Archive for May 9th, 2011

May 9, 2011

by jhon baker

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May 9, 2011

I once had a heart

by jhon baker

Love regards people as mystics, casting their powers of future perception against another torrid lovers premonition.
The diseased mind finally discovers the secret of happiness but it is not accepted so it makes those practicing it miserable.
dreamt last night about playing an electric guitar with heavy use of the tremolo bar, making the strings ride against the fret board, I’ve tried this many times and have been unable to produce the sounds the dream tells me I want.
the medication levels the mind while making it harder to express these same thoughts. though the end product may be better, it is harder. Four daily medications make the writing better, the sex better, and anger better.
also, they make the moments of staring into apace more profound in quality, more consistent in quantity.
I can hear song birds congregate next door where we’ve recently placed a bird feeder. It is always easier to give away things that require upkeep then try to have them around your property, like said bird feeder or pets.
the reemergence of insanity lost me most of my friends but those that stayed get to enjoy the cure. Ironically they became my friends before the psychosis went into remission and left when it came out of remission.
I am not lost without them.
I am simply unburdened of them and their troubles.

I’ve decided to end this one by saying, _________________.

May 9, 2011

Monday monday, pinched nerve and a hard on

by jhon baker

awoke with an inability to move my neck and a completely engorged member. This made it difficult to remove myself from the comfort of a king, stationary under a threadbare blanket.

I’ve three letters to write and have been ignoring my friends somewhat. Not intentional but a movement in a symphonic life teeming with incredulous memory.

coffee is unprepared but waiting.

I am growing more concerned about the influence of people who view me as an enemy. Don’t they know I love them, don’t they know I sit concerned at midnight about their health.

unfinished
one hand moves swiftly against the other,
(a final act of
expression.
a final act of
rebellion.)
wisping eagerly
against the fiddling wind
life dropping,
weighted,
still
on tiled, unclean
bathroom floors.
 – Hoc Scripsi
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