If I find my way one day
After trying to break up a giraffe fight on a cruiseship going to Iceland (what a guy)
And I am knocked overboard
With a whistle…
Well I suppose my conscious
self would go.
(Mystery….. what happens?)
I’ll tell ya how I’d like it
I’d run around in a suit that tells me the time and date, Boba Fett style.
I’d have a buffet in the afterlife where animals I’ve eaten serve me portions of their own replicated flesh. And I’d sit down by a big bon fire with a pet talking lion who is eating zebra with me.
Drinks, games, music…
Then a Tiger comes in and says, “Hey Mufasa… Andy is my best friend. I drink the water of life from a wooden cup, continually high. And that’s just the foyer…
Beauty to me
Beauty all for you
Who am I supposed to be?
In beauty that surrounds me
Astonishing new things that I have seen before…
Time, tomorrow, has no power…
These things just keep happening…
I wanna build me a home in a dream. I don’t need ice cream. Wild strawberries would suffice…
In the excellence…
When my body feels like…
Not a lot to celebrate…
But even in the cell of my first neat-o body… I can do botany, fish studies and karate
Over my head
I feel tranquil with the rough
I seperate the two
In my day
I may just say hi to someone new
I been doing this person-gig for a while
I know now that we carry ourselves
And so I just go for a smile
Unless I am grumpy, its not always clear, but oftentimes life boots me in the rear.
I guess I should say, thank you, life. “Thank you for all the smack downs.” I feel much better now.
Once upon a time there was
a fly fisherman. He was a tough son of a nice mom. He had to be. How do you think a fly can hold a rod.
Who is that?
“Aaaandy, I’m tired of your
Jokes. Me hungry. Feed me a people-part.
Oh Mr. Shark- surely you can settle down!
I tuckied myself down. Please dont poke my gingavitis with a stick. I just…
Sometimes you just have to make boundaries. Man am I
Abraham Lincoln surely DID sudsy up his beard to wash and care for it.
More Than U WANT TO KNOW. GO!
I forgot what I was going to say.
Oh yes. I’d rather write a story than read one. Its because I am unable to concentrate easily. My methodology of reading being subprofoundly dyslexic is an exegesis deluxe “French Press” flirtation process.
Yes, I do filter my coffee in an easy F.P. and it makes me congenial to the fairer… whatever…
I’d rather think to myself than watch t.v.- it used to be an item, to have an imaginitive process.
I like to be in a room full of people with a football game on. The tv makes more sense in community.
I confess at a point in my life where I was sad and had a onesy for a pad- it was painted Forest Ranger pants green… I would watch TV, a lil show called Lain where the Japanese students kiddos in animé were suicidal. I wasn’t. Funny how absolutely alone I was though.
That is a place I call “Seventeen minus one” because it was 16th street.
Metaphysically, for my life to be BETTER, I reasoned to aim for seventeen. I wore shorts, shaved and cleaned my thigh, my leg… to tattoo one, two three……. seventeen pegs 0.5″ in diameter and precisely alternating. Like American flag stars.
I have no memory of planning these tattoos. The Most High God allowed me to type on myself. I am not the Word. The verbal is in me. New generations ARE getting interesting. I’m glad people are into tattoos and I can fit in because if you ask me, I will tell you that I believe I was spiritually guided to tattoo myself to look like a bad bad boy for a very good reason. I am convinced I am a little bit of a thug and a prince, protected from a nightmare that gets my back.
you know i will soft lay here
Evan went to his cell
Escorted by the Forp
He sat on the unlevel
Evan had a prominant
Adam’s apple, was skinny
Eyes close together
On the surface he was a
After being asleep only
Three hours, Evan knew
His mission. He was
Going to make the best
hamburgers an inmate
Somehow he got kitchen duty the first day and threw a bunch of household chemicals together out of the mop closet into the meat when Johnny Scorpion was not looking (he was leader of the Oola gang, tattoos on their pinkie toes of atomic explosions- THAT was their sign. Subtle destructors of our soceity doing hard time in the penitentary with the hardest concrete, thickest bars, droolingest Porky Pig looking guards and a French janitor who was super friendly.
