This is a headgum original.

Previously on the headgum podcast.

Lights out.

Fall, hands a clasped into instantaneous ecstasy like a shot of heroin or morphine.

The gland inside my brain discharging that good glad fluid, wholly fluid, as I hap down and hold all my body parts down to a dead stop

trance healing all my sicknesses, erasing all. Not even the shred of a I hope you or a loony balloon left in it but the mind blank serene thoughtless.

When a thought comes a springing from afar with its held fourth figure of image. You spoof it out. You

buff it out. You fake it and it fades and thought never comes and with joy you

realize for the first time. Thinkings just like not thinking. so I don't have to think anymore.

Is this about jacking off?

The first sentence really makes it seem like that now that I think about it.

What would the good glad fluid?

Hap down, hold my body parts?

Feels very on par with that generation of artists. artists.

Yeah, I honestly would not put it past Karowak to just write a beautiful poem about, for lack of a better term,

autofelatio.

The lack of the correct term.

Orika, is that cop?

Oh, or root beer.

Diet Coke. The I'm spiraling.

Good for nothing, type of Jeffrey.

I'm not doing well emotionally.

...