Pain and Hallucination
7/ 9/ 24
Right now, rather, right then, a moment ago, I was staring mindlessly at picture frame wall hook and had been for at least fifteen seconds. It may not sound like a lot of time but it is a lot just to be fixed on a picture frame hook, and fifteen on a doorknob here and thirty on what I've just written which in itself took every second of five minutes . . .now hooks, now the knob, and for just this last little bit . . . that ellipsis. This is no namby pamby stare, here. It's electromagnetic. Once latched . . . attached, until someone cuts the power by some stronger distraction and then I'd be released to redirect my magnificent stare -- just then on my rapidly cooling mug of coffee. At this moment, I'm letting it languish at room-temperature.
When I'm not stuck, odds are, I'm unglued. I can't latch on to anything. My thoughts or those of others. The written word or the words I'm writing. You can imagine why this would stir the stew out of me. The prospect of walking becomes more daunting when I'm unglued; each step is crucial to the overall endeavor; each step is one nearer the master plan, which includes arriving in full bipedal triumph at the refrigerator eight feet away. I stumbled four feet shy of the fridge and fell to the floor. Contributing factors . . . I was doing dishes, as is my wont, and being unglued at time, (one must be able to ambulate and navigate simultaneously), I let slip the necessary focus for a physically and mentally handicapped person, or to keep it politically correct -- a double-dip crip (if you've taken offense, you might want consult your physician, it could be that you are a triple cripple). Two more factors contributing to my stumble and ultimate collision with the refrigerator: the transition from unglued to stuck again can happen in the time it takes to reach for a Mac & Cheez pan and notice a dish of brownies a mere stack of dinner plates away. I like doing dishes. I looooove eating brownies. I reached, placed my non-reaching palm on the the slick stone for balance . . . Ha! Well-played, Jonathan. Final factor that I will bother mentioning . . . I stumbled four feet away. I am six feet tall.
If no harm , no foul . . . I call foul.
7/ 11/ 14
Insult to injury  no sooner had I begun my writhe-about, lowing like a woeful cow spectacle than a picture frame (second frame dismantled in as many weeks) fell onto my head. Insult to injury  no sooner had the paramedics reached me, I became aware that I was still in my ratty pajamas -- one of the EMTs gave me the heads-up on the relative brightness of the cool kitchen, where I had been, and the blazing blue sky inhabited solely by the sun at zenith, where I was quickly being hustled.
The difference was truly astonishing.
7/ 15/ 14
I have portable fan that sits on my bedside table that does not oscillate that oscillates.
I have a cat that won't sit still, in fact, she hasn't since she first showed-up; I'd give her a name, if she'd just sit still. Probably Snowball if she was black.
There's a man in the yard who is too small be homo-sapiens but far too huge to be one of my periphery faeries.
Bathroom tiles scootch slowly towards me.
Bricks jut and retreat, jut and retreat like insane piano keys considering a not-nice joint jettison.
Cracks in sidewalks move slowly away.
Two women on my wall are artwork. Corrine's hair is made of hectic magenta butterflies. Her head rests on a pale forearm, the forearm is perfectly still and given to movement. Just a slight raise at the elbow.
Edna is on a bench under a dark sky in a white dress considering the skull on her lap. Once in a while she rises to walk to a shore she nor I can see. We see a storm on our left. Once in a while it pauses mid-swirl.
The periphery faeries don't like being seen straight on; they dispatch many mini-sprites to inflict harm on my person while I sleep; I wake to find unwarranted bruises, inexplicable rashes, and itchy scratches on my belly.
Humming birds with a magnificence of color beneath their blur, rare sights in the first place, most fabulous of hallucinations,dart-flit-vanish, flit-dart-vanish. A few days ago, during a quadruple- check, one hovered for me. A humming bird!
I'm an inveterate quadruple-checker. If unglued, I can go as high eight checking on a Great Dane
soliloquizing from and on a stump.
After all, I would've hated to miss . . .
Jacob Marley's scornful face out of switch plates.
Obi Wan's robe collapsing, bodiless.
Cujo at my passenger window, not slavering yet but working-up some foam.
Ascensions of Christ into sun-punched cumuli.
7/ 20/ 14
[Last week I promised poem incorporating multiple uses of a single line; I offer it here knowledgeable of its altered form from the one I hastily promised; accept this untitled villanelle. It suits.]
The good news is the bad news verbatim
There be lizardy dragons around these parts.
The dragon was a worm until you slayed him.
Like, love, or absolutely hate him,
You must admire his work in the jading arts.
The good news is the bad news verbatim.
We were famished so we skinned and ate him.
We were lonely so we opened our hearts.
The dragon was worm until you slayed him --
A snaky lizard peddling original sin
Through tinsel and popcorn -- vouchsafing smarts.
The good news is the bad news verbatim.
A crawler, a wriggler, then you obeyed him,
Now he's leviathan chum taunting sharks.
The dragon was a worm until you slayed him --
A dragony ass straining with floating carts
Accepting applause despite obvious false starts.
The good news is the bad news verbatim --
The dragon just a worm until you slayed him.