Posts tagged ‘hospital’

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January 4, 2012

I slept twelve hours

by jhon baker

and I’m still tired. Bukowski suggested that one ought to take a three day nap every now and again to recharge the batteries, being a father and husband does not allow such naps but would I ever indulge if there could be a way.

Two links – you might recognize them from yesterday but then again, you might not..

Take it to the streets

Conjectural Figments

These are both truly good issues put out by two very good publishers containing poetry by good poets and of course – myself – the first has one and arguably two poems depending on how you read them – I wrote it as one and a half so there it is. The second features me as a poet and contains three poems- both contain a lot of good writing besides mine and should be read a few times through for affect/effect.

– Just for updates sake – Yesterday my truck was broken and my diagnosis was spot on. Now it is fixed and waiting for the next coil to go.

Yesterday I wrote nothing after the blog post and today I think I am going to scribd something – my new years sort of poem.

Writing will become the object of today after I take a shower when I get home from the hospital where my MIL is receiving today’s infusion and tomorrow morning will be more of the same while the afternoon finds me in a tattoo parlor getting the design finalized for the next portion of the left arm half sleeve.

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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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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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December 28, 2011

see, it was like this when…

by jhon baker

There isn’t anything better to do in an infusion lab than to surf the internet or sit here and write a blog post. I have had enough of surfing as there are too many waves that crash me and cause undo pressure on my brain – there is only so much I can learn and I prefer everything I learn have to do with my areas of interest – for those I have books and experience, these being the doors of true freedom.

Today my keep of classical music fills the infusion lab – Bach, two part invention BMV 772 no. 1 in C major and soon onto another but for now this is what it is.

I could go walking in the hospital and see how many surgeons are about and engage them in conversation about poetry – philosophy – blood; the typical elements of good conversation. I could go to the cafeteria and indulge in sugary pastries and see how long it takes for me to get ill and shake uncontrollably, I could go bother the security and behave suspiciously – but all of this will only land in different areas of trouble.

For another topic and stop me if you’ve heard this one… never mind – I think you have.

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December 27, 2011

there isn’t poetry in this post

by jhon baker

Paul Simon is on the radio and was preceded by Buffalo Springfield. Sitting at a hospital and waiting for the IV infusion to complete is not the most interesting thing I’ve planned into my day but it is not the most uninteresting thing either.

Last night while journaling I decided to simply write what ever I heard in my head – it isn’t the first time I’ve done this and I usually only do it every time I forget that there is no narrative to the voices

“I like that old time Rock and Roll” sung without any irony.

or dreams of close eyes just before bed contemplation. Interesting disconnectedness to it. Sometimes flow of consciousness isn’t going to be any good – or sometimes it is good and most of the time it is disjointed and sad.

phil collins now and I think the disc Jockey must be schizophrenic as there is no sense to the selected song list – Elton John earlier.

I’ve never really cared for radio save the classical station – WFMT – of which I am a member and it plays constantly in my car. Radio seems either to play to the vox popoli or a far too specific cast of listeners – as I am not a member of the VP – I am a member of a specific cast of listeners – those who listen to classical and jazz mostly so I don’t get exposed to a lot of current but the current makes me want a whiskey and water.

The patient falls asleep in her barcalounger while hooked into IV antibiotics. a severe lack of anything interesting for me while I have my computer must be mind bogglingly boring for her without any entertainment except for the schizophrenic radio DJ. The radio DJ brags about playing pop, rock and soul and he forgets to mention crap and filler and bad radio commercials.

 

 

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