words of a people aligned in their perfect order
I am a man of chronic conditions
and if you bless me I’ll say thanks
but that’s all
no one renders the image well
and while the coffee is hot
the outside is almost hotter
and I eat a pinkish apple
drink bottled water
and stare at your walls
sugarless scenarios
contemplating my next tattoo
I am a spiritual guide
wearing a gun and a leatherman
ready for anything
I’m ready for you
– Hoc Scripsi
I woke this morning to medications and everything being left of center by about six inches. As the day progressed it shifted to about eight inches right of center never actually being center. This is the way of it lately – yesterday spent most of the day right of center except my sons room which was three inches left. The day before that was mostly malaise covered and fuzzy. I contemplate that my medications are no longer correct for my diagnosis but wonder if maybe my diagnosis is more severe then we previously thought. Then again the world may actually be left or right as I awake and descend throughout the day but today it ends with my motorcycle no longer being mine and no longer in the garage. now in there are a mass of broken things and unfinished projects that I may or may not be smart enough to complete without assistance.
I don’t write here often because like this post clearly defines – I have very little to say that isn’t about lonely carpet tufts and apples growing on certain trees far away from here. I could write about my squeezing ceiling fan, blue curtains covering the slider in my room but that seems passe right now. And I am drinking coffee from my unbroken other favorite Vincent coffee mug. Sunflowers. Wheat field with crows was my favorite but now it is broken.
I’ve learned that some pain medications can deepen psychosis and as a result I’ve been taken off of them and am left with only two meds to control my pain and those don’t seem to be working as well lately. I’m sleeping a lot during the day to try and control pain. it works to a certain extent and offers me usual nightmares and vivid nighttimedreaming – I am ill from the side affects of something and find my appetite reduces to normalish levels but still sickened in the stomach with no abatement.
every time I turn around there is no-one there – only carpet tufts in some joyful crushed harmony.
I’ve been down with a plague of sorts – Bronchitis and the flu, fun stuff.
The death of my brother and a continued concentration on music – the poetry has suffered greatly.
Now I’ve been reminded that I haven’t posted in a while and I am better for the reminder as I need this reminder to live on my doorstep and ring the bell occasionally. Perhaps something new will happen that isn’t heart wrenching or energy draining. Perhaps I shall eat all the leftover Halloween candy and find this lost energy and slip into the manic side of my personality defects. In the meantime I’ve lubricated my old trumpet to have as a backup for a show I’m suppose to be playing the next two weekends should my Yamaha horn fail me or fall on the steps I am to climb. I’ve already missed opening weekend which made the director scramble for a last minute replacement that played air trumpet to a midi – file recording of my part. I’m sure live it would sound better or worse – I haven’t practiced it with the accompaniment – only solo and am sure that I’ve jazzed it up beyond what is called for. But how badly can one screw up – “Singing in the Rain” – surely not as bad as one can screw up something with more than six notes. I suppose there is an F# in there but it is not being played for this particular application of rain singing.
in a moment we become only photographs
visions in fading memories
the platitudes of willful resemblance 