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January 3, 2012

My truck is broken

by jhon baker

Sitting in the Hospital now with my MIL getting her daily infusion of antibiotics I am reminded that I am going to give up a vice soon. Smoking. We will see how that goes as my commitment is only to the money I’ll save and the example I’ll set for my boy. Problem being that I like to smoke, enjoy it most of the time but winter makes it hard to enjoy as we do not smoke inside the house out of respect for our son and cats – they’ve opted to not smoke so why should we be damaging their lungs – we are already corrupting them mentally and emotionally – why physically as well?

I am also thinking of my Ford F150 is not running correctly – badly in fact. Pretty sure that I’ve blown another coil, maybe two and that this will cost me a few hundred dollars at least and be a complete pain in the ass for the next day or so. I’ve been thinking of getting a newer vehicle, something lower to the ground and better on the pocketbook in terms of fueling costs and the truck isn’t making it easy for me to keep it. Is it a sign? probably no, if anything it is a sign that the feelings of the truck are hurt by my indecision about replacing it – mostly on the side of drive it into the ground but I don’t like it when they start to cost money for repairs.

a link: poetry another link: more than just poetry but my poetry

go to that link – read a bit, fall in love with my poem and others – print out a few copies and hand them out to complete strangers for nothing but the joy of force feeding people the beauty that exists around them always.

Where was I? In hospital, thinking of my truck and health in general, and then poetry always comes at odd times and sometimes like an erection in church, unwelcome and possibly improper. But for this we are thankful which is what makes it the most odd – thankful that poetry in the mind is like the massive erection in church or the day you decided to not wear underwear in jr high and had to go to the blackboard after rubbing the wrong/right way, laughter ensues and the pink never leaves your cheeks again so you grow a beard in your freshman year and learn to tolerate or kill, at least maim a little.

but that never happened to me.

I saw it on television which is as good as a memory of your own.

this post has no direction.

My MIL has been stripped half naked in the infusion lab for an impromptu change of her wound dressing because her wound vac wouldn’t shut up which is because it wasn’t actually working – only pretending. Poor woman.

time to go smoke.

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January 1, 2012

a new 2012 and the year of the Dragon to boot

by jhon baker

live with abandon

love freely

hate no-one for it uses up energy that can be used for other things

try something new –

try something old –

try things –

try everything, and if you are really into it – try it twice.

make no resolutions – for they are set-ups for failure

if it needs changing – change it regardless of what time of year it is.

party wildly and in some unorthodox way.

dance.

don’t wait for them to come to you, they might not.

if you still hold out hope – don’t abandon it but accept its fruition may never come to pass.

don’t look for Atlantis, Plato made it up and says as much, create your own Atlantis.

challenge the irrational laws – challenge the rational ones too.

start a swear jar to enable you to travel somewhere exotic you’ve never been.

swear a lot.

drink, smoke, fuck wildly and with abandon but only the one you love and that loves you.

don’t be “that guy”.

remember there will only be one 2012 and be thankful that there was only one 2011.

wish to be only the person that time and experience will make of you.

support a charity, I can easily suggest NRA or HRC – they both get shit done.

ignore the bastards (except me!), most of them will never help you but hinder.

sing.

sing in crowded places as if you were alone in the shower where the acoustics make a Pavarotti out of all of us.

but just sing.

make mistakes.

remember that most people have forgotten the mistakes you’ve made and most people will forget the ones you will inevitably make this year.

so do not be concerned with them.

those who do remember all your mistakes aren’t good people to have around unless they are smart and kind enough to have pretended to forget them.

keep a journal or diary. it will be invaluable to your grandchildren or another generation – and if not at least it helped you organize your thoughts of the day and will help you to sleep better.

those who love you are Holy, keep them in your pocket at all times.

also keep spare change to feed expired meters.

time and space are one – so broken watches tell time just as well as others.

remember that.

 

for auld lang syne. – me

 

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December 31, 2011

the great idiot of us all

by jhon baker

When I was growing up I was sure of two things. 1. I was retarded and 2. that I was adopted. – eventually I learned that 1. no and 2. no.

however, there is lingering doubt remaining about both only because my nature is different and odd and my nurture is fantastically imprinted.

I was also told that I couldn’t carry a tune and was in speech therapy because I was monotone and thought to be tone deaf – both of these ended life being not true as I have become an accomplished musician and a pretty good singer.

If I was so motivated – this would be the start of my autobiography – or my memoirs as they call them.

what follows is probably terrible or terrific…

the great idiot of us all

the rain sleeps;

passed the nickel

through gates of wrath

after

observedly pounded on

windows and

doors and windows

doors and windows.

 

slept under lit porticoes

and flooded swails.

– last night I wrote this but may take it back

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December 30, 2011

a busy day or at least a busy morning or how I learned to fill out medicare paperwork…

by jhon baker

Already having been here for an hour and a half and out of coffee but rich in apple fritter – the radio plays Steve Miller much to a lack of excitement about it from the general crowd gathered in the IV infusion lab at Sherman Hospital.

We started this morning at the wound care clinic and waiting for a surgeon to look at the near 7 cm wound in my MIL’s chest.

but for another topic – I have bought a copy of my own book for my wife’s first generation Nook – she now has a color Nook and I am borrowing her old one to read Mark Twain’s Autobiography as it is a rather large book and difficult to hold while in bed, lying down and preparing for restlessness in the dark. Anyway – I then got an app for my iPhone that makes available my Nook books on my iPhone – the line breaks are not correct on the iPhone and I cannot imagine reading something like a book on the phone that should really be for making phone calls and not playing games, checking e-mail, taking photos and all the other crap one can do with the phone. I wouldn’t be surprised if the next iPhone was designed to do everything including talk for you and organize your garage but not make phone calls – and they will change the name to what the device actually is – a handheld personal computer – desktop, laptop and the handheld – next real step is the implant singularity.

I am tangential by nature.

I like being able to carry my book, as in MY book, with me everywhere and have it take up no added room. This is especially handy as I don’t memorize my poems and try to forget that I’ve written most of them – now when someone says – tell me a poem, I can bust out my phone and do just that.

 

St Sebastian

 

walked, mid January,

through snowy woods

stepping lightly the tracks

of those travelled before,

leaving some for those behind.

 

no turns but trees to rest upon

no crickets to sing or call

no voices but those of

my companions

no impressive sigh

but that of our feet

crushing through

and impermanent

as I looked further,

down the path

we traveled,

it was Sebastian I thought of

and his arrows.

 

– Hoc Scripsi

 

that is one of the first poems written in this year and I wonder what will be the last completed. I wonder what will be the first of 2012 unless the earth comes to a mind bogglingly spectacular end tomorrow night.

I do not look forward to organizing my paperwork for the tax man/woman/alien.

my MIL sleeps lightly in the barcalounger while being infused – I type and listen to bad radio commercials.

I am informed by bad advertising and pulp and the slush pile which my poetry occupies.

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