bumping up against it

  memorial day part two. i started drinking again last memorial day. i stopped yesterday (this memorial day).
  i dont know if i’ll stay stopped. i’ve stopped before.
 the big book sits here with the little circles. evidence of coasterism.
all my directories were used for coasters too.
its this god thing. i got thru bill’s story there and i can relate to the spirit of the universe, the mechanism that is as profound as the precision of the game of baseball.
  as far as i know, a human invented baseball.
 i cannot relate to an all knowing conscious god that can permit the horrors of this world to accumulate.
 i cannot drink and take my cholesterol medication. so i quit my lipitor last memorial day. my doctor ordered a blood test and my triglycerides were above 1300. my liver function test was 41.
  he told me to get back on the lipitor.
  we just did another test and my triglycerides are 250, but liver function (alt)? was at 129. off the charts. i can
 1. quit lipitor and have an imminent heart attack (soon).
 2. i can die of liver disease (i  dont think i can spell cirrhosis).
 3. i can quit drinking again and persuade myself  that the same god that put me in this jam can save me.
 4. i can try to rediscover the clockwork of the universe and worship the mechanics of my temple.
   so it looks like its 3 or 4.

i dont want to write

My spouse, yes spouse, has gone to bring me my meds, yes meds; zoloft, amitriptylin; melatonin & diphenhydramine tossed in to top them off.  In the mornings he takes HTN and cholesterol meds, topped with aspirin.  We’re old now.  We were just starting to age when we met, I think.  I remember looking in the odd full length, more or less 10″ x 10″ gold marbled hideous mirror plates, and thinking, It’s sure too bad I couldn’t use this on somebody before it goes bad.  I have image issues.  I just turned 53. 53. 53. 53. 53  I think I’m still a late bloomer.  But enough about me.  What about you?

I don’t write because I write shit.  I want to like what I write – to feel the catharsis.  Perhaps it’s actually a rush.  Always the one to want to experience and feel.

I’m so constipated.  My fingers are itching but receive no urge.  I can only seem to write on an urge (I need the urge to write).  I can’t coax it.  NayNay.  What kind of name is that? What world is this I’m living in.  “Where I am?” (Dennis Jaennette).  Now my spouse is a writer.  If I wasn’t so lazy, I’d have had his book out there way before now.  I feel like such a loser sometimes.  I’m cyclothymic.  yes, Cylothymic.  Diagnosed.  Unbelievable the effect chemicals can have on an individuals life.  Unbelievable I can be so self absorbed.  I’m ashamed of that.  I wish I could dig that shame out of my past, look at it and toss it away; or butt stub it out; just do whatever I need to do to move on.  To progress. (To grab the hair and ripe the roots right out of the scalp (LPJ)

I found at one point in my life that I no longer had the option of bearing a child.  I have resentment and guilt to deal with over 5, yes 5, abortions.  The first at 16 (by my first guy – 21 when I was 15)(got busted on the winding streets above Linda Vista, still wild, van full of contraband (M80s)(probably pot and who can remember what else?  I mean, crimany, we’re talking almost 40 years ago).  I have to remember there are people who are crazier, much, than me.  I wish I would pray more for those whose lives are lived incomprehensibly – beaten, desperate, raped, Dear God rape used as a weapon (though I bet it’s happened all along to some extent in every war or conflict) exploited, sick, hungry, doomed.  There’s no excuse.  No excuse for no compassion with all that we have.  Somebody said there’s enough to go around for everybody but not enough no to.  Or something like that.  I feel such inertia.  What is it I’m supposed to be doing?  Certainly not nothing!!!  But what exactly?  To be.  To be Taoist.  Pooh.  Dennis.  Innocence.  Harmony.  But I rarely feel harmony.  Why can’t our culture be based on encouraging harmony and honesty and trust and care and…Lou keeps yelling, “food!!”  He says, “You know you’d feel better about everything if you just grilled me up some chicken??”  Ya, that way with words of his.  He’s a natural.  Leads a truly unbelievable but charmed life.  Enjoys people (usually).  I hate them mostly.  Yes, I’m one of “them”.  A hater.  A bumper sticker:  “Yes, I’m one of them” with a “Christian” symbol on the back window.  I hate them.  But I am a believer.  A terrible example of one I readily admit.  But I pray for sincerity and God’s goodness to be manifest through me.  I can feel it when It is.  Nothing like it.  That rush thing again.

 I’m glad Lou has a short memory.  But that does tend to make him a starter, rather than a finisher.  But I like to finish lots of stuff, do the detail, tiding up stuff.  Where was I?  Other than stoned…

He lets me burn off his skin tags now.  Like I’ve always done.  He pointed out the other day how furry my face is getting.  That age thing again.  Other than being over menopause, I can’t say much for it other than I hope to one day gain a lot better perspective on life than I have now.  I’m ambitious.

I have no complaint what-so-ever coming.  How dare I take offense at anything, or cry about anything?  After all, relatively speaking, I’m right up near the top of the food chain, way more have I than most.  It’s disgusting.  I’d love to be nomadic and drag my tee pee and stuff behind my second horse, and just move around appropriately, in a less populated time.

hell 4 (i’ll get back to 3)

i demand a purpose. i will invent facts to support the fact that i am here for a purpose, i am not a series of chemical reactions that simply exists to reproduce. maybe fruit flies fit that description, but i’m gonna need a prescription if it turns out i was not created for some divine purpose.
 all the climate and storms and eve eating that apple what is the heart of hearts of what god wants me to do he is here to save me he created me..a sinner so that he might ave my soul thank you jesus. where would i be if you hadnt created me and then saved me. thank you jesus.
 someone show me the best window to jump out of.
i dont waant to wake up alive, covered in smegma.

hell

“torment” he said.
“you will be tormented for eternity.”
  i was astounded. “god has nothing better to do than torture me for eternity? what about juvenile diabetes?”
  his face got dark with anger “GET SERIOUS”.
  “I AM SERIOUS. MY WIFE WORKS WITH SICK CHILDREN WHO WON’T SEE THEIR SIXTEENTH BIRTHDAY!  what kind of god is that?”

god help them

we were in texas, drinking whiskey and mt dew. we were having a lighthearted conversation about life, and what i’d become (a selfish drunk).
  he looked at me through his glasses, smiling. not an evil smile, an honest one.
  “god help anyone that ever has to count on you, lou.”
  we laughed up a good one. we were supposed to be dove hunting, but there were no birds to be found. we wound up shooting at frogs in a small stock tank (pond).
  he fried up those legs and we ate them.
it all makes me wonder about heaven
if its true
i’m probably not going
but if its not, how about those frogs? are they gonna be pissed? how about my dogs? they’re gonna kill me.

surrender

things being what they are
acceptance is inevitable
all the rage and confrontation seems to have been unnecessary
unnecessary
i’m fortunate in this respect
i was allowed to have my illusions
i still am

my place

its the foot of a mountain in a tropical location like hawaii. lots of shade and fruit.
time rolls on with a merciless power. it is a cascade an unrelenting force it is god it is god it is cruel it is joy it walks on the moon and it tunnels through the bowels of all that live.
life that terminal issue encased in time. alone home this is my place a chemical reaction an envelope signed sealed delivered to god to time.
godamit.