"Java Jive"
My very earliest memory is of my Mom singing
this to my little sister, and I.
She may have been cooking or hanging
laundry in the yard. it's a mixed image.
However sing it she did.
Thursday, February 14, 2019
"Kryptonite"
There, and back again. Holy bleep this is getting interesting. I went back to hospital,...surprise. A minor operation was waiting for me. "Hey I just came to re-new my meds!"
"What do you mean relax?!!"
Well I did. I loves morphine. Suddenly everything was pastel, and fluffy. I could get used to this. I watched as all sorts of yucky stuff was done,...then sewn back up.
"How do you feel?" "...Huh?" sez I.
Kings County Hospital has evolved over the last century from a chloroform butcher shop, and mad-house into a major medical hub of the Northeast. If Boston gets nuked...and only Boston. We'd get whoever was left at Kings County.
I got hooked up with more meds a primary care group meds, and tea.
I so wanted a pastrami on rye with bleeping hot mustard. I settled for chicken noodle soup when I got home this evening. Also I re-stocked on another pint of sugarless ice cream so I'm set.
I still have a leg at the end of my knee, and a foot at he end of that. Nine little piggy's too. They really don't want for me to have eight or less. Me neither. So I'm following they're instructions like a treasure map,...taking them Red Kryptonite pills too.
"Oh Brave New World",...with such meds in it.
Gawd I'm tired.
"Art in Flight"
A dream.
Venus de Milo tilted in the sands of Coney Island.
David in front of the Flatiron Building.
Tapestries hung from fire-escapes.
The Pieta on a subway platform.
Animated Keith Haring's in the skies.Jackson Pollock's hung from fences. Vermeer's in Synagogues.
An Annunciation fresco in my building's hallway.
"...Balls"
Well I got up I 12:40 am to make dinner.
My days are a bit off. Never sure of when, and where I am,..sort 'a.
"Veggie Balls". ...???!
I saw these figured what the hell. They might make the boiled paper I have to eat more interesting. Have no idea what these are. Likely harvested from the vast Veggie Ball plantations of Belize.
These right next to the French Fry groves, and the Diet Pepsi natural springs.
I always wanted to take a tour of the fast food plantations of Central America. Burgers, and fried chicken on vines. Pastry bushes, and the beloved Root beer, and extra sugar Orange soda water falls.
Oddly all the natives are in the trim, and quite fit. Like all serious drug dealers they never sample the product...wise.
As for them Veggie Balls I tossed some into a lean chicken stew along with the usual mushrooms, and potatoes...I don't dare go farther than this. Well,....okay better than steamed mud. My usual diet. It's as advertised,...a ball of veggies un-spiced.
I think these things are illegal in 23 States.
What I want is a triple cheese burger large bleeping fries, and a huge Coke with crushed ice, and a large apple pie...hot.
In my dreams.
Speaking of exit wounds.
I've become expert at butt-hole sanitation. Another vastly unexpected, and horrifying skill age presents you with.
Old bleeps should give talks at middle schools. This to tell the oblivious "I'm never getting old can never be killed, and will live forever" kiddies what's coming for them.
...real soon.
That, and stay the hell away from Veggie Balls!
"...brave"
'Had a dream this afternoon,...I sleep asymmetrically. Dreams I saw many dreams happening at once. These projected 3-D in front of me.
If I touched one I was in it,...another I moved over to it.
I imagine there's computer games or simulations like this now.
"Oh Brave New World,..."
"...fruit"
On being an Angel,...part time.
Angel is a verb not a noun. An act not a person. ...sort of.
These are hard times. Persons stand outside of markets asking for coins or food. One should give both if you can. I can no longer give money so food instead. When I shop I pick up a few extra things. Fruit canned goods. A few things to share outside the shop.
I've noticed a conspiracy of others doing the same. My family, and good friends have given to me. I give back in the way I can. We all must pass on the kindness.
Share what you can when you can where you can.
"...now"
It's like I have another body now. It's doing things the old one never did. Making strange noises taking me strange places. Different hearing seeing dreaming. The tunnel is amazing. All around a tunnel of light with the world at the far end. I can see my digs my rooms the hall at the end of a tunnel of light.
Hypoglycemia.
That, and though it's 18f degrees I'm hot. Sense of taste gone as well. It's like everything is getting me ready for not having a body at all.
Mind you I intend to hang around. I still need to see Disney World.
Well that, and a serious snow storm before the heatwaves come back.
...Curry too.
"...home'
It's been a while since I've portaled anywhen. My dark matter pocket watch is inert. I suspect they're sentient. They know you. When you time-shift they are you.
My dark companion who has led me to so many were, and will be places. Has decided I need to stay home.
So home I be.
Living one moment one day one year at a time.
...for now,
"Ding!"
I just watched a douc about typewriters. Loved them. As a child I wrote my first stories on one. We had a 1918 French typewriter in our basement when I was little. Seemed to come with the house. It remained there as we grew up.
When the house was sold to a relative after my folks passed there it still was. In more or less the same corner it sat in for the 40+ years we lived there.
I think it's still there.
"...mercurial"
Inspiration is a sudden memory of the future. It appears in full bloom. Bringing it into the world though. A compromise of a compromise. An approximation of an approximation.
The dream remains, but the fact is mercurial.
Ginsberg's "Howl" as he actually heard it. Van Gogh's Starry Night as he really saw it. James Baldwins sermons essays if he were free. Dunne's Holy Sonnet's before 2nd thoughts. The Iliad before the translations.
"...days"
This is pretty much it.
I go from emotional extreme to extreme. Alone in my digs.
I'm good I'm fine. Banged up confused like everyone.
I write much post little.
Days go by.
"A Night at the Opera"
Spent the day at the hospital. The above sums it up. A grand surreal sometimes deadly comedy. Very like the Marx Brothers below. I got done. Weren't no part left un-done. Going back in a few days for more fun.
Civilization is terrifying,...when it's not hilarious.
I don't think it's possible to be more wasted drained, and bleeped up than I am now,...with more to come.
I'm working my way through the last of the sugarless ice cream.
"...Thanks Sharon!"
This stuff proves there are Angels!
"...hat"
At last I'm old sick, and broke. Just like my favorite saint Walt Whitman. So far so good. He worse neat hats too!
On the further upside. In the last few years when I seem to have become visibly older. Elder folks reach out as I stumble along.
You sages out there noticed this?
They'll just strike up conversation,...since I'm clearly in the Club. Suddenly we're talking about 1957, and the Dodgers. We're in a time of life when there's this instinct to download what we know.
So we tend to speak to other elders oblivious kids, and the walls.
We have near a century of stories busting out of us.
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