Physician! Heal Thyself!   By Jim Meirose


Two worked the lab conkulating the document trove brought back from the Doc-doctor M-m-m-m-oon’s desk—the late doctor, that is. The mission being frying his madcap t’ween all his patients, the very Lon Carpre.

That Lon Carpre?

Yas uv course, Yas that one.


Huh’s right but let us get going mein leben; Document ten of some few less than too many fragments catalogued, date time name date and place—gones goes went thusly it seems which nothing is as; archery; so ‘t’s how his headtop pancaked down flat. Coming to after that he failed to speak. Unless spoken to. Which was seldom since he—he was in essence, a mostly uninteresting person. Sort of like before the trauma but different. Deeper. Deep. There is quiet. Then deep quiet, then—deeper quiet. There is no deepest; it can always get deeper. His no yes so to be but—that’s not how they raised him. At least they thought they didn’t. They wanted the best for him. They wanted him to—I mean, really. It really must be said? Aw crack fizzle, no. Too obvious. Much too so, so. After all how many get chosen for praise by the head priest? Being close to God he must smell some truth. He must be able to smell one smell apart from the others. What these mean. And why these were put there. Don’t waste. Do not waste. Push pull and push pull and it will begin to open and he saw it there. On that wall off sides from that kitchen sink and drainboard unit cast together in one piece. They don’t make factories can do that any more. Where would you even get such a thing? Is always the question. You are good at this, Lon, so do it—and likewise very good at that—how ‘bout that too? And faithful be, too. Be too here is your purpose its lights out.


Lights out. Why’s this been done. Is this another test—got to see the way—for lack of what the right thing to do is don’t sit don’t just sit do—this. This will do as a right thing for now. See the dark ahead cracking? Bright slivers there now here uh gone from there and here but—through that ahead space there’re bound to be more. Butt through. But through there he—or what? Maybe look harder. Look harder. But through there he sits. It is a he, right—a he with a yellow pad knee up and writing. As I—I am talking no. Shut up ‘cause wrong things behind are always straining to be said. By Peter! Wrong things behind are always straining to be said. So nothing, say nothing, be nothing, don’t be. Hot gravy, wow! I have burnt my hand Mom I have burnt my hand ah—her touch. Across here’s the store Lon. Across here. Here’s the store. We’re here. We’re here. We can get what we want in here. So come on—fully sat before this—I might yes be a man see? Fully sat now once in the store might yes this be a man, see? Where is she though who led me in. She’s off someplace buying. That is why she came. She came to buy. Top buy. Why come with someone when they’re just going here to buy so what brings you here to me Lon? What brings you here to me. Being led here’s the answer. Being led from back when no; no not back it has been too hard this first time don’t want to do it again so answer the man, Well Lon, that was a question. That how you were raised Lon? That how you were raised?


I don’t know really. Why I am here now.

Good, that’s all right. You are here to find out. Here to find-out.


I’m told you fear—something. That right Lon; ‘es no yes wow, Lon. I am was and always will be, Lon. He is right about that much. That much being right, that I am Lon, and that that in that right Lon could be anything at all—a variable word like an x y or z—he is right yes he’s right so—


—oh yes sir, that’s right.

Now he ’d,  You don’t but a black patch diagonalled over him, damn them. Damn them. They say that these will fade, but still and all, damn them!

I’m sorry, say that again, please.

Black patch gooey round float up dip past him and only I could catch the end we are friends—yah he said it that’s good maybe yes certainly yes, that is good say That’s good.

I know, he said. But now—Lon what do you fear so much that’s why then black slab cut bottom to top you here. Can you tell me?

The question what’s the question all wrapped up black uhhhhh tell true the questions I don’t know it so the honest answer is—no. I can’t sir.

I said you don’t have to blob up rip the word gone.

Don’t have to what?

Call me sir! It would be nice Lon if you zzzz pai  zzzzzzztention.

I don’r know what you mean.

