Captain B

THANKS FOR READING!

To celebrate our second birthday here is a look back at a few of our favorite pieces from ’22-23, in which The Gorko showcased the work of dozens of new contributors, featuring poetry, fiction, cartoons, art, and humor, and nearly doubled its readership.

Image generated on Stable Diffusion

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On New Year’s Day 2023 Gorko EIC Raddy and two mates sat down with poet and author Captain B to talk about his ship, the writing process, and The Capn’s current projects. Below is the SFW version.

READ THE CAPTAIN

WHO IS CAPTAIN B?

Captain B. Seafarer. Lover of shore leave. Collector of heads. Disseminator of tales. Twitter: @NPeligeiro

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Almost home

Sandman in September?
Santa Claus?
None of the four
could remember his name
Juan? João? Gian? Jean?Jan?
None could identify his accent
They only met him once
and didn’t pay much attention
until he’d already gone

Virginia or Ginny or Ginger
Roberta or Bobs
Lynn and Hank
could all still walk
albeit with canes or walkers
Ginger and Hank preferred canes
Bobs and Lynn needed the extra support
of the walkers

It had been some sort of Friday special
Fun day at the home
There was a scrabble tournament
but everybody knew Marge knew all the
two-letter words, q-words without u
the three-letter words often formed from
those cabalistic two-letter words
whatever

There was a magic show
They’d discussed that one
but none of them liked crowds
Bobs’ hearing aid would reverb painfully
at the eruption of laughter or any clamor

There was basket weaving
arthritis
forget about it

None except Hank
liked John Wayne
and growing up
all had seen plenty of
Saturday matinees starring nothing but
C’mon McLintock
is McNificent!
whined Hank
All three women
could clearly see
the movie poster
from where they sat
shaking their heads

Ultimately
it didn’t really matter what it was
as long as the four
could get into a group together

The ‘Benefits of Breathing’ group
had room for seven
but no one had signed up
so the two widows
and the couple, Lynn and Hank
married some seventy plus years
asked Ginger, the steadiest hand
to scribble their names in

Breathe? Breathe?
Hank grumbled
I breathe all the damn time
been doing it for years
What do i need some ninny
to do? Play me like an accordion?

When they were all seated in the circle
they were surprised to learn that
Juan or Gian or whatever it was
was more or less
their age
wrinkled and white headed
no doubt
but nimble
When Lynn’s scarf fell from the crossbar
of her walker
João or Jean snatched it from the floor
just as it barely touched
He didn’t even bend at the knees
Hank remarked
And quick!
Bobs exclaimed

It was the usual
close your eyes
soles of the feet planted on the floor
straight backed, chin down
the first few breaths in through the nose
out slowly through the mouth
Then they were urged to only breathe
through the nose
long, deep, stretched out, steady

Did he say to breathe through the spine?
Hank whispered to Lynn
shhhhh!

Now just listen to my voice
as you try to remember
every detail of a memory
any memory
(he didn’t say good or bad
pleasant or otherwise)
How old were you?
How did you feel mentally, physically, emotionally?
Were you indoors? Outdoors? Where?
What season was it? What was the weather like?
Were you alone?
Or the people you were with, who were they?
What were they like? What was their fragrance?
What was their demeanor?

Saint John of the Equilateral Cross
went on with the questions
The four participants hardly noticed
Ginger was with her immigrant father, Enrico
as he tended to his bees on a beautiful sunny day in May
-le api, gli alveari- only a few words she could still remember
nearly ninety years before and back east
Lynn was at the lake she grew up on
with all her siblings
It was summer, sun blazing, hot
and why they were swimming and splashing and diving
off the raft. She cried both tears of joy as well as sorrow
Some of those siblings had passed away not speaking to one another
Hank was buying flowers and had just cashed a check from his roofing job
at a corner store where an old Mr. Abrams always wanted to talk baseball
But this afternoon he had a date, the very first with Lynn in fact, the cold drizzle
did nothing to douse his spirits. He was elated and told Mr. Abrams he’d be by the following day
Bobs was indoors, an office, third floor, ink and paper smells
She seemed to remember it being not too spectacular weatherwise
although she was happy in any weather and more so fixated on the trees, the flowers, the colors- she appreciated them all- in the fashion of the clothes of the passerby
the aesthetic value- yay or nay- of any random billboard
and this afternoon in question, she had just received a raise
and accolades as the rose she had painted had been selected
as the trademark emblem that a popular department store at the time
would go on to use for over forty years

