Archive for ‘Othe blogs and other interesting things.’

October 13, 2019

Aberration

by jhon baker
October 6, 2019

talking with my wife at a 20 year interval

by jhon baker

June 15, 2019

This is some Bullshit

by jhon baker

As I was going over this blog – the writing it contains – I saw that it is pretty fucked up.
Not what I had written – what wordpress has done to it.
The older work – posted a few editor programs ago – no longer contains the proper line breaks, stanza breaks, sometimes posting the HTML at the start of everything and sometimes not.
I’ve been trying to correct this and have found it is not possible without retyping everything.
Even copy pasting the entries does not seem to work on those posts.
I may have to screen shot all my work from here on or I don’t fucking know.

stay tuned

April 12, 2016

What a way to go!

by jhon baker

and it is here

where I throw in the towel

that I’ve carried around with me for these many years.

no longer contributing but relegated now as guest.

to be honest, I couldn’t wait to be out

and now that I’ve written it out loud

we can finally know the truth.

 

– Hoc Scripsi

August 16, 2015

am not asleep

by jhon baker

been awake too damn long and I’m sick of it.

nothing to do with the cup of coffee I just poured myself in one of my Vincent mugs.

I suppose it isn’t that late but I am hungry and looking for my angry fix.

I haven’t been sleeping well.

and the windows have faces that I can’t comprehend.

I put on my goggles and peer out into the darkness of the backyard sitting next to my wife who is equally as perplexed as I am but today I did not forget my medications.

I still feel the world spin and note the stench of cigarettes and dying sunflowers.

better than earlier when I could scent out the unique putrefaction of several birds finding only one feather.

but the couch got moved.

generally enervated and bone pain sick of it.

half-banana moon, toothpicks on the highway, sick of it.

skin falling off and miswriting sin, a lack of croutons in soup, sick of it.

tattoos, assassinating public figures, the FBI comes and visits me at six am, sick of it.

or I am in stir, a padded room with nothing but this white computer and the insatiable need to sleep.

or I am in a wheat field with crows thinking about a .38 special.

or I am in bed, lying prone, ready to fire with a hard-on and magazine dreams.

add a new category.

eleven: forty-six pm – my eye lids are heavy and I am over tired.

goodnight.

goodnight.

goodnight.

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