Archive for ‘mental illness’

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October 5, 2011

Lazarus

by jhon baker

I’m an advocate for Lazarus and because of this I have to stop and question the wisdom of Jesus on his actions. At what point did Laz ask to be raised up, like he was. Who would choose this life?

 

It’s mental health awareness week – you can tell can’t you.

 

Didn’t Mary ever teach Jesus to ask before just going ahead and fucking with peoples lives or death?

 

there is a small animal staring at me from about 10 feet away. It looks like a red fox and it is right outside my requirement room near a book shelf that contains our board games. I think it’s fucking with me.

 

I am aware of mental health. I am also aware of mental unhealth. Mostly I am aware that once I went insane it was blissful (sometimes painful) with periods of awful, glaring stability in-between phases.

that may be an EAP misquote – it’s early and I haven’t been able to sleep but smoke and play some guitar.

 

K wished me a happy mental awareness week and we both had a good laugh.

 

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September 10, 2011

we are dramatic by design, confused by normalcy – from a conversaton with MC

by jhon baker

What some poem said in 31

 

I wish it was cancer, simple – to the point and either death or cure would deliver me without question.

 

I wish I could offer you that radiance, that moment.

what some poem wrote in 31.

 

the projectionist asleep

aisles full of faces, a thousand faces

and sorrowed malaise

the colors saturated

the film jumpy

like an old film with the tracking off

muffled vocal intonation

and a sharp disjoint from yesterday morning

where I sat with coffee and dunhill internationals

and an aspect of understanding

– Hoc Scripsi

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September 6, 2011

my own private Elgin, Illinois

by jhon baker

 

the sun is setting now and the leaves aren’t still but luminous, vivid greens and some reds.

verdant splendor of intense color shaded by a myriad of others and backed by intense whites and pinks of gravel driveway.

All images blur and skip frame to frame like an old 8mm.

 

2. (and then again)

all the colors become brilliant and to know what it means.

I gave god the better odds on this one.

loaded a single cartridge into a six-wheel and spun.

my own private Elgin, Illinois,

images blur and frame skip to slow

an old 8mm film

alighting the spirits of

Jack Daniels and Johnnie Walker

an unfinished life

and the poetry of John Berryman.

 

– Hoc Scripsi

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September 5, 2011

215643 –

by jhon baker

Trying my hardest today to not bellow and shout, scream at everyone who breathes in my presence. The fault is entirely mine, or at least it is the fault of an unknown source fucking up my tolerance level for people, things, coffee and apt consideration.

Last night – or rather this morning between six and nine thirty I slept. The first real sleep in days not driven by highly charged emotional states and nightmares. and at the moment my wrist is bleeding.

I didn’t harm myself if that is the conclusion the reader has leapt to.

a stab into the wrist from a light construction project in the destruction phase. Well, it is meant to be a light construction/room rehab project but the further I am getting into it the more I am realizing that it is going to need and today I am not up to the task of contemplating how best to accomplish the goal.

what I need is a four in the afternoon nap, some heavy sedation and a beer or bottle of Yukon Jack.

my problems are petty and the coffee is warm.

I can’t write a poem in this mood, flashing downward in a silent movie circa 1928 train wreck and bugs bunny taunting the shotgun in manic high.

squirrels wear a fur coat made of raccoon hide.

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