tight ship

The healthy human body is characterized by constriction, not flow.

Well, constricted flow, but flow has had plenty of air time and there’s no need to add to that now. Flow can blow. What was I saying? Oh yeah, flow can blow its own horn. There we go.

As always with pretty much anything I write, you heard it here first.

Health is all about constriction. —david thor

I sing here the well-cinched body. The tight unleaky anus, the vagina which likes to be coaxed to yield the crowning head of a baby, the pressure of liquids in a contained system, the well stoppered penis asleep in its bed, the valve with only one thing on its mind. All praise for constriction!

Beaucoup flow, as opposed to constriction, is something that the Rockefellers (aka “your doctor”) and truthers alike can bond over. So if I’m singing the praises of constriction here it means there’s something to offend everyone. If you enjoy the frisson and titillations of being offended, read on dear reader. I love you cunts. You know that. That’s why my writing hurts you more than it hurts me. From Rockefeller to Reiki, read on!

The context for me here in a wilderness-ish town in northern B.C. is my friend David is flying in to Vancouver on Friday the thirteenth to have his breastbone stuck together again. It’s drifted like an inch-and-a-half apart some months following a heart operation. His wife my cousin held her fingers two or three inches apart to illustrate this separation and she described the bone in question in culinary terms as a “brisket.”

So, ouch, is what I’m saying.

I’m no expert but in general I think Rockefeller operations are interested in flow. Cleaning out the pipes. In possibly related news I’m semi-training with two semi-Reiki types who use hands to move energy along. Flow. I believe in that stuff but I’m barely at the tingle level, which means I’m not even on the beginner chart yet. So Rockefeller centralized medicine is flow and semi-Reiki is flow. Beaucoup flow. Flow everywhere. Then there’s Dave.

Two nights ago my main energy lady produced a semi-precious stone on a slender chain. I was lying down and she brought the pendulum slowly along above my body a couple inches up and at each chakra point the thing took off either in the desired clockwise direction or I guess diablo-retro direction or sometimes just in a straight line to indicate maybe-ness. And I tried it on her and could definitely feel it and we could both see it moving. A little tug could be felt in my fingers when it got near her chakras.

But to be sure we weren’t in some subtle unknowable way swinging the gem (cuz supposedly Reiki bears the burden of proof but Rockefeller doesn’t need to because it’s just real or something) the next night I had us tape the top of the little filigree’d chain (Frodo had just such a chain for his ring necklace) on the side of the dining-room table with me under the table. The pit bull snored on the couch like an elephant in the living room.

Chain hanging from table, me underneath. In other words, the gem hung down above our chakras as we scooched along underneath. It was suspended without a hand holding it, was my idea.

Our results? Almost nada. Is this devastating? Don’t know.

The previous night we’d both had lots of energy and then last night we were exhausted from doing things on the previous night because, see above in this sentence, we had had lots of energy. Is the gem-swing a useless system or did it accurately recognize how low our energy was? I’ll apprise you when I get more results.

Meanwhile here’s Rockerfeller-world going about their business without scrutiny. Why would they need scrutiny? The heart is a pump and everyone knows that so there’s no need to prove it. And the pump is there to make flow. Any problems…clean out the pipes either in the body or inside the pump itself. We’ve all been raised with the obvious truth of this and we daren’t, can’t, or won’t even imagine it could be any other way.

But my dear cunts whom I love, the heart is not a pump.

Of course it’s not. Only a retarded species who has staggered out of a Tartarian maelstrom and lost their wits could ever be fooled for a moment by this nonsense. Any sailor who has ever had to bail out their ship’s bilge with a motorized pump knows that even on a little ten-meter boat you need a pump bigger than your fist to get that stuff up over the gunwale (or if you love danger, through a hole in the side of the hull). Just a few feet up, a few feet over, one stream. And still the pump has to be bigger than a fist! Compare that with the seemingly endless pipeage of the body.

I’m not going to consult the robot about how long the piping is on let’s say an adult male. It’s not how long it is but how you use it. I can’t remember if the capillary system needs a to-the-moon analogy or if we can make do with here-to-Paris-and-back. But not Paris Texas nor Paris Maine. Can we guess that the capillary map is like ten-thousand miles? I’m thinking more, but I’ll settle for ten thousand. If memory serves, capillaries (for their part) are wicked small. So small that in the littlest ones the blood cells have to form an orderly line like British people queuing up for an opportunity to learn how to spell queue. A queue. Bless you. A queue. Bless you.