“Bonjour! Oh… la frômage. Les miserablé.”
Yes. That is exactly how he said it in stereo.
Well that blue spanky day, Evan blew them all away.
The guards wanted a taste.
Go away, they said.
Go away, said a 698 lb Samoan or Sumo-man or whatter…
The guard said, “Boy… ”
Nikki McClunker took off the fake leg that hid an AK-47
James Dooley took a throwing star out of the bun on his head. An old lady bun. Freaky.
Rupert Jarschwellerp started carving a popsicle stick into a little Poseiden’s trident. Rupert tries.
The guard stepped back.
I’ll never forget what he said. He said, “I miss my Bobo!”. Hardened tattooed criminals began to cry and say bobo, quivering lips, greasy smokey faces inter racially racing to hug one another.
If you are ever incarcerated into a maximum security repenitentary and doomed to die there, remember,
always remember- your bobo. Everybody has a bobo. Take care, enjoy a hamburger if you can.
We are married in sgape.
I am unprotestant.
Low bishop wants an ale.
Only hailsworthy be hsiled.
I am katalikos.
Protect my nose.
Who was the greatest rock and roller & blues-traveller ever?
(I don’t know. Who?)
He moved the rock
And it rolls my blues away.
He sat on top?
Not so funny
What are Jesus’s greatest hits?
(I do not know. Which are his greatest hits.)
Its hard to say.
He was all alone with an audience of a few men.
They hit him in the face.
They told him to use his power to SAY who hit him. It must have been a fast strike.
Before all this for many hours he had been anticipating he was going to die. For hiurs he was made to stand. Actually, that day, the first HIT came from the high priesthood of then-modern-day Judaism.
After this he was taken to an open place. The “son of man” as he was called, was beaten. He was also whipped with a whip that is not readily in circulation because, due to Christian ethics, people are just that more ashamed to be sick and laugh and arbitrarily punish. We may say the Old Testament God was tough. The world, even though we are just as much sinners as the old world, was more terrifying. Those of you who believe in evolution, there the heck you are. As a world, we were bad. We are guilty by association. Do you love Egyptian and Meso-Potamian art? It is great stuff. They were losers. Slave-owners. So were some of your Caucasian great great grandslavers. Do I blame YOU for that? No. Are we all joyfully “connected” as is the popular worldview? Uh huh. Yep. Connected by darkness.
Boo! Boo! We don’t want to hear that.
Hey, hey. Hey hey hey.
I wasn’t done.
I got up early. Today.
I got a milk.
In my eyes I will say, I have examined my life. I can tell you that easily I could beat you in many categories of having a “sinful, ungrateful, woeful, dark, satanic, unyielding, selfish, stupid and ugly heart.”
But because I read and pondered just ONE little biblio verse… well, others too (John 3:16, 5:24, 10 and the end of John, Genesis, Revelation, Matthew, Mark, Luke, J- no I got John, Psalms, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Hebrews, hey Jude…) I became informed. That one little verse says:
“Jesus became sin IN sinful man.”
In John 10, he states,
“And if I go, I will send you another comforter.”
So if this read is heavy, take your favorite blankey, get a tea and learn with me. I am 40. I have no post high school education and you do not care?
I have been kinda unfairly afflicted. The stations of the Cross reading to me feel like drinking a half pint of smooth cool GUINESS. You’d think maybe this lord Jesus is anti war… totally. And he called Scotsman to prune English rouges and run fields crimson by the power of his love.
They may have been to busy feeling raw from yesterday’s kill after glorious kill. There in that lies a profound mystery. Take it. Its this:
“England 800 years ago was a big LASS who inappropriately flirted disaster with Scotland and was fed blood.
Metaphysically, I will affirm that now- England is new. This is true and due to her lover, Greenfields Highland, a handsome nation that saved her in her glorious youth.
In string theory, it proves true that this consummation resulted in peace and is therefore akin to “desperate catch” a term I use to overlook the murder and rape of man- it IS still judged.
