Amanda Ackerman: UNFO Therapist

From

Man’s Wars And Wickedness:
A Book of Proposed Remedies
and Extreme Formulations for Curing Hostility, Rivalry, And Ill-Will

by

UNFO Therapist

 

THE PROCESS OF DIGESTION decided to study COUNTERCULTURE scientifically.

 

It knew what counterculture was not: a car, a carport, a folding chair, a piece of candy, a crisis, a patient, a physician, pain, the pharmaceutical industry, an act of violence, bodily harm, or an acting mayor. But it did not yet know what counterculture was: was it the rose at the back of the house rising up inside its glass jar, a good recovery, a modest fee, a damaging lampoon, a mountaintop, a new approach to nature, vegetable mush? The Acting Mayor of All Swabia, Tom Terrific, was not offended by these observations. He wanted to be associated with culture only, and never counterculture. It was good to be associated with culture. Helpful for his career. Counterculture was definitely not a gooseberry-colored tie. A wide grin. But he did add, “If one can associate oneself with culture, and not counterculture, then one can hope for and expect a good recovery. If one finds this world intolerable they’re going to always be sick.” I did not believe him. Instead, I subscribed wholly to the advice of the processes of my digestion, for I always knew when my stomach was oppressed. There is a cavity and a sense of wobbliness, prickliness, or burning. Red, more red, and yes, more red. And you don’t want that growing in your stomach, believe me. You will starve, you will have to live on the bottom of a cave and dwell there and starve. This – acting so, primitive, so to speak – this foraging for gooseberries, or scrounging for weeds, for trash, for whatever you can find, is not a return to nature nor a new approach to nature. And for everything I eat something as good or better must replace it the next time I eat, if I am to stay well and not become unhealthy. And should I become sick, I mean really sick, really uncomfortable, even to the point where I can’t function, can barely walk or stand up or think, I want a good recovery. The right medicine. The right cure. What if I get dropsy? Or worse? And I cannot compel culture to do this, to do this for me, to make me better, to make me well, for it is—and sometimes is not—subject to the desires and appetites of humanity. Therefore, today, in the case of human disease and discontentment, one must practice the art of counterculture. Of making it exist. That way you’re having the right reaction to an intolerable world. And so it was that the processes of digestion urged me to find a brisk mountaintop, a rose at the back of the house, thermal spring waters, good Dalmatian or Salmatian salts, the green kind, and the healthiest region in all Europe. The best thing for your digestion is a long walk. Try to take at least two a day. And tend carefully to the lymphatic tissue. It’s as delicate as a fringed yellow orchid, and fussy too. And so I was compelled to quit my car, cast away my folding chair, and stand on my own two feet. I am starting a million-and-such-pages long manifesto. Here is my damaging lampoon of the now acting mayor…

platonics



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