How many things can that mean Lon ?

But I don’t know what the that is, sir.

Off! Penciltap hard in the pad roll the eyes back but—to his credit he did, catch himself. Catch himself so. Even though it was rude, it—wasn’t that rude—and.

And and dna an nd – I ah oh u be and drop out.

Had to drop it out there. Too hard to concentrate. Too hard, Blast. Be the blast death of me not just but ‘nybody. Perchsn’ce.

And that is all for today.

Signed and dated by Dr. B. Moon all flowy enscripted after but only one slight flourish, then Good-Night. File this with the rest of the proof. File this with the rest of the evidence file this with. That we’ve filed this with. Plus there’s more to come.

How long before the whole document’s analyzed and findings available?

Probably through ‘ent the end of the year.

This year?

Look, turning.

Now. What kind of damned question is that?

Bad one?

Bad one.

14 Stock Frequencies: Variations on the & Manifold explores the conceptual and practical affordances of a formal operator (expressed at the common ampersand “&”) in the context of pastoral usages of tavolette by Dominican confraternities in 15th century Renaissance Italy.

As Feinberg has noted, these instruments were principally applied as ‘contemplative aids for the condemned’. A tavoletta would be executed as part of a larger ritual ceremony ‘[entailing] extensive songs, prayers and consoling dialogue. Many parts of this ceremony evolved from much older, even ancient rituals conducted for those facing imminent death, the gravely ill as well as the criminal or the martyr.’(1) The ligature “&” effectuates a process of graphic autophagy. I retrofit the ligature with a token “a” to produce a phrase “(e)(a)(t)” where the retrofitted item precipitates the protocol it helps to name. Operationally, the ligature is clarified at the phantom retrofitted field upon which the tokens (e) and (t) would like to graze. These tokens, as the poet Maz Himyari has pointed out to me, might prepare placeholders for all manner of mixed/nominally opposed referents, and are reconciled via an alchemical coniunctio or centripetal traversal about the retrofitted terrain.

1 Larry J. Feinberg, “Imagination all compact: tavolette and confraternity rituals for the condemned in renaissance Italy”, Apollo, volume 161, May 2005, 48-57.

There are fourteen initial physical copies, the covers are designed by Mike Corrao and their mutations by Graham Freestone. Each one of these fourteen is supplemented with a unique copy of an original painting.

The PDF is available here

Questions and comments regarding the publication itself should be scribbled in cubicles, planted in the mud, spat in the hand, screamed into water, or directed toward Any enquiries concerning its sale should be directed to


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Pneuminous Accretive Theory Overview

OBOA (Organic being of awareness) PA (Pneuminous Accretion)

Let’s be clear as we can be. The binding of pneuma into accretions is the overcoding of strata only insofar as the strata are already coded. Deleuze and Guattari seem comfortable with the pre-existence of the material strata as comfortably existing in its own right. PA theory is less so because it accepts no neutral scientific classification as non-pneuminous. Everything is part of the network of overlapping PAs. The physical strata and everything we understand it is a complex mesh of PAs. This is not identical to a thorough going Kantian denial of access to the in itself as such, for OBOA exists in a kind of membrane by which it incoherently delimits itself and the outside. This membrane is exists both as a vector field region with an attached PA and as a pure PA which is formed by the OBOA producing the PA of its own limit.

The OBOA then (the human in this case) binds pneuma which is incoherently external to it -though it is also formed of pneuma (see (ii)). It can be pointed out that the non-pneuminous stratification of the physical must be there in some sense. However precisely because the target is the paranormal event, these strata cannot be pre-given as such. The allowance of the understanding of the physical strata as identical to the physical strata science and continuous perception/understanding of the world would automatically preclude the radical reality shift possibility of pneuminous interference (at least in one model of pneuminous interaction).