As they came back to the present day and hour
Sandman or Saint Nick or John or João or whoever
bid them a polite farewell
though they hardly remembered
each a bit dazed but also euphoric

The four talked and talked
all through lunch
all forfeited their usual naps
and sat in the shade under a poplar
none had really noticed until then
(they had that nice boy, Marcus,
set out some lawn chairs)
They chatted through dinner
and throughout the evening
until all were happily tired

Every day after that
they met
They would sit just as they did initially
A new memory would be re-lived, recapitulated
and they would share and compare
and pass the days with purpose
each preparing in a harmonious way
to sooner or later
journey

anti-hero twins

they have found their place and purpose and so are allowed to stay
they are counterweight to provide my compass firm ground for accurate reading
they are mine to stand on and to keep underfoot
they are the Anti-Hero Twins, Provocateur and Saboteur
they were the ones who taught me about lowering the defenses and throwing aside the shield
they are the ones given to fucking, deep penetration, and the reason i came up with nothing
but a sore ass, mouth full of dirt, and a barely wheezing constitution on more than one occasion
they will be the ones i will always relegate a portion (and just in what thereof depends) of my attention to let me know (to better help me know) just where i stand

WHO IS CAPTAIN B?

Captain B. Seafarer. Lover of shore leave. Collector of heads. Disseminator of tales. Twitter: @NPeligeiro

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Cahoots

the Angel of Death
snaps a towel
at the Eye of Creation
they have a laugh
don’t strain too hard
to understand
they’ve been at this
Awhile

Athwart

moving sideways
between things

careful the pull
of the false funnel
don’t want
down that drain
again

crack
knuckles
neck
back

contemplating a petition
but that’d mean
on my knees

soles of the feet
are planted fine
could be a hint

elongate the horizon
stretch the shadow
runway

pilgrimage
is pulsating
propel
when due

WHO IS CAPTAIN B?

Captain B. Seafarer. Lover of shore leave. Collector of heads. Disseminator of tales. Twitter: @NPeligeiro

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couldn’t see the bird

couldn’t see the bird
somewhere hidden in the trees
its call was
pickagrapepickagrapepickagrape
it stopped
my ears searched, perked, waited
next it sang
grapepickinggrapepickinggrapepicking

am i to drink wine?

on coffee
and a late start
she’s still in bed

woke at dawn
then slept till i couldn’t
lucid dreams
i had marginal control
i clearly found and examined my hands
but when i tried to pass through the wall
i couldn’t
but did dissolve into a geometric matrix
before changing the scene
must work on this
with intent

wonder how my friend’s journey
to listen and perhaps talk
with forest and mountain spirits
went

need the same
technically on vacation
strong urge always
to engage
in the real work

Nadsat a malenky to pony

It’s not about the cutter
Pretty polly is not the only matter
but viddying clearly in my gulliver
a whole new breed of rabbit
My glazzies blub at the thought
No more nochys unable to zasnoot
Vred to my being, pyahnitsa, longing
Something polezny and a bit bezoomny
I light a little snoutie and horn loudly
My krovvy boils with desire and my tick-tocker skips
with radosty, the thought of ookadeeting the clockwork
I smeck out loud and am shocked at my own goloss
when it reminds me i’m oddy knocky
riding the britva’s edge
My sneety is horrorshow

Tufer Won

WHO IS CAPTAIN B?

Captain B. Seafarer. Lover of shore leave. Collector of heads. Disseminator of tales. Twitter: @NPeligeiro

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Who doesn’t love a good mystery?

The mysterious and curious case of Jacobo Grinberg was brought to my attention by an associate who loves a good mystery, especially a mysterious disappearance.

Given Grinberg’s vocation and nationality as well as certain associations, I was surprised I hadn’t heard of him until this associate sent me an article.

