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Showing posts from December, 2008

Change

Change

Hurtful things
Done over and again
Make my sorry
A quiet fuck you.

If I could stand on stage
with an audience of those I'd harmed
Throwing bricks at me until their arms tired,
The sight of my wounds
would but allow for me,
A time a quite pleasure.

What depth of feeling is asked of me then?
When this path has been worn to rock and stone,
And all feeling twisted dry by repetition
And pain the place I hang my hat.

What new promise would allow flowers
To bloom in a salted field?
If the promise were the only seeds
And the field lay edging a well worn path?

No thing or man can change its self.
The cycles soar around our will
And the circle always comes around
And the better has to be enough.

Change is not a sonnets turn
That meet itself to sum the lines.
It's a loudness taken suddenly,
Till the weight and force of habit's  born.

And then lost as if a madness;
As if a smell or a thoughtful crime
Until the wheel revolves
To rub again,
On rails that run
unbent by favored cha…

Getting Old

As a nurse, part of the job was to get a history on our patients when they were admitted to the hospital. This consisted of pulling up a stool next to their bed and asking them a structured series of questions – previous hospitalizations, allergies and medications -- that sort of thing.

Many of my older patients would bring all their medications with them – usually dragged along behind them by patient and broad backed significant others. Many times I got shopping bags full of pills to inventory as a part of the process.

Shopping bags full of pills…

I remember thinking – how did they get to this? Regimented dosage schedules with pill cutters and alarm clocks; Medications to counteract medications; Temporary single shot therapies cloudy with age, but kept for, I guess, superstition, or a possible unimagined relapse when every minute counted. I thought it was probably a slow process -- aggregation over time. It never occurred to me that it could begin on a single day that could be poin…

Who in the voice talking to?

"There Is A Voice Inside Of You That Whispers All Day Long, "I Feel That This Is Right For Me, I Know That This Is Wrong." No Teacher, Preacher, Parent, Friend Or Wise Man Can Decide What's Right For You- Just Listen To The Voice That Speaks Inside."
- Shel Silverstein

Who is that voice talking to?

My visit to the Doctor

Back to the doctor again. The results, at least what I heard him say: “This is an obese man trapped in a fat guy’s body. His triglycerides are high enough to make random dogs lick him while he walks down streets. His liver is fatty in a goose pate sort of way, and he has Ricketts. He is diabetic and has hip spurs of arthritis that look like small Abe Lincolns. His cholesterol continues elevated, but this is the least of his problems. I recommend the following: ultrasound of his liver, medication for his triglycerides, a portable walker with tennis balls on the front feet, and a private duty nurse to turn him when he sleeps.

Who am I?

First we conceive the “I” and grasp onto it.
Then we conceive the “mine” and cling to the material world.
Like water trapped on a waterwheel, we spin in circles, powerless.
I praise the compassion that embraces all beings.
—Chandrakirti “Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage.”
Billy Corgan I used to have a red-eyed mouse that sat in a cage near my bed. At night he would get on the stainless steel wheel attached to the frame of the cage and run from dusk to dawn. The squeak of the wheel would keep me up and down, so I moved the cage to the far side of the room. He seemed to put even more effort into running and squeaking until I finally put drops of machine oil on the rubbing parts of the wheel. I never saw that mouse run again -- It was nothing without the noise and the commotion it caused. Countless forms of fear run us and distract us from seeing what is real and inside ourselves. We fear losing what we have or not getting what we want and think we need. We distract o…

Somali Pirates

Breaking News - Somali Pirates in Talks To Acquire Citigroup

( I got this by email from my lover and think it's very funny-- an wish I had thought of it)

Somali Pirates in Discussions to Acquire Citigroup

By Andreas Hippin

November 20 (Bloomberg) — The Somali pirates, renegade Somalis known for hijacking ships for ransom in the Gulf of Aden, are negotiating a purchase of Citigroup.

The pirates would buy Citigroup with new debt and their existing cash stockpiles, earned most recently from hijacking numerous ships, including most recently a $200 million Saudi Arabian oil tanker. The Somali pirates are offering up to $0.10 per share for Citigroup, pirate spokesman Sugule Ali said earlier today. The negotiations have entered the final stage, Ali said. “You may not like our price, but we are not in the business of paying for things. Be happy we are in the mood to offer the shareholders anything,” said Ali.

The pirates will finance part of the purchase by selling new Pirate Ransom Ba…

The Bridge, The Cross and Prescott Az.

From the archives -- (This is one of the first things I wrote as an adult -- night shift at St. Louise Hospital)

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So, I was at the Bridge concert Sunday, and as the dark came over me I had a vision of what god wants me to do next. Not so much an eyeball kind of vision, but more a "just there" kind of thing. (Please note that I am NOT religious in any way, shape or form; and have really never spent time in a structured church.) What I saw in a blink of an eye are the following directions:

Get a hair shirt, and walk with a large cross to PrescottAz
. I tend to over think things, so I started making bargains with god-what I like to think of as working the details.

How much hair in a hair shirt? Barber shops and super glue? Can I get sponsors for the cross? A wheel at the base? Just how big does the cross have to be? Can I pick the route to Prescott? Why Prescott? Is it important that I know why? Can I use a harness? Can PBS attach a camera to the cross? Is there a time limit…

Predictions

Everyone lies and everyone makes mistakes.


 (I don’t actually believe this, but using it as a fixed rule on human behavior has never failed me.) In truth, I believe that there are adults running things, and everyone tells me the truth when asked. I don’t seem to be capable of growing out of this  -- I get fooled all the time, just wading through layers of trust until, astonished, I find myself knee deep on the shores of a gigantic land’o’ lies. I try not to lie – for important things, it always backfires and I end up getting much more than I got out of it. I practice the old fashioned methods – the classics – of minimize, distract, ignore and deny. Mostly, I just try not to say anything. I very rarely do a ‘big’ lie and expect to get away with it. I am amazed that other people lie on scales I can’t imagine. Banks saying they have enough money when they don’t, politicians saying they will fix things they know they won’t, people saying they will when they couldn’t possibly. Dumfounded, …