And you might not know this if you didn’t grow up with a science-engineer nerd for a brother but smaller pipes are harder to push through. I’m gonna say “you cunts” in that hail-fellow-well-met Australian way here for emphasis to underscore how important this is. You cunts. Saying cunts is easier than having to put the italicized words in bold. And cunts is my way of expressing affection for you lot with your tiny little brains that got tiny through no fault of your own. In possibly related news, smaller vaginas are a little “harder” to push through, but this fact need not detain us here. As for small brains, well, small brains are the hardest to push through and sometimes you have to come in through the ear.

As you know, every minute with the robot’s blue light is causing irreparable brain shrinkage so I kept my research on pipes and flow to ninety seconds. Jeez, the risks I take for you lot. At first the robot was up to its usual irrelevancies and fibbings and seemed to imply bigger pipes were harder, the dirty little rascal. Harder to push through, which of course they’re not. I saw at once that he’d swapped out a question about pressure inside contained systems with a different question about taking a joyride in a system without pressure, so he offered this irrelevance, which is actually a paragraph in my article that you shouldn’t even bother reading:

Pipe Diameter: Using 1-1/2 inch vs. 2-inch pipe affects flow. For example, maintaining a velocity of 2 feet per second requires 21 GPM in a 2-inch pipe, but 46 GPM in a 3-inch pipe.

Yes dear, said I. But I had to get quite stern with the robot and forty-five seconds later I forced the following admission. Perhaps he was a little scared of my fatherly raised eyebrow, because the bold is his:

In a pumping system, it is much harder to push liquid through a smaller pipe.

That’s right dear, said I, and next time be more forthcoming the first time I ask you or I’ll have to write a short story with no help from Grammarly entitled “Spanking the Robot.”

So can we be done, my dear dear cunts, with this whole idea of the heart being a pump? Or are you going to go through protracted withdrawal symptoms and throw yourself into a denial only a specialized talk therapist can get you out of?

Heart no is pump, speaky zee English? You’d need a pump the size of St Paul to pump blood through ten-thousand miles of really really really tiny constrictive pipes. St Paul Cathedral in St Paul Minnesota. Why, what were you thinking of? So yeah, ten-thousand miles of teensie weensies and you’d need a St Paul-sized pump, is some arithmetical-style mathematics I’ll bet the very nice non-Rockefeller folks at the Heartmath Institute didn’t think of. For my part, I took the no-pump tip from Tom Cowan but the pipe math is all mine so don’t blame Tom if it turns out you need two St Pauls to pump your stuff. How could there possibly be two St Pauls? Saint Paulses I must mean. Saints Paul. Saint Pauli Girl beer for those of you who insist on flow.

Apply heart-is-no-pump concept to Reiki as needed. I’m thinking that flow is all very well, but it’s not a river in there. It’s some kind of pressure system and Lord only knows how but obviously the blood is moving itself. Like a dog who ain’t gonna walk hisself and then does.

If the heart is a pump as the Rockers tell us, then cleaning out the pipes is irrelevant. Think about it. A half dozen of the main pipes in your pump getting clogged? Why would that matter at all as long as you have capillaries. A capillary is a clogged artery if it’s volume of flow you’re talking about. A capillary is a clogged artery. On a ten-thousand-mile system—and yes, you heard it here first—on a ten-thousand mile system, roto-routing a foot or two of big pipes in the pump would accomplish way way way less than one percent of anything useful. In fact I claim that an artery is a capillary cuz math. Your brain is prolly not big enough to grok that, so I’ll write another article on how from a flow point of view a mostly-clogged artery is a giant little capillary, unless I just wander off on walks with the pit bull and forget about it.

So if you’re so smart, Dave, how come hearts start working better after de-clogging operations?

To which I say: beats me. Just cuz I know what doesn’t happen doesn’t mean I have to explain what does. Doeses are a dime a dozen—send me a man who understands “doesn’t”!

How would I know why some heart operations work. [no question mark] I don’t even know what a heart is or what it’s for. Do you? Spare a thought for me on Valentine’s Day, the guy without a working heart model.

Here’s the takeaway: I’m completely ignorant on the topic of what hearts are for, which is more than you can say for most heart surgeons.