The article then brought me to a documentary directed by Ida Cuéllar. The documentary led to viewing further interviews from family, friends, colleagues, and investigators. Then I found one of fifty plus books Grinberg wrote in his lifetime.

Has written?

Grinberg was a neurophysiologist, psychologist, and founder of the Instituto Nacional para el Estudio de la Conciencia and a graduate from the Facultad de Ciencias at the UNAM, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. I know a number of people who have studied and/or taught at the UNAM.

He went on to get a PhD in psychophysiology at the E. Roy John Laboratory part of the NYU School of Medicine. His preliminary focus and interest was electrophysiological effects of geometric stimuli on the human brain.

He established two laboratories of psychophysiology first at the Universidad Anáhuac (vince in bono malum) and then at the UNAM.

Grinberg sought to use the scientific method to examine witchcraft, telepathy, meditation, and shamanism. His aim (always a threat to his scientific reputation) was to understand the magic world of shamans, healers, and mystics. He wrote over fifty books on these subjects in relation to brain activity.

He developed the Syntergic Theory (La Teoría Sintérgica- síntesis + energía) which posits a continuous space of energy of which the average human can only perceive a very small part of and that what one perceives shapes that person’s perception of reality. The vast majority of the world’s population in the same boat i.e. agreement, subconsciously (or unconsciously) of course. His suspicion and study was to prove that this perception could be increased, consciousness could be expanded and some adepts of ancient knowledge retained and demonstrated tangible proof of higher consciousness and manipulation of what the majority perceive as reality from the ability of tapping into this higher realm.

One of his most famous books was a case study of a Mexican curandera called Pachita. She was a legendary healer. The book Pachita, Milagro Mexicano examines Grinberg’s time spent in close association with the healer, her miraculous healings, and his participation as a helper in her service as curandera and medium. He attempted to write what he saw and experienced without modifying in any way the events that he witnessed. According to Grinberg the association changed his perception of reality. He testified to those ‘miraculous healings’ where the curandera appeared to manipulate space-time and material to not only diagnose illness, perform surgeries extracting malignant tumors, cancers, cysts etc. but to also transplant organs, materialized out of thin air. Grinberg swore by it and was present on numerous occasions in his role as observer, chronicler, and assistant.

Avant-garde Chilean-French filmmaker and writer Alejandro Jodorowsky also met, observed, and wrote about his experiences with Pachita in his 1995 book Psychomagic: The Transformative Power of Shamanic Psychotherapy.

Pachita, born Bárbara Guerrero, had no recollections of the surgical procedures she performed in trance as she acted as a medium for the last Aztec emperor Cuauhtémoc who, speaking through Pachita, said God allowed him to perform through Pachita as his life on Earth had been cut short along with his work as a healer. He, through Pachita and referred to throughout the book as ‘El Hermano’, also claimed that all tales of human sacrifice were fabrications by the Conquistadores and The (pinche) Church to defame the pre-hispanic cultures.

Grinberg begins the book with a disclaimer that he reported exactly what he saw and heard, that it changed his beliefs significantly, but that access to a realm that truly exists is the key to what would be deemed supernatural.

Grinberg put forth the idea of a holographic matrix or a lattice where all is connected and the degree of the brain’s decodification of this is what we perceive as reality. Extra-sensory abilities may appear the more adept the subject be in the decodification of the lattice. In connecting points of the lattice, all the information of the universe is contained. Also of the highest importance to this concept is that the human brain is a miniature model of this hyper-complex informational matrix.

Many others, reaching far back (Anáhuac was an earlier clue), have explored the same idea, calling it by different names. Some of these names would be recognizable if cited. Familiar with many of these (and refraining from creating a list) is why I was surprised to not have heard of Grinberg till recently.

In pre-sand Egypt (and in pre-diluvial times too) and then in Tibet, China, India, Mesopotamia, Mesoamerica, Uluru, Sardinia, the Red Sea and other regions of the cardinals and ordinals, those in the know claimed the universe is mental. The Kybalion. Science journals published in recent years have also begun to suggest as much.

But the science or pseudoscience or fairy dust in your eye if you’re having trouble seeing further than the mysterious disappearance. What was that all about?

