Posts tagged ‘pain’

June 2, 2011

a day in the life

by jhon baker

was with the same insurance company for about 14 years on the cars and cycle. Last August when I bought a new bike they quoted me three times what the same policy had cost four years before on a then new bike of the same make and model – I didn’t go with them on that – when it came time for house and renter property insurance I went with the same company and although I thought it was high I went with it because what the fuck did I know – well just switched away from them and saved on the cars and houses about 1600 a year – haven’t switched the Harley insurance because as of right now I am insuring through Harley and who knows motorcycles better then they?WIth the former company I insured through they would up my premiums every six months and I had to call and negoiate the rates back down and usually prevailed in getting them lower than they were the 6 months previous – yea for me but what a waste of time every six months.
Lesson – want to save money? shop around the insurance and give the big names a try – they will surprise you. I did not go with any company that hadn’t been in the business for decades – nor did I go with any that advertised any specific or non-binding % off current coverage.

That is enough about the business side of life…

on the more fun side I have been on a lego building kick for a few weeks and am about to complete the Death Star which I received as a gift two Christmases ago. I love Lego and couldn’t think of any better way to wind down the extremely busy weeks that have compromised the last two months – well, Lego and going to the range tomorrow with a good friend, Kevin. We are partners in pain – physical pain, not mental – physical which fucks with us mentally continually.

Not the best poet and certainly not nearly as entertaining as Pearl or Micael – but it will have to do.

a poem perhaps?

only sleep eases pain
only sleep eases pain
pain defines.
joy, happiness, collusion
love even distrust,
having dreams, night terrors, delusions.
all are unknown in entirety.
“how perfectly goddamned delightful it is
to be sure.”
every moments considered
length is by pains
varying degree.
 – Hoc Scripsi
May 11, 2011

people ain’t no good

by jhon baker

so much pain in these past days – finally I took four times the prescription to be able to sleep – awoke in the middle of the night and made love to my wife, hobbled around the house for a cigarette after and fell back to sleep. Drug induced sleep is never restful but that wasn’t the point, it was to escape pain, escape teeth breaking clenched jaws and now I am having slight hallucinations and still in incredible pain.
Once asked how I would define the last four years of my existence – what one word to sum it all, everything I’ve learned, everything I’d experienced — all I could say was not love although the love thrust upon me from my wife was extraordinary – pain was what my lips couraged up. Pain has defined my existence for now four and a half years, barely controlled rage from said pain and narcotics and it’s not like I get high, it’s not like I can enjoy the crippling addiction to opiates, narcotics and sympathetic nerve control medications, I cannot enjoy the shaking hand and hallow feel ebb away once the drugs take effect, I cannot enjoy the simplicity of walking to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

I try to not complain.

really.

today and yesterday and the day previous has been an experience of bordering on going to the hospital for a near lethal amount of Dilaudid.
but pain is loud and I cannot scream through its cacophonous discombobulation.

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May 8, 2011

by jhon baker

last night intertwined with pain – all night and this morning. I’ve set myself to sedentary after making breakfast for my lovely wife. There aren’t enough pain killers to make it vanish or even forgettable, often I dream of blowing a hole through the center of my thigh to necessitate its removal. I am told this will not end the agony that is my existence.
I try to not complain because after four and a half years – who’s listening?

On other fronts: looking around at sandboxes that sell for unbelievable amounts of money I’ve decided to make one – I’ll save 200 usd on the cheap side and far more on the nicer side. It’ll take an afternoon of playing with my power tools where hopefully I don’t end up with another gash in my hand.

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February 13, 2011

Oh, what a weekend.

by jhon baker

Every muscle making a fist, the half muscles left my leg twitching and contracting, expanding in rapid succession; spasm is what I am talking about but wording my way around.
Listening to Fryderyk Chopin – Nocturnes, Op. 15: No. 3 in G Minor at present.

drinking well made coffee from a comic mug and helping my son write Valentines for his class and a special one for a special girl. He will unfortunately be ill for the party tomorrow. Poor kid.

I am leaving this post unfinished and later am going to take a muscle relaxer while I sit down at my typewriter and write my fellows – return the letters received, work on my newest poetry, and try to start writing a play for Theater Undreground [sic]. I know the play I want to write, I’ve been thinking about it for years, and they’ve asked several times, the least I can do it try.

You’ve seen this one before unless you haven’t – I think it fits in with Jingles newest theme so I will place my name there as well.
Tired and no excuse to be so.

Let the coffee flow, flow, flow and the cigarettes smoke curl in query marks, curl into hearts, curl into clouds of what children lay and witness.

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3 poems fitting harmoniously together
1
third rate diner
writing poems on
paper napkins;
inadvertently blowing my nose into
the most recent.
2
modern medicine
modern medicine is/was always a marvel
no matter the year
until we need for the end
then it’s simply horrible.
3
loving
such good loving
such good nurturing,
such good loving,
such good fucking.
 – Hoc Scripsi
January 30, 2011

bathe every open wound

by jhon baker

five am –

nothing like not being able to sleep due to the feeling of the skin crawling off the muscle and the emptiness invading broken bones.

A cigarette now and then back into bed –

my skin feels oily, my chest is going to explode.

insomnia – the supposed friend of writers everywhere.

try being a cripple with a cripple walk and then try wearing slippers. Mine have the image of Freud but even that bit of funniness doesn’t make them stay on any better when i cripple walk up a single step into the kitchen from the garage where one will fall right after I have outed the lights, followed quickly by the other in a scramble to replace the foot. crawling works better.

there is a child staring at me from the crack I’ve left in the door. It’s not mine.

This is probably disturbing as hell to my wife who is going to read this when she wakes up and realizes that I did not get to sleep at all or at least until six am.

she’s just learned that I’ve been cutting all my meds for weeks now.

this might be disturbing as hell to anyone reading this – or just mildly interesting.
I am not altogether invested in your reaction, although it is nice to read.

I didn’t post yesterday because a friend lost someone and I didn’t have words to comfort them.

I will probably delete this when I come to my senses later on.

until then – here’s a pome…

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bathe every open wound
bathe every open wound
murder me a rose
forgive the violations
adolescent pornographic magazine libido
a dirty young man
who has
old bones
who has
atrophied musculatures
who
doesn’t wear helmets
who
awakes in a plain mood
who
scribbles indecipherably
ill lighted back corner lots
who
limps triumphantly
dances incessantly
who
tears wildly at television commercials
who has
piles of unpublishable odes and laments
who
walks around with guns in pockets
who
gives to the rich
gives to the poor
gives lavishly to self
who
send out letters, mid-twentieth century formatting
who
masturbates feverishly under covers before trying to sleep
who
smokes privately, drinks publicly
who
once, in youth, stole a copy of John Lennon’s “imagine”
who
answers what, who, why and when
with why, what, who and now
who
walks lonely at night for no reason
who
cuts himself to cut out the childhood monster still haunting in dreams
who
quietly ignores the family dynamic of drama
who
sits up hours on end listening to poets in their own voices
who
uncompromisingly refuses to get up until all stiffness is diminished
who
rides motorcycles at 75-80 mph in route to therapy sessions
who has
forgiven people their existence but holds self at higher standard
I’ve given up
offer me that flower/rose from you garden
the one you promised me.
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