April 16, 2014
late night posting
Lying in bed and finding typing difficult to do with any sense of rhythm.
I have Clifford Brown queued up on the iPod and Dawkins as my nighttime reading.
I type now, in the dark, by touch alone.
Medications have been taken and callouses removed, Ruger LC9 on the nightstand – I am naked ready for action.
My nails are long and the moon, nearly full, is no longer blood, calling for the end of times.
I rest easy – thinking long thoughts about David Ignatow, Russia, and the wars in general. I am not a purveyor of the selfie or silly quizzes though I take them out of boredom. I am heavy bored because I lack inner resources. Thank you John Berryman.
My wife wears too many clothes.
March 26, 2013
so what!
So, I haven’t posted in a while… So What?
I have no skin, but a basketful of protections from the sun and I am waiting for the coffee to brew at 4:43 pm. What I have in my cup is cold and coffee isn’t meant to be enjoyed cold – no matter what you or your fancy coffee iced lattes think. For coffee to be anygood cold it has to be brewed with a double batch of grounds and served over ice – even then I cannot stand it but normal coffee ice cold is no good, damn you and your alternate opinions. This is where the advantage goes to tea – I pour a hot cup of tea and drink some, forgetting about it for awhile and when I return to it it has become cold as forgotten things do – but I can drink it regardless of this as tea can be served hot or cold at the same strength.
advantage: Tea – but I enjoy coffee more and it is why I smoke now – to further enhance the coffee experience out in my garage where there is no organization but an ashtray and my motorcycle. Also a BB Gun to shoot raccoons in the ass when they get too friendly.
I just finished a Novel where one of the secondary characters suffers the same mental aberration as I and as where I can normally identify with my characters like this I found this character to be a reflection of popular symptoms and not reality – or his mental depravity was too close to home and I divorced my mental aspect from his. In the end the book wasn’t very good and failed to live up to the promise that the authors previous work had made. Now I am rereading “Dream Songs” by the one and only, John Berryman. This is never a let down no matter how many times I read them.
coffee, cigarettes and waiting
I am staring at this black piece of paper
with four poems waiting to be written;
drinking coffee but
wonting for something else entirely.
my ears are dirty with grime
and later I’ll shower.
right now I am not adjacent to godliness
but God doesn’t drink coffee
or smoke endless cigarettes turning on the next line.
my poetry isn’t in vogue at present
and I cannot support what is.
Bukowski imitators.
and I am going gray;
easily depressed by these rejections,
waiting for more coffee to brew
so I can kill myself
with these several cigarettes
or maybe a gun.
– Hoc Scripsi
February 25, 2013
poem
god, or somebody,
bless
him
I take the doctors pink and white pills
and the blue/green one
with water before bed and
again when I wake up
everyday
and, supposedly,
they keep me sane and stable.
it’s not pleasant to die on the cross
or in back alleys and one way streets.
when I’m sick I swallow vitamins
and drink a lot of orange juice.
it helps.
and my hair doesn’t fall out
any faster then the approaching middle age.
I do not have cancer
though I smoke a pack a day.
It’s not charming to be awoken after dying
without permissions from the dead.
yesterday I spent an
inordinate amount of time in bed
for no reason
and had a lot of dreams,
none of which I remember now.
life, is boring – Henry says
and friends, I believe him
– Hoc Scripsi
December 26, 2012
post holiday lego building
Listening to The Black Keys and sitting with my son while he builds his Lego Teenage Mutant Turtle sets, earlier I built one of my own Lego sets. Big Ben. As an adult there is still the ever burning love for Lego.
The main concern after holidays is where to put all the new stuff – in my case it isn’t hard as I got clothes I needed, a few seasons of my favorite television show and a lot of books – but for the boy, more toys means a need to clear out space and think about donating things he has aged out of.
There is really nothing I have to say here. I am mostly out of the depression that lasted beyond my ability to handle – four months of complete darkness preceded by decent creative impulses and followed by a stiff climb out and a slight return to forms of creativity. I have started several poems and am thinking my way though the basic outline of a novel/memoir with embellishments and the ability to deny anything – This story is based on realish events and the people have altered names and are realish representations of the folks that they are modeled after – liberties will be taken where I do not want to relive certain things and where the truth is too strange to be believed. Nothing will be cranked up beyond reality because reality itself is often itself unbelievable. If I write it as fiction I can always deny that the hero of the tome is myself and as I’ve often said of poetry…
– never confuse the narrator of the poem with its author –
sound advice.
I think John Berryman said it first or best – I know it wasn’t my brain to come up with it and once I had heard the valuable teaching I was free then to really create. Some constraints are good and some work against you like good friends who never want us to become successful.
I was going to put a poem here but I think I’ll post twice instead. – Jhon
the platitudes of willful resemblance 