There are UFO theories. A further exploration into Grinberg and Andromeda might interest the reader should there remain sufficient interest beyond this very short summary and inquiry. In La fuerza vital del cielo anterior (1991), Grinberg wrote of having been born on a planet in Andromeda but exiled to Earth by ‘The Hierarchy’ for trespassing in a ‘Prohibited Zone’ but that after eleven reincarnations he would be able to return to his original planet.

Savvy?

Others believe, due to the nature of his investigations, that he passed bodily into another realm. Carlos Castaneda and Don Juan Matus would be two names on the –list I have not listed — of those who have expressed similar beliefs, practices, and cosmology. Those two are also candidates for the latter ‘slipping through a crack in the sky’ scenario.

And I also mention those two because Grinberg and Castaneda met on several occasions. One of the theories is that Grinberg went off with Castaneda’s group. Manuel Delaflor who worked with Grinberg for five years witnessed two of their meetings but thought it did not seem likely. The magnitude of each individual would not allow the relationship to flourish. Maybe each was better left to his own devices.

Grinberg’s work drew serious attention. His brothers, interviewed after his disappearance, claimed that he had received numerous offers to teach at other universities most notably in the United States. These positions were not attractive to him. He was content going about the work he was doing, which included mental exercises with children in hopes of stimulating telepathic or telekinetic abilities. He also worked with individuals who could enter trance and deep states of meditation and was able to measure coherency (identical waveform and frequency) and that in subjects such as these that coherency is something that can be increased upon. Trying to understand, literally, the concept of being on the same wavelength. The universities were insistent. Only after his disappearance were his visits to the University of Colorado discovered. He visited the campus many times but never flew directly into Denver or Colorado. He would fly into a neighboring state or even multiple states away.

Scientist colleagues, journalists, and even the detective, Clemente Padilla, who first worked his case pretty much agree that it was the CIA which keeps a close eye on universities as it does on so many entities. Are you sure you’ve never crossed paths with a CIA agent? How well do you really know Steve in shipping and receiving? Even Grinberg’s third wife, Teresa, just didn’t seem to check out among his family or friends and colleagues as a real person, meaning legit in who she claimed to be. They suspected her name to be fake as well as her academic credentials. Grinberg either began to suspect or he knew and slept in his car and not at home with Teresa for several months before he was last seen. Then she disappeared shortly after he did.

Friends noted that returning from a conference in Costa Rica his mood had changed dramatically. He was depressed and forlorn. Then he was hospitalized for a nervous breakdown. As if he’d been told of his inescapable fate working in highly secretive underground laboratories creating perfect soldiers or population control methods.

After mounting public pressure, and not related to any Grinberg speculation, in 2017 the CIA released thousands of secret documents. Grinberg’s name was mentioned. An article he had written and published in his 1982 book Psychoenergetics was also found among those files as was the mention of Project Stargate which sought to study the same mind phenomenon which was Grinberg’s focus but for defense purposes.

No secret, defense means offense with that entity and others.

He disappeared without word or trace on December 8, 1994 four days before his forty-eighth birthday and a long-scheduled celebration with family in his honor. When authorities went to search his home for clues, all of his work was missing. Sometime after that Teresa disappeared.

But then call off the dogs. CIA always getting the bad rap. Bees dying. Must be the CIA. Kennedy. Monkeypox.

The case officially remains a mystery.

A passage from one of his books reads:

After his passing into the other world, he would not die like the rest of the humans, he would voluntarily disappear, his body would disappear without a trace.

Hmmm.

WHO IS CAPTAIN B?

Captain B. Seafarer. Lover of shore leave. Collector of heads. Disseminator of tales. Twitter: @NPeligeiro

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NOT TO SAVE THE WORLD

It wasn’t to save the world
but i’d settle for a few

First step
flee frownland
leave the sad swamp
I yelled from the other room
that i was going
I awaited no response

And it took me
to my own
sad scene
though indeed
a majestic lake
of my youth
and maybe my whole being
one and the same

I recognized the property
but had not been up to date
with what they’d done to the place
my welcome wore out
some decades before

I expected the whole new tribe
to be amidst those summer holiday
feasts and festivities
I was wrong
It seemed interim
But there sat the matriarch

