Quickly I turned… … ….

The T-dog is down. My life has changed so quickly… … ….. I can’t find witty metaphors. A series of calamities. I’m tired. Too tired to write. But this journal is my road to health. I know who I once was. I’ll build it again. But for now, perhaps ro dream.


Birthday Card

Haven’t written for(n))ever
been a coward.
no excuse.

Here’s an excuse.
Same as before.
Pain. Pain. Pain.
Pain. Pain. Pain!

Told you before. Told you again.
Same old, same old.
Same old;

Number the times I’ve told you?
Number the times I’ve bored you.
Left claw,
(Was right-hand before it felled me),
now gnarled;
its fore-finger pointing
an other way,
Like the amblyopian infant I was,
for Mom.

misshapen appendage.
Freak of nature.
Who loves you, baby?
Not I!
Only I?

—–     —–     —–

My doctor, Dr. Hoh, (she says “Say my name quickly three times in succession and call me Christmas morning”) says my pain will get better as time goes by.  I’m 71 years old today.   Do the math!!


At The Moment

At the moment
of your birth
all options may open
for you.
Or they may not.

Profound experiences may befall you,
or they may not.

Difficult choices may be placed before you
or they may not.

Lessons may be learned
or they may not.

You may find meaning
in your suffering.
You may find sorrow.
You may find joy.
You may find chaos.

You may find death;
but Death will find you.

In a moment
of clarity,
Truth may come to you.
Or you may find it
through years
of struggle.
Or it may never come to you
at all.

You may wish
to understand
it all.

At the end,
you will not.

 —   —   —

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Cave Inside

—–     —–     —–

My cave has no mouth to scream with;
 My eyes have no sight for to see.
 There no one inside there to be with;
but there's no place that I'd rather be.

—–     —–     —–

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Sometimes Stops Being


—–     —–     —–

sometimes taxi dog’s blue.  sometimes stops being.
bees someone “else”.  lost somelongtime now.  fragmented, loozing hiz gripz.
Becoming…   …   …?
hard to describe.  looked for coincidences.  Serendipities.

—–     —–     —–

now, not describing, more being.
conclusion?  not yet.  not now.
but feelz goode…   …   …words flow, non-sensemaking, easzier.
all the betterer, all the meaning-er.

—–     —–     —–

Not for you?
i take’m as they are…   …   …out of analysis, out of form(alde)…   …   …hyding.
Will you see the strange reading
I’m sure, I think, for you.
For me; ecstasy!
A lopstuck piglet?
Who knows?

—–     —–     —–

What’s written is a manufractured, pro-ducttaped assemblage.  an un-naturaled axe.
Want “heard”!
Want Meant!
Allizz what I can write-right now.  Allizz is fragments.
writing fragments like the end.  ’til the end.  ’til I end.
‘Til I write in an ‘other’ way.

—– —– —–

brainworthy of worry?  scary to me.  How to know; lest you know.  tell me?
Maybe brained injured writers will be all the rage in the later parts of his decage (sic?).
Stick to the sictionary, TD.  browse the Classics. paleontology?  knew her sisters well:  Ellis and Anne?
The Brontesauruses?
Pun-machine hymning,
thanks God!

—– —– —–

I’m no eecummings.  and hezze no me.
Go nightnight  Go to my cell.

—– —– —–

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Has It Been Six Weeks?

It seems like six months. Since I’ve written you. And I hate to complain. But its the pain. 4:12 AM. Four increments of sleep from midnight to now. Not acute pain. I’ve HAD acute pain in the past. Sit along the bed in my wheelchair, rocking back and forth, slowly, like praying (‘davening’; like the old Orthodox Jews at Yom Kipoor, lost in a different painful orthodoxy) for relief. Thanks God its not that kind of pain. Not now. Now its the kind of pain that one has to concentrate upon, meditate upon:  counting one’s breaths, twelve at a time: one… … …and two… … …and three… … …and four… … …and five… … …(what was that phone number I was supposed to remember when I woke up in the mor… … …shit!!)… … …one… … …two… … …three… … …four… … …(“Little Boy Blue”, that old Johnny Mathis hit. What was the last line? And now I can’t get it out of my head!! “Going out of my head, over you-oo, night and day, over you-oo” Night and day; was that Cole Porter or Ira Gershwin Porgy and Bess is starting at the Music Center next week can I afford tickets have to check my checking account… … …shit!!)one… … …two… … …three… … …four… … ….

Where was I?

—   —   —

No, not that kind of pain.

But NOW; now I can sleep!!


Maybe I’ll write more in the morning.

Norman Is In Ireland (apologies to R.J.Squirrel)

Falling.  Bottomless.  Tumbling.
painful joints;


to know You.
I is nothing with out U.

Writing this,
like this,
formless, meaningless….



No meaning.

All I know, can know, hope to know, hear, see, feel:
no form. 


Pin-ball wizard!
Damaged hands.
Motion. Memories of motion; e-motion.
Broken/English, back-hand, left-hand, no hand.
No spin; dead ball.

Wish it’d “Go”!
But it won’t.