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Sliced & Diced

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 So I guess the current frat boys and future corporate CEOs got their wish last night and turned the People’s House into a fraternity house. I’m sure that’s been the wish of every wanna-be proud boy in the country. To take that nearly holy beacon “freedom for all” and paint it up like a cheap whore. But such as it is, as the country melts down to its lowest denominator. But what can I say, Happy Independence Day! Life around here is crawling back to normal; I’m still finding new aches and pains while others go down. My head has definitely cleared up from its weeks’ worth of fog, so maybe I can make sense now when I talk. But just as my doctors more than warned me, it’s the internal work that really needs healing. It’s funny how fragmented one can feel when diced and sliced from the inside. But despite the lack of external sutures, there's a great many on the inside. So while I wait for the hole in my heart to heal, and the plug to fit snug into place, and the entry point on m...
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Take Care Of Yourself

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The Road Home   Once again another sleepless night confounds me; tensions of the day haunt my dreams. Leaving me restless and out-of-sorts, anxious and ready for change. Usually before and after a major event, such as this surgery, I find myself searching for meaning, while at the same time putting up old habits that are my survival mode. I wear a nearly impenetrable mask of this happy-go-lucky man who doesn’t have a care in the world. But just as in the distant past, the building of that wall eventually cracks and crumbles. So I sit here with this weight once again, listening to wise words of Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh about healing myself through a life in the present moment. Listening this evening to a friend nearly coming to tears about a past pain nearly brought me to tears myself. I wanted to say words of comfort, but instead I sat there and gave them some compassionate listening. But through my own suffering, I found myself falling to old habits of self-defense and w...
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Keep Living

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This is from last years surgery.   It’s creeping close to noon-time, and for the last few hours I’ve been scrolling through messages and social media posts. Some of the posts are funny, some sad, or enlightening; but all sent to stir up attention. Believe me I’m just as guilty as anyone else, if I weren’t I’d just keep my posts to myself. But I don’t, I share them. Last night was a little rough, I woke up cramping on the right side of my rib cage. With my life as a professional pill taker, my world is a crazy balance of making sure the medication I take to live, also doesn’t kill me. In other words, one medication I take to strengthen my heart can also lower my blood sugar dangerously low. So we have to adjust one other medicine, so I don’t lose too much fluid and dehydrate. All the while still taking that medicine to control excess fluid from building around my weakened heart. I know, it sounds crazy as shit. But I do what I got to do to keep the machine running. Kinda like an...
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A Lot More Than I

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  At 10:30 in the morning, I finally got a taste of sweet tea and lemon on my lips. Already this morning I’ve taken myself and our special needs son for a haircut, at the old barber shop next to the Piggly Wiggly. Mr. Bob the owner isn’t as old as me, but he religiously keeps the TV turned on to Fox News. I’d much rather watch Peppy the Pig or Bubble Guppies, but each to their own form of fiction. But my son is used to Mr. Bob and will even speak to him about how he wants his hair or a sports team. So I’ll take my dose of propaganda with a grain of salt, as long as it gets the job done. It’s funny how people in a barber shop keep tight-lipped to themselves. Old men staring down at their phones like a pack of teenagers. But even teenagers today seem to be bored with all the technology. Collecting vinyl records and reading actual books, more or less like we did as young people. But responsibility keeps us moving like the second hand on a clock. Counting every second, trying to mana...
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Wanting

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  It’s 3:33 in the afternoon. Usually, I’m just waking from a nap, but today I had an eleven o’clock confab with my hematologist. Every eight weeks I get checked to see how tired my blood is. Turns out it remains stable at the same shitty numbers it’s been running. So, I guess I’ll see them in eight weeks! ​ Not to be confused with the blood work for my kidney doctor, cardiologist, urologist, or GP. My oil gets changed regularly. For me, if my blood’s tired, it’s from driving to all these specialists in three different cities—not including the eye exams, hearing tests, and begging a dentist to see my nine or ten broken teeth with exposed roots. ​ I’m a shitty sight. If not for regular showers and washed clothes, I’d look like I live under a bridge. But give the current administration time. ​ So what’s the point? I guess I’m just too stupid to give up. Mentally I’m a certified trainwreck with the paperwork to prove it, yet here I am—like a wad of gum you can’t scrape off your shoe. ...
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Fever Dream

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  After a night of raw seventies-style fever dream, I woke up disturbed again by the whole thing, struggling to make any sense out of it, considering that’s not the way I grew up. I mean, I didn’t grow up in a low-income trailer park or surrounded by desperate people who always stay in trouble with the law. That was to come much later with the people I associated with after my first wife. But who knows, maybe that’s where the dream came from? Now, I’m sitting here some 40 years older and a lifetime away from that world. Still a stranger in a strange land, tiptoeing his way through the landmines laid by the natives. But even when I do make it home, I’m a stranger there myself. For time still affects us, whether we know it or not. And like most humans, we take the path of least resistance just to make it through, even if it means abandoning the moral values we once held true. So I sit in my “cone of silence,” creating my own world, surrounding myself with like-minded people. Peop...
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Doing Time

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  With my head on a swivel I spy the corners of my room like a prisoner with a slit for a window and a gym mat for a bed. Plotting and wondering about my next move, because that’s all you got to do. Except for the few moments you are outside or when you get mess call to prepare meals. It’s a routine with a hierarchy born out of intimidation and necessity. Where everything’s a little game you have to play, the side hustle, the secret deals. Funny thing about this prison, is it’s all voluntary. No one sentenced you other than yourself. But you stay because you have to, because you’re needed, because you think you got nowhere else to go. So you serve your time, till a hearse finally rolls you out and they bury you in the cold, cold ground. Don’t sound like much and it doesn’t mean there isn’t a little excitement. Like a visit from a friend or a phone call or two, don’t forget the long letters home that get spied upon by god knows who. So you don’t think about it much—you...
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