Join the award-winning author and health and wellness expert Dr. Kathy Gruver as we test out the new Duckpin session. Dr. Gruver has penned several books, has a new TV series coming out, and has all sorts of interesting advice to share. Oh yeah, she’s a flying trapeze artist too!
Dr. Kathy Gruver is an award-winning author, health practitioner, PhD, hip-hop dancer and trapeze artist. She is the host of the new national TV series, The Alternative Medicine Cabinet. Dr Gruver studied mind-body medicine at the famed Benson-Henry Institute for Mind-Body Medicine at Harvard Medical School and is a natural health practitioner with over two decades of experience. She has penned countless articles, appears regularly as an expert on radio and TV, and has written five books on natural health, massage, and managing stress.
- Breaktime Bowling (Duckpin)
- Sifting Flour
- Probability Machine
- Frying Corn Beef Hash
- More Waves Martinique
- Fading Radiator
- Super Mario Electric Show (Tesla Coil)
- Sloshing Ceramic Animals
- Peeling and Chopping Potatoes
- Rain in the Field
- Wind Going Through Reeds
Step up the show. The big stage. Lights 10,000 degrees. Crowd of 50,000 or so. All of them about 10 below after the opening act. Good boy Johhny. That’s how we want them isn’t it? Line them up and I’ll knock them down.
“You’re on in 10 Weller,” That’s Johnny.
I run out onto the stage. I can’t see a damn thing. The the blinding glare of the stage lights in my eyes, I brief glimpse of a sea of hands thrust into the air, waving. The surge of it buzzing my calves through my shoes.
I feign not having a heart attack and take a seat in front of my date for the night. My apparatus. It’s a big counting machine. Something brought in from Japan. They didn’t let me take a look at it up until this point. Johnny sent a crew out to Japan to take a look once we got word about this gig, but the government sent them on some wild goose chase up into the mountains. Monks with shaved heads. That sort of thing.
“What if it wasn’t bullshit?” That’s what johhny asked me one night as he passed me a joint. “What if the government was trying to tell us the truth, and we were too stupid to realize it. To catch on?”
I didn’t have a response then. Now I was sitting in front of the hulking thing. There was a wind and and the copper dials spun and the levers switched. I could smell an ocean breeze. Not just something that you could scratch and sniff either. You could smell the bird shit and 10 year old boys running around with seaweed draped over their heads.
How did they do it?
Why did I sign up for this? 10 million is good, but there’s also no way for me to leave this stage without looking like a fool.
“I ended up going to Tokyo a couple weeks ago. Drinking sake like the whole thing didn’t bother me. Riding around with Johnny. Meeting with engineers. Artists. Gardeners. Fortune tellers. They all told me the same thing. You’re fucked man.
You get up there on stage against the Push. That’s we called it, they wouldn’t even tell us the name. You go against the Push and it’s going to decode you and walk off the stage. Your bones around going to be dripping out of your ears. After that thing gets a look at you or whatever it does. It’s going to tell you things you shouldn’t know. Let you taste something sweet and that 10 million is going to mean nothing. And who knows, maybe you’ll be a happier man for it. But the rest of the world won’t know or understand it. And you probably won’t either.
Roll into this moment with me sister,
a surprise visit, turkey sandwiches
in Ziploc in the side pocket of the diaper bag—
let’s go—son at your side, daughter at your hip.
Let’s go somewhere less intent,
somewhere loose—loud, thirsty,
and then soft. Sift closer to me,
let’s be two threads of mesh,
two lines of code zipped and unzipped.
Unwind with me, sister, my root in the soil,
my signal boost—my ten thousand mile sight line,
the odds are that you’ll write back within the hour—
and each minute be letter linked to me.
Inverse wave form, the curl in the socket,
pink sand, ocean gloss like fingernail polish—
grind into it—we’ll dig together—
teach me to swim, to feel to
give up the words too.
Back up with me sister.
Bear through the static—back up my memories—
all those dreams, coil. Urge.
Surge. It’s imperative, this parenting.
You my second mother, a wonder,
your children such strange matches,
lanterns lit, you a seam of fuel in the earth.