So are the physical strata coded in themselves? Since they manifest in the vector field as differing regions, we may assume that umbratic existence is heterogenous. However we may not assume this heterogeneity is identical to its manifestation in the vector field —since each BOA will produce a vector field of a differing type relative to its perceptual system, size, etc. We are then allowed to treat the physical strata as coded in themselves (with the above caveat) hence the PAs we attach to these strata-regions are overcodings. These overcodings as PAs are ontologically constraining on the strata.

This is the magickal feedback of normal reality. Through use, a relation to a vector field region is formed, this is a PA layer but not of great strength. The PA forms more solidly when the PAs of the perceptual features and function common to the various ways in which it appears, accrete to form a kind of archetype of the of the thing (a contingent Platonic form). This archetype is a functional magickal PA, except of course its purpose is in no way to contradict the vector region onto which it is imprinted. Its purpose is to be that thing. Hence since the vector region is only ‘that thing’ by virtue of the PA inhabiting it and pneuma is a force, the PA constrains the vector region to be more like the archetype than it would otherwise be.

Pneuma though is not outside the strata, it is also a stratum, its difference lies in where it lies. For pneuma lies on a plane not conceivable by regular human consciousness. We can easily repeat phrases like non-spatio-temporal and this ease of repetition somewhat inures us to their actual meaning. Pneuma is a stratum that can be considered separate from the umbratic —a well of infinite strata.

When accreted and subject to certain intensities (relations to OBOAs) pneuma warps umbratic structures. The content/expression structure of a PA means its content substance plugs into the umbratic via the vector field. Whereas its form of expression concerns its use-relation to the OBOAs and its appearance (the aspects that form the archetypal PA). Thus an intensity (a strong affective event) at the OBOA level can cause pneuminous pressure to be directed into the umbratic bringing about what the OBOA experiences as the anomalous event.

It came out in the investigation that the history of Sod Martin’s personal control of the Martin Sod farm after it was passed down to him, needed—phew—to be exposed, because, it was claimed by an in-law of the recently deceased Theodore T. Gainy, that the level of care with which Sod would run the business was influenced by Gainy, and, as a matter of fact, were it not for Ted Gainy, Sod may have sold the whole thing off after he inherited it because, he felt—it was not the business for him. As a matter of fact, it’s always been no secret that the young Sod was also very embarrassed by his unusual first name, which his parents were forced to give him by his grandfather, founder of the business. When Sod looked over the state of the farm upon taking over, with his mental state re his name as it was—to him, the Sod business seemed no good. It was primitive, and the work required to keep it going was to his young face overwhelming, so; he nearly sold off the whole thing—to be followed by swiftly changing his silly first name—to some pasty land rover, in favor of faking a hot’d career in creative scenerioting, which he’d got half-hipnoteized into thinking he loved it, by the school gang he was thriving o’er the dole of it from, several of the young shapliesnesses whomsides involved there, b-b-b-ut; ‘bout this time—is when he met Ted Gainy.  

Gainy’d closely flowed after the next future of the Martin Sod farm as he’d been previously and independently enthralled by a story he’d ‘ntered of a family in the pasifistic Nord-West, that ran an acres over more acres of a stupidly huge sod farm. The amount of money they claimed to rake daily yearly or monthly, well, yes; of course he knew the difference if you get a dollar a day versus dollar a year and/or the backfigured segmentations of a dollar a’ every segment of time’d twinned-intween—hoot—he got to Sod and told him the giant money that ‘gether they could grow up into and to Sod, well, wow ‘ow wo’—wow! The future amounts seemed to Sod nearly cosmetic in their earsplitting super-hugealities, so—he split the band widths waves metrically measure segments of that also, so—-o, and, with Gainy on the money side, he embraced the business, but. The whole thing as he saw at first was top-primitive shackelie, like but for the actual grass of the sod, which, is still pretty much the same God’s grass whether greened on a bumbleshacked ramblydowned stinker of a farm, or, a Taj Princess’ Mahalian looking peter’s God of a holy beautiful priceless—which word got defined to Sod in the sideroom off a Roman Catholicked holily cleansed daily meditation and once in a while a prayer space—the grass’ the same all same the all the same yes the the grass’ all the same. 


