Posts tagged ‘friends’

February 22, 2011

West Coast Image

by jhon baker

A good, longtime, friend of mine sent this photo to me – taken from his cellphone. I am in love with it. I haven’t seen my friend in nearly a decade, he smartly left Illinois and has made a life for himself by greater beaches – I’d known him since we were both small, both naive, both hungering for a greater tomorrow and freedom. I think of him often, without heartbreak, as ours is an unspoken commitment of kinship.
This image is from the younger brother I never had. and it’s poem is building within me as we speak…

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January 25, 2011

woke up, got out of bed, dragged a comb across… no I didn’t

by jhon baker

I finished eating the remainder of a bag of potato chips to cap off my lunch. I nearly hate them as think they are greasy, tasteless abominations. I ate them as I was hungry and not in a mood to be any more decisive.
I am having an odd day and the body and mind are not operating as a unit.
Having intended to nearly end my facebook profile and all things connected to this blog on the weekend – I did it last night, not wanting to put off the difficult task of deleting a little over 1500 connections to people I never knew and have not gotten to know – no matter what the intentions were. For now I am okay to leave it with the people that are left there, people I actually know or have gotten to know through this blog – facebook brought me no readers, sold no books or so few that I was unable to notice. Not worth the extended effort that it took.
I feel the pain of losing another close friend though. A person that I have associated with for 12 years and knew intimately, personally – a bond established before either one of us owned a computer. He is not at deaths door but at the door of something which I have been unable to join him, uninvited I do not intrude.

Life is becoming increasingly isolated, medications have proven no assistance as my mind’s mettle cannot be undone by such simple ingredients. The New Yorker’s jokes have become stale and it’s commentary mundane and repetitive. Altogether my connection to the outside world is through magazines, tired of them all – I am reaching out through the space interrupted, the space between.

Today has many famous birthdays, but we recall that today my brother-in-law would have turned 31. He is remembered nearly daily around here and his magnitude is greatly missed.

December 15, 2010

Vivaldi gives me a hard on

by jhon baker

but as I sit here and feel a mysterious depression untie me, instantly disbanding my intentions.
searching for the door now as it may be reopened that medications have washed out of me, forgetting my need and granting these recent lines of creation.
I’ve resurrected a bridge but decided to put away the friendship regardless. In some relationships there is no room for differences and the past isn’t always what some gratify it to be.

I am not alone and I wish to not leave this room, I wish to seclude and isolate, intolerate the world as it has done nothing specific or even so much as made note of any particular individual existence –
the world is not out to get me – nor anyone else for that matter. (Unless it is and, wow, that guy is fucked.)
a general distaste for the gathered throng is beginning to percolate again, bending my aspect toward something new or different, broken, old or discarded.
something borrowed, something blue
I am climbing at the walls and tilting at the ills that govern my outlook.

my brother, secret hero, our ancient people vilified one another
our ancient people spit blood on ancient corpses.

I already regret saying “thank you”.

words

the notebooks,
IBM Selectric IIIs,
et cetera
these are my shields,
protecting me from the world
from you –

My words are the weapons
I utilize

bludgeoning the audience
until they bleed from ears,
mouth, fingertips,
and eyes.


 – Hoc Scripsi

nothing I like more than killing them brutally with my words.

 – J.

December 3, 2010

December, snow, ice and the general good time with whiskey

by jhon baker

Apparently the 44″ snow thrower attached to the front of my John Deer is going to come in handy tonight and through the weekend. Also of use will be the seed spreader that pulls behind filled with ice melter.
December already and it’s going to be a white my birthday.

This is for Troy

1. the bending of steel

poetry.
coffee.
a love of hard liquor.
rifles, shotguns, pistols
revolvers.

men were bound by
thinner threads then these.

2. hammering to form

poetry.
coffee.
a love of hard liquor.
rifles, shotguns, pistols
revolvers.

man’s bind was broken by
thinner threads than these.

3. the fine blade

beauty.
art.
love.
the eyes and body move
of a naked dancing muse.

man’s mind was broken by
thinner threads than these

 – Hoc Scripsi

I am looking at the Magpie image and thinking now; I am looking at my own door, painted red with window, and thinking casually.

I’ve been reading a lot of blogs lately and seeing some quality writing and some not so much. I comment on about 1/3rd of what I am reading as time does not allow for expression and reciprocation on everyone’s thoughts. On need to get back to Rabbit on his poetry as I said I would and am still pounding through the fall of man.
This blog needs more energy – needs more poetry while it is looking like I will finish the year slightly ahead of where I was last year. A good thing but I can see where I didn’t use all of my time wisely.

Almost nap time.

This above poem was written for Troy, because without him it would not have been written. Although it has been turned down by two publishers I believe it to be a solid poem and have high hope for it over the next few months.
Any publisher that reads me and wants it may use it with notification.

ad a good breakfast with a friend this morning with coffee that rivals the best of normal coffee houses – she only need a better coffee maker to bring it to the next level. Good range of topics covered and I left before I may have gotten boring immediately following saying some profound things. To include, on the subject of the impossibility of perfection or an impossible definition of perfection as to human achievement – If I am the sum of my life’s experiences, then I am perfect as I am. Some may say that leaves no room for improvement, but I counter that with I am only talking about now, not what is possible with the possibility of tomorrow.

Putting Sparklehorse’s last album to play I am now going to close my eyes and pull the night mask on. The safety word is “revenge”

 – J.

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