Eveybody is going to die, we just have a better idea of when. This is a good thing. it allowes us the season. We do not review the season past rather live the season now. I like your box Idea. It is an idea good for any season. My box will be a small one of ashes, I want to feed the plants that feed the earth and all the people to stand around the fire and drink wine, or moon shine. Maybe I should cask my own moon shine, it will be done the day of my fire. Dead guy Booz, I like that.
I think im going to go out and live some life today. Do something in the cold. The cold does not last but for a season it really wakes you up. God I love this life.
The woman I date is like me but with a kid so less me more them. When visitors go to Jerusalem and experience the holy land there is a mental illness that attaches to some of the tourists. Its called Jerusalem Syndrome- The person believes they are the new Messiah and that God has chosen them as the coming Savior. There is a wing of the hospital in jerusalem for these people. The best treatment is to introduce them to each other. “I am the Messiah”, “No, I am the Messiah” They get annoyed with each other and somebody snaps out of it. Why do I snap out of love? I wake up as hard as I fell in… its weird and savage. It is not lack of connection, compassion or commitment that makes my heart float on like jetsam. It is fear of the shallow slackwater. I was born to swim in the deep and wide. If I drown it will be tempest, not indifference that takes me. Like a man lost at sea he was not defeated, he was swallowed whole. That doesn’t happen in the shallows, but all the best stories are deep. -theDick
I return from the clinic and have been droped from the study, they would like to see more progress and the new drug does not do it.
so what, lets just life, for however long. let them not find us hanging from a tree but havein lived till life was no more
The puddle of breath accumulates in my muscles
affording the cough that might clear the room to build a life.
My cough is my hammer.
My cough is my hammer.
Hammer. Gasp. Hammer, Hammer.
The question is how best to spend your time with bankrupt lungs? The struggle is for efficiency and to slow down your favorite parts of the cycles you find yourself in. How can I stretch time? My body is damned to the speed of trot but my mind fires hot, hotter than trot, faster than death. This lump of fat in my head is responsible for my momentum. It is as important to my progress as the finest medicine. The cure is in me. My mind doesn’t know its limited until my body convinces it otherwise. The sting of “can’t” is swallowed to a bitter stomach. The rage is digested and beaten while hot into a tool i’ll gouge my way out of this hell. If I go it won’t be quiet, it will not be dignified.
Perhaps the biggest contradiction about me is the illusion of freedom. I cannot go one day without meds to help me breathe or enzymes to help break down and absorb the food I eat. For years I try to explain to people what is different about my body. I learned to speak of my lungs as rebellious children who argue and need poisoning from time to time. In a world of pill prophets and sooth-huffers I’m chained to the tools of medicine. Blessed with a compass that always points to life I weigh my stubbornness against the spirit that inspires.
Tomorrow I go into the den of disease to look for life. I hate hospitals- you have to convince a drowning man who wants to live to stop swimming. I’m no good at sitting still and waiting to be saved.