So! As Ted Gainy all told him, they’d chomp indie spike, up-pup! Geggsactley. Bu’ buh butt he cayme dunder t’ eart’ aall bumpy just knowing how much work thought and sweat it would take to perform an entire u’spruce spanning all acres of buildings land machinery rock-steadies and other required—goouse. But, Gainy said, Yup. Said—yup, yeh. 

In unison they said, Yup! 

They palled immediately how and why’s ‘not portent for this particular narrative to be believable sustained, but. Ted Gainy ‘stinctively snatched up the business side ‘n they got to work all teamie, first; Gainy preached first, Image is important, Sod. They will not buy Sod from a bedraggled starvational skinny-butt soul standing in a drizzle at the curb holding up a ripped off box top saying SOD FOR SALE in sloppy invisibly thin blunt number three pencil yo bonk ya gashta-be compupadded neat nice combed deodorized and properly medicined-up man ditch those cornstalks vintage transparently seated trousers be a firelippe’d roostercock of a sales generating buzz-man, trash those handydarned stockings, and, take it from me. I mean, gosti bang-slam-clash, uh; Sod, my man, you’re now running a farm with billions of plants planted; how, man; lessee time quick—ten blades of grass parrots per square centimeter signed contracts binding by law very binding one hundred thousand blades of grass per square meter many over centipede-meter funny funny one hundred trillion blades of grass, plus; total surface area of planet earth be yon quite Godlike number of 5.1 * 10^8 km2, Godlike qua Father qua qua Son qua qua qua Holy Ghost to some, Spirit to others qua qua depending on this and depending on that, see, My Son, this topic qua by no means be qu’ simply done deah’. Okay? 


