Category Archives: pain room blogish


THE PAIN DIALOGUES 1 WTF -Fuck off. -No, you Fuck off. -Oh yeah? Well fuck you! -Fuck yourself! -Asshole. Just You wait! I’ll fuck you Till you’re bruised And blue, fuck. -Fuck yourself, you don’t have one original line! -Just yours, fuck your miserable bones, Jimmy, I’ll fuck you up, like there’s no tomorrow. You’ll

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Our Bodies, Our Pain

Showing our pain, our selves We start by showing our pain to our parents and our partners. At first, it’s easy. We take our skinned knee inside and one of our parents gets a Band-Aid for our boo boo, wipes the grit away. Some antiseptic, and the bandage will protect us, especially once we have

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Concerning Choice, Acceptance, and Disability

Author’s note: This is my story. Many people feel and think quite differently than I do. I believe it’s necessary and important to make room for diverse and multiple narratives of pain, suffering, mental illness, and disability among ourselves and visible to the public. I had a hot button pushed (of course like most I

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I was on CBC RADIO NOON, but couldn’t “find” my words. This is really frustrating and why I call the longer essay Pieces Of My Mind, as my words and my thinking feel like scattered pieces, and yes, I’m mad as hell about it. Let me see …how about a do-over.[1] Write it out.   

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Comedy sketch for live performance by Victor Enns with Kevin MacDonald CHARACTERS: ANNOUNCER: Reads commercials running to centre stage & back ELIZABETH (BETTY) BROOKS: Game Show Host ESTHER WILLIAMS: Contestant 1 HARLYN HICKS: Contest 2 JIMMY BANG: Contestant 3 AUDIENCE HOW MUCH DOES IT HURT? STAGE DIRECTIONS: Music. Herb Albert and the Tijuana Brass.  

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I crash my wheelchair into the dresser, my mirror jumps, sweeps the cds off the top of the stereo lands just so, not breaking, landing enough on the bed not to shatter, but shaking loose in the frame, with nothing to reflect except the spackled ceiling. My mirror rests, no more selves to see, nothing

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My Right Foot

For one brief moment I thought my uric acid levels had regained acceptable levels, so stopped taking my Allpurinol medication. A week or so later this is what my remaining foot looked like. My uric acid levels were at acceptable levels because of my medication not because of eating more carefully and not drinking. Once

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BEWARE THE NAKED MAN Clothes get on my nerves. My sciatic nerve particularly. My back is degenerate, like mortal and pestle grinding my cartilage to dust. The nerves make me squeal, any waistband or belt draws the pain into my groin. Be aware of the naked man, spread-eagled on 400 thread cotton sweat shop sheets,

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Welcome to my degeneration

I carry these two reports with me in case I need to persuade others, especially those in the medical profession, of my pain. Long story short, I have inherited bad cartilage genetics. These reports indicate the likelihood of disc degenerative disease, which means my discs are collapsing and pinching many nerves, including the classic sciatic

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Riddle me

Published in Transition 2009 like a wet dahlia in the rain like the trace of a purple felt marker like hammers hitting the strings of a badly tuned piano like the echo of boots stomping downstairs as if it mattered like a no account derelict with an open hand like the scent of a rotted

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