“What you need is a good bleeding.” “But I already am bleeding!”

I’m at the Brooklyn Blood Center waiting to be tapped for my sweet, sweet life juices that somehow I’ve been convinced will be more useful on the outside of my body.  I’m in what is perhaps the world’s most comfortable sitting implement, a kind of curvy chair-couch-bed that would support every inch of even the most Tor-Johnson-like donor. 

Seriously, this is incredibly comfortable, and the pint of kroovy that they charge for a half-hour’s session with it is really a bargain.  Do you suppose that if I volunteered to donate, say, my next ten pints while sitting in a church pew or the passenger seat of a wrecked Nissan Ultima, I could have five straight hours of alone time with this beautiful cushy bitch?  (Yeah, that’s what she likes to be called when she’s under my ass.)

When giving blood, one is of course reminded of the medieval therapy of medicinal bleeding, wherein the supposedly bad blood causing your maltemperedness or malphlegmedness or malturgidness would be allowed to leave the body (along with any sundry demons and pixies).  From the point of view of a semi-educated future, one rationalizes that perhaps by forcing the blood-producing organs like the pancreas and bone marrow to work harder to replenish the body’s slime supply, this would alter the metabolism and perhaps the ambient body temperature, upsetting the chemical and environmental conditions under which a microorganism may be flourishing.  One wonders also if the humanectar produced during these times of drought would contain a higher ratio of lymphocytes; would the sudden shock of losing a goatskin-full of heart batter cause the systems of the body to kind of wake up and say, “Hey, there’s an infection happening here!  I was producing vein slurry according to my old recipe, but now that I’ve been forced to reexamine the situation, perhaps I need to alter the proportions”.

Is it still anthropomorphism if the object you’re talking about is an anthropoid?

From medicinal bleeding, the mind tracks naturally to leeches, which are a famous subject for parody of medieval and renaissance therapeutic science.  Of course, we know now that leeches were actually a very wise and informed choice for those star-consulting witch doctors since leech saliva contains a blood thinning chemical that can dissolve harmful clots and restore circulation at much lower risk than equivalent modern medical practices.  Indeed, modern science often makes use of these ebony booger creatures for these purposes.  Along these same lines is the selective application of maggots, which consume dead (and only dead) tissue in an extremely sterile fashion from wounds which may have partially putrefied.  This action would take a very expensive doctor a very long time to do, and he’d probably end up taking healthy flesh along with the not-so-healthy, the dope.

Now, I love the idea of using nature’s creatures for our mutual benefit, and I love leeches in general (so misunderstood, so sexy).  But sadly, because of the ol’ “blood-bourn pathogen” thing, when used in modern medicine these wonderful animals cannot be allowed to continue their lives after providing us with their services.  They must be incinerated after a single use.

Buuut….what if I had a blood clot in my leg and what if I  accidentally asked my full-time home caregiver to push my wheelchair six or seven miles into the Florida Everglades, and what if I sorta joking around asked her to assist me in limping into a pool of stagnant water, and I just coincidentally happened to be singing to myself the latest Jonas Brothers number one single “Hey, Leechy, Leechy, Leechy!” wherein the chorus urges “Attach your sucker to the spot on my leg that I’m pointing to, so that I don’t lose my foot, doo be doo wop…” Prosecutable, I think not!  Ah, that’s good circulation!

And as the bloated members of my free health care clinic float satiated under the cloud of God’s Middle Finger (i.e. mosquitos) into the weeds, I’d pull my waterlogged insurance card from my moss-encrusted wallet and I’d laugh the banshee shriek of the now-bipedal man who has harnessed Nature to his chariot, and shown the pharmaceutical industry that they’re not cementing over NEARLY enough wetlands to maintain their stranglehold monopoly over every cell in our bodies.  So what’s everyone so worried about?

Ewww, I can feel how warm my blood is in the tube……

The Nature of Love

In New York, Sometimes You Have To Earn A New Apartment