Didn’t think i’d be shot on sight
The authorities summoned
perhaps

She was into her long cup
swimming in the goblet
Her interested gaze
cut the fog and the haze
hovering between us

I know you?
she spoke aloud
sending the question off
in all directions

But she didn’t really seem to care
Fetch me some wine, boy
and pour yourself one too
if you so desire

I fulfilled the deed
filling her glass
but i’d brought my own
and now sat sipping
and lit a smoke

She wasn’t my mother
but as close as they come
Wait a minute
she said
You’re…

You held me as a child
but dropped me as an adult
I drained my glass
corked my bottle
and was on my way

Back in the other land
late afternoon
Frownland was no more
I could hear her singing
I could smell something cooking

Somethings are just the way they are
and she’ll never be
a morning person

WHO IS CAPTAIN B?

Captain B. Seafarer. Lover of shore leave. Collector of heads. Disseminator of tales. Twitter: @NPeligeiro

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GORKO ENTERTAINMENT EDITOR AND SUBLEASER MITCHELL KENNEDY, APPARENTLY UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT GORKO POET LAUREATE AND ALL-AROUND BADASS CAPTAIN B IS AN ACTUAL PERSON, HAS DISCREETLY LEAKED US AN ‘EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW’ WITH THAT FICTIONAL POET, CLAIMING THAT HE BUMPED INTO THE CAPTAIN OFF BARBADOS WHILE DIVING FOR OYSTERS WITH HIS FAITHFUL DOG AMPERSAT TODD. HERE ARE OUR FAVORITE PARTS OF THE RESULTING FABRICATION, INCLUDING WHAT MITCHELL THINKS IS THE SPELLING OF THE MAGAZINE HE WRITES FOR.

Exclusive Interview with Gorko Gazéd Poet Laureate Captain B

AN INTERVIEW BY B.F.S. MITCHELL KENNEDY

B.F.S. MITCHELL KENNEDY: How nice of you to join us on my luxurious yacht, Captain B. Have an oyster. Is it true that you were originally a whaler?

CAPTAIN B: [REDACTED]

B.F.S. MITCHELL KENNEDY: Oh, truly very amazing, my good friend Captain B. Captain B, would you care to share some amusing anecdote about our times together in Acapulco, when we were there in 1976 galavanting with the Brazilian soccer team, in naught but swimwear?

CAPTAIN B: [REDACTED]

B.F.S. MITCHELL KENNEDY: Ha ha ha, Captain B! You truly made my buccaneer’s belly go up and down, like the wheel on the capstan!

CAPTAIN B: [REDACTED]

AMPERSAT TODD: Ruff, ruff!

B.F.S. MITCHELL KENNEDY: Ho ho ho, even @Todd loves your witty retorts! Now Captain B, wagging tongues on little birds have informed us, wink wink, that you may IN FACT possibly no longer be an eligible bachelor, or even a confirmed one such as myself. Would you be comfortable telling us a little about the new mystery lady or felluh in your life?

CAPTAIN B: [REDACTED]

B.F.S. MITCHELL KENNEDY: Oh, so THAT is her name, is it? And her pronoun is SHE!!! Well I am certainly all beet red and it is not from the sun. Captain, whatever shall we do with all of your fan ‘male’? Tee hee hee!

AMPERSAT TODD: Grrrrrrrrr….

CAPTAIN B: [REDACTED]

B.F.S. MITCHELL KENNEDY: Yes I am a bit of a wit myself, I do confess. Do you know that I also write poetry allow me to recite one of my most recent poems for y-

CAPTAIN B: [REDACTED]

B.F.S. MITCHELL KENNEDY: Oh, yes, the luncheon, I nearly forgot.

B.F.S. MITCHELL KENNEDY: Captain B! Captain! Come back!

AMPERSAT TODD: Arf, arf!

B.F.S. MITCHELL KENNEDY: I am in complete agreement, @Todd. He needn’t have SWUM to shore — we have a perfectly seaworthy dinghy stuffed with chips, beverages, and lotions.

And that is as far as Mitch got with this purely fictional interview. Nice to know he has these healthy fantasies about The Capn, though! Ta-ta.

TGG