Greg Correll


Greg Correll

Greg Correll
New Paltz, New York, US
September 21
Founder, Chief of Deselopy (small packages); Editor (
small packages, inc.
I write.


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JANUARY 23, 2013 9:42PM

so i fired my dr.

Rate: 41 Flag
Well, I can't afford him, too. Tell the truth, shame the devil. He stopped taking insurance (via 30-day notice chickenshit letter). Several hundred per visit now, starting Feb 1st.
My appt was on Feb. 1st. ba-dum-tsh.
I will not do ECT for pd, what he was advocating for me this spring. I read the serious research; my NYU Dr. was not wrong to consider it. But it's the same old hubris. In Dr. Cain's break-thru study, 5 of 16 patients had long-term mental confusion from shock. Some start doing it weekly, to squeeze out any possible benefit as it slowly becomes less effective. Ugh. 

I need your best swear, we who know this is wholly real, a net of outcome entwined, and only good united will save us, yes? we the knobby-kneed children of the ether, where I am you and you me in proxy tango, do your absolute sacred honor: do not let them give me shock therapy. My mom was never the same. No ECT; Tai Chi.

All I need is to find someone locally to take the records and keep me on the patch, raise the dose slowly and only as far as still helps me. I know what year we're in and who that rather suave President is. I'm shaky, not stupid. 

Ok, I have other problems, too. But I know my patch is nitro in a lava lamp. I must take care of breakage. I need visits every 30 days for a while, to monitor my ideation, y'all. Give me a wide-awake neuro-anything local doc and my regime hums ahead. 

If the patch doesn't work out, I'm pursuing trials and other opportunities to get me to Cleveland Clinic this year. No ECT; Tai Chi.

:: ting ::

I had a very bad night last night and no sleep because of a disturbance earlier in my day. Nitro in my glowing parts heated and tipped over. 

I shake inside my shaking, see. There are no words in our languages to describe the stew in me-an-m-me-e. Today I was hellzapoppin with the site work and I missed my mid-day pill. Two devices two alarms, a sign in front me, Deb IM'ing me 4 times a week— and still I forgot. Heedless today, and now I pay. 

~{t r e m o r}~  || ||  ~{t r e m o r}~  || ||  ~{t r e m o r}~      
slamslamamslamamamam PAIN''     ''     ''     ''      ''

It'sa repetititeeth wordsa ck-ck-ck kthink tiime now.n. now. n. 
this. will. fade. fadefadefade. n. 

[i make little grunting sounds when I am struggling now and I am always struggling now. now. n.] 

but BUT hear o I is real 
i melatinize in a slide of pure Juniper combs 
oh yes I can I can. n. more now on and on 
I am the blizzard of backward bees, and I am still me! 
just bee'd
I smear in hues no one sees 
dab facetus iridium, caress prurius plum
and I show right here
o please I plead your pulping promise 
your inner lip your veins there your fingerprint colors 
pledge your ffriskchkchan-n on a scraped inner tooth
your pumpled blood tang truth 
be so close to me
you taste my salt in your mouth 
and I breathe your honey breath 
and make sure for me
no PLEASE no ECT. n.

So I am not sure of what I am not sure of. So?

lost, stolen, my 34-year-old mother of four, 
zapped into careless and sometimes
I love you mom 
you were cruel so cruel

I can't be shocked like mommy

I need to walk thru this all of this  
words will save me I superpower promise 
please don't erase me 

I am not your broken before boy 
charged and nuhmhumbling ever after

I am me all the way through 
and echos of same

o pleasant person who permits
anode pole impalement electro-
convulsive derailiomente
please to go fuck yourself
muchacho, te amo, por favor.

I am me inside of me. 

May I have soup 
and paper and pen 
ask all who know me 
I don't need much 
two tall rooms and shelves 
and one good chair 
and spade and rake 
and a seed 
and another?