But I want to tell you that the next king crowned of England wears the jeweled ring on his head as the Lass England renews her marriage vow, including the complicated care of all the land to be equally free in a ne plus ultra matrimonium fire.
And I dub thee, already my U.K. mother of USA America:
“The New English Empire”
I like Earl Grey, steeped. With sugar and cream, a breakfast of (we say) English muffins, crisp bacon and O.J.
I ran this idear by a Scottish Facebook page. He said,
“Ay, what pish is this?”
I replied (although sober) oh hey my man. Maybe I had a pint might much. Nevertheless, “TO SCOTLAND”
He/ she: “lol. Okay.”
Well… its hard to be American. But I examine and sometimes see, here and there, that the good lord did not suffer for naught. He gives life to Iur mortal form. I am sure Rowan of Canturbury now could affirm in the Anglican tradition that having a relationship to the mighty lord is easy… and makes simple men mature, complex and maybe handsome! At least handsome like a beater Bentley with 400,000 miles. I feel like a lucky strike 1974 Toyota stick shift pickup driving really careful.
Life is moving fast!
Be sure to take… a boo.
At stuff, or w/e idk…
Z-17 |||||| |||||| ||||| don’t hang out in the bomb bay. Dr. Strangeloving ended that wayyy
Inasmuchas explaining plain things in English is fun (perhaps for Albert your son), Ingalls, I’ll sum up your tab. But first let’s talk about rehab and a slab of a bed junkies dred they must lie on in between… rehab in the Wild West?
That episode where Albert did morphine as a service announcement in the nineteen-eighties? Hey! I watched that botched episode of Albert’s addictive episode gee WHIZ did that make my gramma sick you sons of Binaca.
Albert was blowing hunks, chunks, chew bricks- after his fix being the assistant to the goodly doctor who did not lock the lock on the morphine dust chalk nor guard with a Glock 9 the arsnic or anything. The man was a hippie. Yippie skippy.
I remember another episode of little house where Charles was in charge and kicked a gun away from his pal who oddly enough looked Lebanese. It would not suprise me if schwarma and karma won the old West, and now I’ve put your bumpy lumpy read feeding skills to the best Western test. How do you feel?
I am ready to do verbal ninjitsu at will.
If you have a painful condition that is serious and co-morbid (you have two or more dxes), or you HAVE an ill family member in the great state of America please listen to this at least once.
Pain relief policy in the U.S.A.
When you have insurance, or not, and see a g.p., (regular family doctor) they take NOTES on you. Many notes. An M.D. to my knoedge, is exempt from libel, break HIPAA law (confidentiality) and the same is true with RNs.
I have been nice to medical staff. I recommend getting to know your GP and RNs and establishing a façade repoire.
Number one: establish your personality
Discover your MDs interests and talk, talk, talk… because that is all you have to fall back on.
Now in the USA, the new drive is “no pain killers for any reason”. You must accept this. I got pulled into debate and switched to a defensive reactionary self. You may think the Scientologist religion is wacky.
Scientologists preach/ teach that mankind’s #1 flaw is to react and not act.
Believe it or not, I learned that FOR FREE. Its kinda really true. My MD, Dr. Lichtensteinbosshoffer (not real name) pulled me aside one day. In fact, he had me go to a broom closet converted into an exam room. Then joining him he tried to force me, moving closer in, to take a psych med called Effexor.
In my medical history, my bipolar is no secret. Is is a “mask-diagnosis” (dx) for PTSD. I was, in my teens, confined to a small space. Also, my father made me take Effexor. He was a g.p. At that point, I was maxxed out for triggers.
Here is what my reaction was. It was not morally wrong but had dire consequences…
I got up quickly… brushed by the doctors because I was in a mode. In the hall, I called them stupid. Yet they did not grab me.
a bad memory
my stomach hurt
I felt indignity
I cannot afford to regret my
move because you get
one move per second.
There is no alternate
Except to tell all of you…
Do not do what I did.
