All of us will have a place in history.
I want mine to be where dreams are.
All of us will have a place in history.
I want mine to be where dreams are.
tests upon tests, biopsy, CT scan, telling them one thing, telling me another entirely. It speaks to them, the Dr.s, the specialists, the people who look at me with such caring in their eyes, sometimes worry, that it’s time to take care of the things now. It’s time to take care of it befor it gets worse, and this happens, or that, those things that are just around the corner if neglected. Could be just a short trip down the road before it’s a different story and other tings, drastic, would need to be done to keep me alive.
It tells me that the road is postponed even longer, that if I do decide to leave regardless, it would, almost unquestionably, be a decision I would wish that I hadn’t made.
So I wait more, try to be good, get the treatments I need which will take perhaps a year, maybe longer – but ultimately, hopefully, the treatments will work and I can set out without worry of decomposing on the road.
The sick, stupid romantic child in me stomps his feet, runs ahead just a little bit turns around and becons, pleads for me to follow, hand outstretched for me to grab and screw it I’ll just dance as long as I can until it gets too much then find a nice cliff that I know there will be no nets to catch me, I don’t know what I’m doing anymore anyway just a final post so long and thanks for all the fish…
but no, there is more to do so much more so many more to help and show the beauty of it all, so walking back from six hours at the Dr. today I realize that there can be a compromise, a way to live that will keep me alive until I can go, still and still with the weekly treatments.
Weekly. How far can I get in a week? I can still roll, I can still go, I just need to be back for the shot, or maybe even take one dose with me, one shot that may or may not make me feel like shit and eventually, hopefully, the HepC might just might be gone, a year down the line, maybe more, 52 weeks, 70… and during that time I can get my teeth fixed, build up CultureFlux, plot, plan without being too strict or too tight, letting the Universe decide where I should go next… ah, yes, yes, yes. Don;t you see it boy?
This is the Universe as well, saying that the time is not ripe yet in no uncertain way. This is the Universe saying that it is still the waiting time, and listen… listen. Listen or this time I’ll kill you, and me, right now at least, don;t want to be dead yet. Right now at least, today, I don’t want to be. Not right now, so I will listen, wait, do what I need to do and take care of what I need to and
and I can still step away during the week, still roll, sacrifice a litte time for more,
and remain alive.
Stagnation is killing me – on the road, there was no time to decay. Things need to change soon.
I’ve been working on The White Rabbit (my motorhome) getting her ready – not too much left to do on her, only outside things… but I need to leave soon. I’ve been here far too long with too little happening.
Almost 3am. The Early Bird will begin its song soon, almost like clockwork, one bird, 3am. We’ve become friends in my mind – at least me, with it. I wish it – Early Bird – good morning, as it wishes me goodnight.
I swear it’s almost exactly on time, everytime, which I find pretty damn fascinating. I picture its little birdy alarm going off at around 2:30, it stretching, preening, finding a nice clean puddle to bathe then gargle in, and heading off to the tree, some treee, close to my Motorhome to begin its daily routine, right on time.
Maybe I should name it Coucou – as in clock, ya dig? Or however it is spelled, but this spelling seems to have a bit more dignity than CooCoo… and gods, where my mind does wander sometimes.
There was a very rare peace in me last night, a weightlessness, serenity, where life seemed… where it seemed normal, almost. I forgot everything on my shoulders, just watching recorded episodes of Treme while relaxing comfortably on my couch, sipping on vanilla almond milk. Everything just was, I just was, a feeling of weightlessness. No Dr. appointments taking up the month, not wondering, worrying about my teeth and the way they’re jumping ship…
…not looking at my life, not noticing the lonelyalone, with hundreds of people I know but not being able to call any of them friend – not in the way I see so often in others… not having anyone who ever calls to see what I’m doing tonight, want to hang out, watch a movie, grab a burrito, or just walk, talk, and… laugh?
just get togther and laugh at nonsense, have a few drinks at a bar, then say in parting “I’ll see you soon” and feel warm because and happy because and not alone because it’s true, you will.
That’s messed up, man. I wrote somethhing, I really did – four, maybe five paragraphs long, mostly about how I was writing just out of guilt – and it ATE it! Heh… mambe it’s punishing me for NOT writing for three days for making me write something else – and maybe shit like that is why people are going over to TWITTER, ya ever think about that, evil post losiing WordPress, HUH???
Seriously though – thinking of starting a fictitious story (somewhat) of a guy who loves the road , needs to get on it, so he starts creating his own travels in his mind, bordering on believing them – it will be a twitter/blog combo, everyfing posted to the site ~ ~ ~ ~ I’m loving the development of this idea – something newdifferent where 2.0 is an active part of it… – oh, needs to get working on the site, but need to fix my starter so I can MOVE this beast – and I need my goddamned disability check, STAT.