Okay; then the firm name’s s’sential be snap crack und poppe—so what other lawnery oriented businesses s’name slam them trucksides big signs et loud-ads yelling as in this one case I dug, hear it; CORE AERATION FLIGHTPATH DEFINITION CERTIFIED CROPDUST NAVIGATION SPECIALISTS AND MOWERMEN. Then, t’nother actusentually hen woking a grassy smell of the custmummerian mind, with COMPLETE LAME CARE BROTHERS (LAME, LAWN—NO DIFFERENCE. WE DO IT ALL) n’ SUPER LAWNSEED ROTO-THROW HOMEOWNERS COMMUNE that kind makes ‘em leap Sod, trust ‘n fluncken ou’ of one lawnsmell cloud invotentation entering another passing fat strap of a BONNIE CHAINWOOD TREETOP SAWMEN the edge of the lot there no more saying GURDJIEFF AND SONS WAY-POTENT FERTILIZER DUMP AND THROW CORPORATION and RAISING THE CANE GARDEN and LARGE LOUD GARDEN TRACTORS and CHURN POWERSEEDERS and RAZE THAT SHED IMMEDIATELY MASS YARD CLEANUP and FENCE FIDO IN TODAY BECAUSE IT’S THE LAW LLC and CHEAP CRITTERS and BUNGEE THE PAL and WHOPPINGPUP RESCUE AND MANAGEMENT and READY MIX HEAVY SUBSTANCES and ELECTROPOWER WILDLIFE REGENERATORS PA and DOCTORS’ SLICE AND MASH WALK IN the walk winding out through the flat green lit crowdmob o’ seeming hayseedlike farmermen bump-knocked the door behind again, letting another large strawhatted coveralled farmer kind of guy but twice his size painfully flowing himself around the tiny gap of space remaining for movement in the booth saying this samething exactly; one packed mass of hayseed hatstraw crushed together in a mass of cheap landscaper-standard issue shirt cloth, et cetera, et cetera, studded here and there with veered-off nosetips bit back ear lobes pressed tight glaring eyes and just plain fleshspace giving quite painfully the last possible sentence able to be said from the highest boss reached through all iterations of the event, as yes yes yes dig that dog juice mama and I’ll throw you another hayseed hatstraw landscaper-standard issue shirt cloth since, and because but not to me mistcoustrutted that even the Earth is eternally falling sunward it’s a tightrope existing thank God f’ t’ Global Lawncare and Landscaping business I bet you didn’t know that eh—owner or past fired by any arm of the landscaping business, similar in stench to the Sod job we got,, think of it! Think of it, you landscaping magnate, you—the lot is not safe not HAMMERSTEIN PIANO WOOD RECYCLERS AND MULCHERS reading the trailersides passing you now BLOWER-RIPSOUNDING MOST HOLY ANNOYANCES CROP-ROARATION LLC my God get a name on you like that the work will pile in and smother us—we got to dodge quick, but, it will not overwrite your recall that when we BROUER’S BAND-AID COMPANY heard you hating this passage here, SUPERSTICKY FLYSHIT face, Yes no face, Sod, my man, her face both, no KILLING FIELDS TREE SURGEONS and MAKE IT LOUDER ALL-DEBRIS TWO-CYCLE LONGBLOWERS CLEAN KILL PEST-CIDER we love you CHAINSAW MASTERS faces and BLACKTOP DRIVEWAY CRAP-FILLER so SPIN THE BLADES OF YON MOWERHUBS; REPAIRMENT AND REPLACETION do I SCREAM PAST THE BACK FORTY ESCAPE SYSTEMS LLC SUPERMAN’S DEAD LONG LIVE SUPERMAN face no faces we faces GIRLBONNET FAIRYCRAFTERS no love faces their you faces no we do faces faces no faces back out NON-EVIL MULCHMASTERS NOT YOUR FATHER’S TOOTSMYNOODLE SYSTEMS RENTALS TUCK AND STOW ESQUIRE break BASTARD POLICEPERSON RENTALS NOT MY LEAK SORRYAGAIN SHINGLES AND SNAPPERS CORPORATION go Sod their DOWNPOURING GUTTERSLOPES AND BUCKETDRIPPING CHAIN SOLUTIONS faces contract CRUMBLEPUPPIES SERVICE STARS swinging THE TANGLEFOOT MAN-TRIBE light swinging CROSS THIS LINE I DARE YOU STICKYSTRIPPING CORPOR-NATION dark light dark now Chevrolet unlock’d by my own final FordTruck’s blast-bash, bosh, twenty nine point two percent of the planet is land. That means makes regard such a business in this may be profitable ‘cause; of this land about twenty percent is grass. This means the surface area of all grass areas combined is 5.1 * 10^8 km2 * 29.2% *20% = twenty-nine million km2. This amounts to. Blades = 10^11 blades of grass / km2 = 3*10^18 blades of grass. This is roughly four hundred eighteen million. Blades of grass per person. How to shack that how to shack that? Alive. So, what you think Sod? 

I—I don’t know. I mean— 

Come on, come on—what the heckle y’ jeck’ think Sod? We all know what we’re thinking. ‘cause we never leave our heads. Why did you lie so? 

Okay. The name should not change. MARTIN SOD FARM. There you go. Ping that bellrim, ah. MARTIN SOD FARM, ah. Sweet. Simple. And, it’s what everybody already knows. We got a banckle o’ Parkies in the fileboots ‘lready use us. Plus, if we change, it’ll cost a few hundred repainted ad-signs, and every file in our cabinets will require a time-consuming and utterly laborioius, Caligariational reboot. But, hey.  

But what? 

I am fired up, Sod said. Fired up, s-so—let’s go, Farouk. 

What’s that mean? 

Some king. Name of Farouk. Popped in. From back my head where school’s slow dissolving. F’om sum other place ya; got to learn the past of even though it will never touch you. 





Okay, Sod.