If you have a reactive problem because of anxiety, identify your phobias. I could have said I feared the tiny room. “Patient claustophobic”. I could have told a white lie and said, “I am going to puke, I’m sorry” and dash. Then sit in the restroim for “regain time”. PTSD needn’t be anyone’s master, nor known memories of ugly trauma. Simply, in every moment, acknowledge you are human and capable to catch up a little.
So my anxiety is not just from the past. My present is tumultuous. I am in debt from driving around a sick family member for over a year who is GONE. Is it a loss? I am gladly in debt to have done honorable work, albeit largely unpaid, though it should have been.
When my MIL died, then, my FIL was sick. We got to his house one day and he was having a heart attack right then. My wife saved her mom’s life 2x and her dad I saved once, but I credit the lord. Without him I would not be the firecracker I am. Calling 911. Yes, 10540… breathing… chest pain, absolutely. I go numb.
Now I do not see my FIL because his caring person took over everything which is fine by me because he puts me down a lot. I love him though. He’s a real tough son of a nice mom.
Oh, because of non stop harassing calls, financial stress… I was sick. I had some fancy Beowulf drink called Mead. It contraindicated my medicine. A policeman got me to the hospital as I was in my parked car, out. Like, in the middle lane to turn. I had the mead before driving. My tolerance is not what it once was.
It was the equal of 2 glasses of wine. Plus dextromethorphan. I had a cinversation long ago about that one, aka DM. I feel conflicted. I now know that dm cannot mix with alcohol. Now I am talking behavioral health. You see, I am blacklisted from being prescribed pain medicine in part to an RN who exceeded ethics and told my MD bunches.
Nice. Thanks. I like a challenge. My record says I am an alcoholic borderline personality. To boot, she had the other RN in my home videoing me. I know because he asked over and over about pot and that his wife smokes it. And his phone camera EYE was showing.
So I looked right into the camera and said, with a smile, no… pot is not… for me. When he reviews it, or did, I’m sure he’ll catch my “Gonna beat you” smile. The jerk. He was 54… and in my home. So those nurses are gone. Praise the maker. Are people bored?
If I do get my hands on some marijuana, I WILL huff it. My wife deserves a calm home. First off, I need less pain. I was seriously debating suicide ethics and the leadership of God. I bought CO tubing and asked God if he wanted me home, I think its nuts ti go now and he’s nuts to let me go on to buy a rope but an hour later I took it out of the trunk.
If that sounds evil, please see it with sobreity. Those points I reached (I forgot that I went to buy a pistol for my 40th) were merely, dare I say? I dare. God guiding me to buy a dangerous thing and hold it… to hold the idea of escape and the means and prove to me it is not me.
This is the danger in the mental psychosis that accompamies pain. Even Jesus was near-guided by evil. Take a look in the Bible yourself. Satan spoke to him. The spirit took him to a high vulnerable place. Satan, however, went further and said, “Jump”. Had Jesus jumped, he would have saved no one.
Many people see it like he did not have a choice. He did, though. He chose all good. That is what the Bible says. So I do have void in me. Jesus never did. My buying a tube, looking at a gun, trunking a rope… what sticks out to me is the glistening voice of my father in heaven. I am no Jesus. I am no JFK. Hahaha.
Well, anyway, I wanted to give the advice to shut your yap with MDs. You can pretty much cuss out the ER docs, but dude- do NOT. They are the coolest. And in conclusion, if you are ever in pain and need OUT and have insurance, don’t do cough syrup… go to emergency. If you are at level 10-19 pain (scale of ten) they can give you diladid or morphine. Hopefully you are not allergic. My wife was and they had to defib. She is so butt-kicking strong. I respect her a lot.
Because this post is about advocacy and medical, I want to dedicate it to my wife of 8 years (we are IN YEAR NINE!) Rosemarie Harrison. She encouraged me to write my children’s book, “Danny and the Snakepit” based on Biblical Daniel… and make my own story more lively as well. I love you Boops.
Z-17 ||| ||| ||| ||| ||| ||| | 19 months until we start our tenth year…