Posts tagged ‘mental-health’

July 16, 2015

this morning came around seven and then again around eight-fifteen.

by jhon baker

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.

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May 13, 2013

what I say is holy

by jhon baker

but it’s no good,

the secret out,

and I am on my knees.

 

what I say is holy,

holier than the tomes of great men

whose bodies are dust;

 

I can no longer blow them for good graces

except by exhale,

 

head buried to the lap

of dead gods turned to ash.

February 25, 2013

poem

by jhon baker

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 30, 2012

sitting here.

by jhon baker

Staring at this screen for the last ten minutes and now my coffee is cold and all I really want is a cigarette.

Thankfully I haven’t quit.

 

May 7, 2012

sun and the moon continued

by jhon baker

I should give up the blog altogether. I’ve been going through a period of low creativity lately and blogging about it has not been on my to do list.

But, I’ve been thinking. Reading. Refilling the well with new information. I am waiting now for the payoff and waiting isn’t my strong suit.

What I need to do is get down to it and write a bunch of crap which I’ve been resisting. Allow the brain to work its connective magic, there is no other way that each synapse is going to know that it isn’t doing its job. The pretty genius in the corner needs to get out of the corner and meet me half way. There is nothing else really going on that is that distracting except what I distract myself with.

Not that I haven’t been writing and occasionally putting out something worth sharing and so I blame that end of the year burst and depression that followed. To which I am heavily medicated against now but also medicated against the severity of another mania which I miss and see flickers of here and there fighting for attention.

Giving up the blog would be an act of honesty as I now am feeling the dishonesty of keeping up the appearance of having one. Would all three of my readers miss my occasional outreach? Would you notice? Are there more than three of you?

I am reaching for the bottle here and wishing for the stars… the sun and the moon, the shaky days of not knowing if I had a clean uniform for work and if I was going to be fired for my latest outright challenge to the authority of a nameless supervisor. I had never wanted to work but now it is all I want to do. Being disabled/retired at 35 is not all it may seem to be but there is the small check from government and endless guns to play with when no-one is looking.

here is something newish which I was going to send to Take it to the streets but missed the deadline. It is for my wife – the muse that keeps me alive and reaching for the stars.

 

with cold hands

 

it’s cold

so I touch the warmth of her thighs

with cold hands, she shivers

 

gaily we dance under soft comforters

beneath the sounds of jazz belonging to another decade

before our birth

 

the windows closed locking out the colder winds

we warm and embrace, sweat heat in loving

the minutiae of such good fucking

 

– Hoc Scripsi

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