What gives?

Master Surgeon drilled a hole in the rear of my head!

“A burr hole procedure is a brain surgery that is often done after mild to severe head injuries. In this procedure, a brain surgeon drills a small hole in your skull to drain blood from your brain. This blood can cause pressure and compress your brain tissue, which can lead to damage and death.”

I have a little scar from where they put a tube in-to the back of my skull, to relieve the swelling of my Traumatic Brain Injury some years ago, me now curious of the impact it has caused my every-daily common functioning and speech and paralyzed (a little to this day...) that hey, I can say, half of my body wasn’t working for a few weeks in the I.C.U. when people were scared I would die—TOTALLY THEIR FAULT—THEY FELT SO BAD!—yeah my family members and relatives almost killed me in 2004 on November 2nd, when the police were involved and they didn’t get involved—yeah I WAS NOT IN A “CHASE”—it was “Their Plan” look at what we have here, a sworn effort to improve my brain so much—stranded for months of first ensuring I wouldn’t die—THE DOCTORS SAID I MIGHT DIE THE FIRST 72 HOURS!

But I recovered, yeah me on the verge of what I now know having been since 2013 when I had a much, much more significant, signature sexy Justine when the sun came up, like with Mrs. Neas, but I experienced nothing of Holy, the “Realm”—for real, for real, Blacks in the projects—no pity the colors of night to me and my delight, near no-where “URBAN” with what I read about there being “An Open Air Drug Market” in San Francisco—Mama Mista—craving a salad, now, that I meant to retrieve from the Chef here named what but Irene—she so skinny so sweet, and on her feet all day torching calories of the blood flowing through the body—her body odor being depending on what she’s a’ cookin’ something with meeting a part-time chef here sounding somewhat feminine in his manner of speaking cheerily, him happy with his weekends-only jobby Job here at “Averte” where I’m being screwed with and I hate it all, this constant irritation of “Residents” 1 retard, 1 addict, the others maybe Fat as F.’s—unlike me being in good shape and skinny, I — me being, to the, JEFF-REY MARQUIS” of JMRQ Heavy Industries on Google, so search it and snicker at my personal information and I’m concerned about my American Nation of tried ’n’ true blew collared colored workers at my Dad’s former Factory Floor, employed to fill a void of food on da table—free hams for the workers on important Holidays—blue collar workers with what ELONgated weekends, taking bathroom breaks and some failing D.T.’s then thusly fired—Diet Coca-Cola being wired, more Ghetto individuals, some Hispanic, mostly, taking the bus and what’s the fuss about punching in and punching out, as per the shift when called upon to spread and sprite the polymers (and sugary sodas) I worked so hard doing some stinking work in the factory—but promoted to the “Color Lab” of pigments to match the properly pried and chocolate pied PIGMENTS to be mixed with raw polymers, give my Dad a holler—SAY HEY MISTER PRESIDENT OF “ECM” !!!!!

I have a mesh filter within my body as so to prevent blood-clotting, as well as the small drilled-in “vent” in the back of my cranium, when Zombies say, “BRAINS... yummm!”