If I live but five full fathom five or six 
I fix it all to words 
I die to try

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Sometimes we just have to do what we have to do to get by. Keep making the best sense of the situation and the best decisions. I am thinking of you.
Yes, you are you inside of you. Lucky for the rest of us you are also you where it is all fixed to words. It is good from time to time to fire one's doctor. Now if there was only a way to fire the PD. Meanwhile, it is good/bad/wonderful/terrible/great to see you here again. r
every writer should, in our finest moments, aspire to how you so readily turn mute words, leaden in themselves, into stars and constellations, greg

Oh man oh man oh man. I can't say anything that will put either your suffering or your eloquence in context. Just keep goin'.
Clearly you haven't lost your verbal brilliance, Greg, shakes or no shakes.
I can't imagine trying to sort through the research and figure out the options--traditional treatments, experimental treatments, treatments with side effects that are worse than the disease, treatments that may not be available but could help . . . it's absolutely dizzying. "I am me all the way through/and echos of same." The most moving words I've read in a while. Rated.
You, inside you there, we love you.
Darlin', words'll save us all.
What powerful words...and the way you wrote it!!
from The Tempest

Ariel's Song

Come unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands:
Curtsied when you have, and kiss'd
The wild waves whist,
Foot it featly here and there;
And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear.
Hark, hark!
The watch-dogs bark.
Hark, hark! I hear
The strain of strutting chanticleer
Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow.

Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:
Hark! now I hear them—Ding-dong, bell.
You have your words. And they are powerful.
you show us truth... I know of no one who endures malady and articulates strength as you do. My thoughts are in the air tonight...
Damn, damn, damn. Expression of pain from a brilliant man. I would hug you if I could and if it did not hurt you.

I fired a doctor way back when. The best thing about her was rude, but she didn't care to take the time to hear that either.
The image of a blizzard of backward bees is strong inside me now. Thanks so much for writing. You might not know how much it helps me but it does.
If devastating physical conditions could guarantee writing like this, I cannot imagine how many writers would drop to their knees and pray for an affliction.
If it is my turn to ask, I'll ask whether you've been in contact with Steve Blevins. There are enough unnecessary shocks in life. No need to direct any directly into your brain.
If Open Salon only existed for that, if only for the opportunity to be taught about how to be human by you in this excruciating moment, then it has done a great service through you.
A 30% rate of confusion post treatment is not what I would consider a success rate.

This reminded me of the Dr. Who episode with van Gogh and his swirly colors in his paintings. They said he painted that way because that was what he could see. Thanks for sharing your journey with us. I am glad we can be there for you.
The body is a circus. Our bobble-heads don't like to consider that, and won't, until the body decides to put on a performance, and our bobble-head can do nothing, absolutely nothing, not even look away.

I am so sorry that your circus came to town. It sucks and there is no good thing to say.
If it was within my power I promise....
i am ashamed that as i sit here with tears in my eyes, i am still able to pay attention to, and be awed by, your presentation. i shouldnt care about the words, and i am sorry that i do, but i do - whatever this has done, it has not removed your title of the very supreme number one best writer i know, or have read. no ECT, i promise. tai chi.
I have no words. You have them all. If only we all could each take a tiny bit of your suffering until you were free... But all we can do is empty commiseration.
Your words are both beautiful and terrifying.
Miserable bastard, but it could also be one of those flukes that lead you elsewhere (obviously) and something new may be discovered.

As for the poem, it sounds like a soul blowing a trumpet with more notes than the ear can hear.
Greg, I side with John.. you are to be admired with how you put words together shakes or not.
Your first sentence had me in tears:

"Well, I can't afford him, too. Tell the truth, shame the devil. He stopped taking insurance (via 30-day notice chickenshit letter). Several hundred per visit now, starting Feb 1st.'

This is the very last thing you should worry about. I am back in Canada looking after my ex who has terminal cancer. He does not worry about paying anyone and has the best of care. Even his parking is paid for at the hospital when he goes for chemo.

Canada might pay 57% of its taxes to health care.. but its not to wars like the US.. and I wish I had a money fairy for you. I really do
Thank you, I don't know what else to stay. You are an intrepid soul, Greg.
My grandfather wasn't able to speak well enough most often so that he could be understood, and I was too young to understand much when he could have told me.
So you telling what it's like helps to make it more understandable what he missed telling.
thank you all for your kind words and warm feelings.