And I need an internet connection thaat WORKS.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Ahhh, back at the Cafe. Interweb slow but swingin’, elixir of life being slid down the throat, and back at work. I have some new things I would like to do, but they take time & patience – & I only have one of those at a time these days. Don’t ask me what that means, but it sounds right – sounds like it makes sense, at least.
Actually right now, I don;t have either. So many things floating around in my head that I want to do, on top of those, crushing, are the things I need to do, both on the site and off the computer – like another Dr. Appt. thata I need to be at in 1.5 hrs.
One thing. One thing at a time, and eventually I will get there – where I’m satisfied with the site enough that I can stop screwing with it, where I’m on schedule with the interviews I need to edit & do – but that, that is the tough one, as I know they can always be better, always have much more attractive editing – IF I have the time, and as a result, the patience.
Well hell, I’m going to post this now, prepare for the next one instead of have this continue on endlessly in its way…
But I wrote something, wrote again, and although it was tragically mundane – it can be that way, and leave options open to come back with a different voice, one that is still tucked away somewhere inside, one that is so much more than its words – it is an entirely different way of seeing the world around me… when the magick is back.
Which came first, the magick or the language of it?
The wind has died down, sadly. It was beautiful while it lasted though. blew everything away. the world the leaves so much life so much energy…
Up at 3am, the third night without restful sleep. The first night I just wasn’t tired, so I only tried to sleep, read, tried to sleep, read, tried, stopped trying…
but now it’s the dreams.
I get to that stage of almost asleep, and the dreams begin; the most disturbing ones I remember in recent times, since I was a child & had that one, over & over – but these are different. Much different.
Last night it was the teeth, my teeth, crumbling, falling out and they kept coming, crumbling, filling my mouthas I tried to keep spitting them out, not being able to talk, like there was a shattered cue ball in my mouth and the more I tried to get them out the more they came, crushing each other, falling, spitting, spitting… but that one makes sense, that dream, as my teeth are crumbling and falling out. First the two front on the bottom, a month apart if that, then the other day whatlooked like a perfectly good tooth snapped off at the gumline, biting into a bagel and hear the sound of a wet twig snapping, not a crisp snap but somewhat muffled, then tinktink and my tooth was on the plate… fuck. just to the left of the front two, making my smile hideous, embarrassing, shameful – disgusting.
I tried to have them fixed, years ago when I was making money, saved money – gum disease from years of meth and I tried, I knew, but I didn;t have enough for the surgery I needed, would never be able to save that much – and then just the past year they all start going, year and a half, and I have trouble looking at myself, trouble smiling, won’t show my teeth if I remember and finally now that it’s far too late I qualify for free dental work. now that it’s far, far too late. It’s just a matter of time before the rest go I think – I have a dentist appointment set up for a couple weeks from now, set up one day before the last tooth snapped off…
But the dreams… tonight there were a few, I only remember a family, I knew them, didn’t know them but only in the dream, young boy older sister 7 or 8 mom & dad, they were in two dreams, maybe three but two I can almost remember, the girl bringing the half dead cat into the room, run over, trying to feed it, & another flat cat, all except the head crushed, she did it on purpose, was bad, called her mom in th room to show her. Look, see? look what I did, surprise, surprise for you… ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ pieces of dreams, the next one mom has head held on by an elaborate circular apparatus made of sticks tied together, from shoulders up like a flying saucer <> but she was standinfg there as Mr. & I walk in the door, asks us to be careful we notice her head a thin red line from the middle of the back of the skull going down to the front of the neck but not careful enough and the sticks break her half-head slides off onto the floor & keeps moving, keeps rolling and we’re trying not to step on it but it’s like it’s trying to get under our feet and she’s still talking, kind of, telling us to be careful to not step on her head… others, more, that’s all I remember.
I’m hoping that when I am done writing I’ll be able to sleep. I’m so tired…
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I need to keep writing but you don;t need to see it, post it, you don;t need to know but if you happen this way, well… strange how I don;t write because I’m afraid to, I need to write to get better again to write better again but I don;t write because I need to write better before I do. I don’t like the feeling, thinking I used to write well and not having that anymore. Forgetting how because there is nothing new to write, but I need to keep writing, every day again, I just don;t need to announce it.
It lets me feel less alone, even if no one sees. I have my words, my friends are my words and the words give me purpose, a reason, a validation. I look at them and they prove I exist. I write them & they remind me I’m here, I feel, that yes, yes this is real and look I’ll prove it because it was me who wrote them, alone, lonely, in my motorhome or wherever and I look at them and even if it’s shit they are my friends and they tell me “I exist” when I’m not sure I do or I’m not sure why. Now, everyday, so the wind doesn’t blow my words away. When I think I’m writing well enough to be read again, I’ll let you know, but until then you’ll only be coming here accidentally.
Until then, I will keep writing unannounced.