep that way.  Would rather exist that way.  Ain’t ashamed of my scarred body, not one of all seventy-one inches of it

Tall

Now has come

Fall

And my height and lean weight will compensate for the trauma in my clinical clean life though I 

will still double down and stress-out and trauma-drug and satiably fuck

Shocked

Fatigued

stressed

I am all the above at best

Yet this was all bullshit

Was it?

Yes.

Because PTSD tells me so and what is clinical is better than that which I intrinsically know.l