August 16, 2015
am not asleep
been awake too damn long and I’m sick of it.
nothing to do with the cup of coffee I just poured myself in one of my Vincent mugs.
I suppose it isn’t that late but I am hungry and looking for my angry fix.
I haven’t been sleeping well.
and the windows have faces that I can’t comprehend.
I put on my goggles and peer out into the darkness of the backyard sitting next to my wife who is equally as perplexed as I am but today I did not forget my medications.
I still feel the world spin and note the stench of cigarettes and dying sunflowers.
better than earlier when I could scent out the unique putrefaction of several birds finding only one feather.
but the couch got moved.
generally enervated and bone pain sick of it.
half-banana moon, toothpicks on the highway, sick of it.
skin falling off and miswriting sin, a lack of croutons in soup, sick of it.
tattoos, assassinating public figures, the FBI comes and visits me at six am, sick of it.
or I am in stir, a padded room with nothing but this white computer and the insatiable need to sleep.
or I am in a wheat field with crows thinking about a .38 special.
or I am in bed, lying prone, ready to fire with a hard-on and magazine dreams.
add a new category.
eleven: forty-six pm – my eye lids are heavy and I am over tired.
goodnight.
goodnight.
goodnight.
March 30, 2010
too beautiful
Happy birthday Van Gogh, born in 1853. I wonder why all my Heroes are supposedly mentally unstable? Van Gogh was simply too beautiful for this world. I think that the mentally unstable are not so, just able to see the world with different eyes. Well, maybe only the creative ones. There are people who are effing nuts and should be locked away with electrocution on a daily basis or whatever it takes to make them become overly fond of a reclining chair and day time television.
one of my favorite paintings.
there are a lot of favorite Van Gogh, in love with your brush stroke and colors since I turned about 4ish.
thank you.
I often wonder at the fragility of the self in the mind of others. I am not sure I care as I am able to not. Although I was kicked out of the drama club for being strange and I went to a fairly liberal HS. Anyway…
This last one is my painting from a few years ago titled ‘funeral for a friend’ – I am thinking now that I should use my own paintings for my impending books cover. I had e-mailed Chelsea Martin about it as I like what she does but now I am thinking differently. She does great work by the way which I will attest to as I’ve recently legally acquired a few of her books. In ‘everything was fine until whatever’ I like the small little poems at the bottom of the pages – not all though pages though, some are lacking fine printing.
The photograph isn’t as good as the painting, the black is reflective and has given the painting a false texture. Then again, I’ve seen some of my favorite Van Gogh paintings in person and those photos do not do justice to the actual painting either. I am not saying that I am a Van Gogh. I am a Jhon Baker.
Beethoven string quartets now, I cannot cope with Ludwig though. Simply his work invades me in such a manner that I lose time.
early memories of erections I sometimes miss the fat
lunch ladies from grade school
with their tiny feet
lunch ladies from grade school
with their tiny feet
sporting vans and moo-moo
dresses behind cheap
pizza stained aprons.
dresses behind cheap
pizza stained aprons.
two brunettes and a blonde
flowing hair hidden under plastic caps;
hair, which I once saw, revealed
flowing hair hidden under plastic caps;
hair, which I once saw, revealed
at the grocery store with my mother;
where I accidently fawned,
where my mother scolded me
where I accidently fawned,
where my mother scolded me
for staring, she knew
how I secretly wanted.
the thought disgusted her
how I secretly wanted.
the thought disgusted her
but I still think of them
fondly. their great warmth
and large flesh.
fondly. their great warmth
and large flesh.
– I wrote this
the thing I like most about being home is my coffee. I make the best coffee on the planet. This can be attested to by several friends, Physical terrorists (therapists), nurses, and my wife. I was trained by two different coffee companies to make coffee and I have now created my own method that is far superior for the home brewer. being out of the house is becoming increasingly difficult. This may be impounded that I don’t leave the house much so I am becoming accustomed only my coffee and only my wife’s food and only my opinions (and my wife’s as well). That and I think most people are assholes and not caring to surround myself with assholes it is simply easier to stay at home.
the platitudes of willful resemblance 