I mean those words with all my heart, but now let's start this comment again :

goddamn it. fuck.

there. now I feel better. The underlying ::⁂THING⁂:: I have is always ready to peek out if I get too anything. So I control that ephor-letter-word divination, as if cursing could take me to a better future.

Feels good and right sometimes. Better out than in. Goddamn doctors.

oh, and not just excessive feeling triggers me boom, lowers me to foul self-battery. If I miss a dose, katybarthedoor. About three times no four ti-no five times a month I wonder why I am feeling THAT WAY (easily startled by anything including silence isn't that funny?).

Annnd I forgot a dose.

But even on the pills and now patch I go thru a fun-house happier version of all the usual things when I stay on schedule and no incidents intrude. (there will be incidents. do any of you live in no-incident world? I wonder what that is like.)

(I hallucinate sometimes. I don't know what the fuck we were playing at me and my friends in 1969 but this is NOT FUN nonono 3-D bands of blue and gold around scarlet rods, framing all, and geeyeeyeez cats that appear and disappear in periphery and just to mindfuck me I then see her straight on like a movie of a cat in a bright sunlit door. The cat came into the waiting room before the PET or else dyeMRI I can't remember. no one else in the room saw her. I asked. It seems to come on during extreme tiredness or extreme fear.)

I used to answer my own questions. If I have to start double-checking everything with my daily caregiver well that day came the moment I started this patch.

The only good part is my accelerated and clarified and fearless mind now. Turns out I care as much as I pretended to all these years as I improved myself more and more and now it takes but the right look and I am seeing auras around every living thing with love that startles even the briefest glance at my face and thrills and draws chuckles from a few words with strangers.

And if I know you and you stand with me pretty soon I am drenched with love for you and would climb onto you like a favorite tree if you would allow ~~~ get up, get on uppa, get up, get on uppa, stay on the scene, like ecstatic machine-a ~~~

And my writing is one with my mood and thought and sensation, bright line molten bronze in a pour, admixture|anneal|alloy of my o my intellect, memory, vocabulary and direct-most feel of now and now and now; I am a living unclosed caption machine, I emblazon biology itself with ape words, I am self-describing in a comet's fall.

I weep from a love bigger than all we all know. The first-out says what was that, my life, that just ended, what WAS it? I am not last-in or first-out or any other now. I straddle, quiver, in more than this , my worlds wobble together and apart—and they do this Other Thing that is hot shade and cool boil. And I see oh, oh, my most truest and very best beloved your-sacred-names, every drop of sweat I see now, before it fails and falls, after evanescence. It's just and always us, i eat you up I love you so. I am in the beautiful belly of this you!me!us!them!all! god fuck words fail I am a bankrupted liar boy boy hey you hoo, yeah you me talking to you now what hubris you have not the words no one does if they did we'd all be in love by now



This is all just a dropped piece of bad meat, a temporary crudesence on the marble, this new body of mine, in a life and world so—so—ok—the perfectly silent explosion of color and matters this rush of everything everywhere all of the time. There must be a new word. It's wrong what I am now—and yet it so crushes me, by the way, in spite of all, how beautiful beauty is, none the less.

I wanted to say something here.
Thank you. Thank you for being real, like cave man days real, luciferian age real, holy spark real. I might not be able to transmit on this channel much longer but to all ships at sea now thank you I might have swum forever but now jump into your arms

ok perfect now
can we hit it and quit?
Well hell, Greg - who wants to follow a comment by you? Especially the one above...

Your backwards buzz and honey love - the oscillating enjoinment of it all - thank you.
I'm so glad to know you - you as you are and the you inside you. I'm so sorry you the insurance has lost you your doctor, that you have PD, that it is so rapid. No one writes about it more eloquently then you.
If you alone were Open Salon, it would be worth coming to see if you had written something for us to marvel at, and learn from, and ponder.
Your good and today your Wonderful.