Ugly Time, Emotionally Bent

09.09.16 Cyclops-ing

Glad I’m getting my Louisiana therapist back,via phone sessions, because I find I just don’t want to live anymore. Too much ruin. Too much lacking of joy or friendliness overall.

And I hope I’m not here next holiday rampage. To die seems so much nicer… I’ve never felt this way until I returned to Oregon. And never really felt it seriously until being forced to come back to the homeplace & take up with the family I escaped in the ’80s. My ex’s family was so much nicer & understanding, truly loving. But that is lost, gone to memory. “The devil in the details” – just uttered by Jim White in a song. Plus, my only truest companion is over, lost to the ether my dog of 16 years, LeNoira June, has perished). We all die, why isn’t that an option?

My symptoms are only worsening. Nothing is glued down. All floats away…

Yesterday, a year ago, I went in for a Biopsy & all sickness was unleashed for a week & then in a month, another week. Yesterday I went in for an EEG & MRI. I know those aren’t tied to my meningitis or pneumonia, but one worries… EEG was way too bright & the MRI was too loud, even with the provided earplugs. Today I feel weird, feel different than the off-nee I have been feeling since the Nov. 15 pair of tonic-clonic/grand mal seizures, with two weeks littered by Partial seizures. All I can call it is “weird.” A nonexistent tiny insect is crawling on my left wrist. All I think is the EEG, but possibly the other.

Tomorrow, my pal who used to live in southern Louisiana & then moved to Arizona after K@trina got us, is coming for the New Year leap. I just hope my “weird”-ness is gone by then. By then, I wish I will be me again.

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“since Bald Knob there is so much!”

Due to my worsening health, I have been extremely depressed. All has seemed to be at an end or on a ledge, high up, where I might just step off. But then I remembered Bald Knob. It was a Forest Service fire lookout tower overlooking the Rogue River Valley and Siskiyou National Forest, where a high school friend of mine was working one summer. This was in 1982. We had gone down the mountain of Bald Knob to the small town of Agness to party and to get supplies, especially gas for his car. I was so drunk I passed out in my passenger seat as he drove. My car was a 1978 Buick Skyhawk hatchback, which meant the back and front where together, no isolation, so when he put a gas can in the back, we could certainly smell it. It was still dark and he was trying to get back for his early morning check in with the Forest Service via an old-fashion radio. Maybe past the halfway mark, we literally fell off the mountain. I was already passed out and he was gassed out. The wonder of the wreck was that we landed on the only place in the whole area for at least a mile that could have sustain us. I mean, we were partly down the incline, sideways, and the bumpers had caught on a little tree and a boulder. The ONLY tree & boulder for a good distance. And it caught in a way that could stop our fall. We would have died otherwise. Hundreds to thousands of feet we would have crashed down into the valley.

I bring this up because, in all my bleakness, where melancholia keeps trying to put up wallpaper in the bedroom of my anxieties, I now realize I would have none of what I experienced since. No going to learn poetry at SWOCC, no graduating & friendships at the University of Oregon, no working as a newspaperman, no meeting of any of the friends and lovers who have reshaped me into the person I am, no being part of the pre-Grunge scene in Portland, OR, no reading poetry at the Club Satyricon’s Cabarets, no being a playwright or filmmaker, no falling in love in and with New Orleans, no trip to the U.K. and Ireland, no trip to the European Continent, no living in San Diego, no getting published or having an art show, no being a barista or produce person in various health food stores, no learning and practicing massage, no realizing I was a liberal and later became a vegetarian, no going to the double-secret-secret Barsodi’s café in the Crescent City, no having my wonderful dogs or living wide across the lake from NOLA at Pigeon Roost Creek, no vast train trip across the country to return me to Oregon in 2016, no… And I could go on for 34-years’ worth of experiences.

Now I have a mantra to maintain my awareness, to take down the ugly wallpaper, and NOT be defeated by depression’s lack of awareness: “since Bald Knob there is so much!”

To see Bald Knob, which is now rentable to overnight customers, you can go to:

I feel joy for knowing y’all and for still being alive. Breathe, the gathering happenings and encounters…

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A Quiet Passion

A Quiet Passion sm

Recently enjoyed watching, during the quiet hours before dawn when poetry was written by Emily Dickinson, A Quiet Passion. It stars Cynthia Nixon as Emily Dickinson as an adult & was written/directed by Terence Davies. This may well sound cliché but I DO recommend it. It is not entirely accurate so as to set the mood of Emily’s life. A friend is borrowed from her sister & made more dramatic & witty than she ever was, but this does establish the Emily readers know from her letters and poetry. And Mr. Davies admits it outright, it being never a documentary. The cinematography is brilliant, the costumes lush, and the setting miraculous to a level one will forget they are on a soundstage, believing they are actually dwelling in the Dickinson household. The pacing is often poetically slow, which suits me well in this culture of adrenaline/hyper fed distractions via devices disconnecting us from our immediate surroundings. It has just been released on DVD & is loaded with pleasing extras. Her poetry is frequently the soundtrack to the scenes, which gives deeper meaning to what we are visualizing.

Do rent it.


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Another DAZE

07.02.13 Barrage of 9 Sleepgate2 with copyright sm

Another DAZE of forced too much sleep & 3 temporal lobe/petite mal seizures yet. Had a better day on Friday, went to an MD, Books by the Bay bookstore, & lunch at the Pancake Mill, but then I have been paying for it since. 13 hours yester, 12 hours slumber today & still exhausted. Ah, the day-to-day of a Migraineur with seizures. The world is always on the verge of collapse of promise, but never past it for long…



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Another one of those rather sad days for me. 22 years ago, I was getting married at the family ranch, across the lake from New Orleans in St. Tammany Parish. All done both nicely pagan & Louisianan. We lasted 15 years of matrimony, 19 years together. Thus, the Blues takes up the Beltane ram horn & blows long & boldly. Sigh…

Reverend Deanne Aimes performed the ceremony

Karen & Jerry lighting the candles... — with Peggy Connell

The Wedding

Brother Rob behind me

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To Truly Coexist

If only our lives could be remade to include everything, everyone about us as our friends. To truly cohabitate, to coexistence, to roam a planet not bled strictly as a raw material to make what has been created into the fictitious  foundation of our societies called money. A dandelion needs only seed, soil, sunlight, & rain. Why cannot we return to such simplicity where life is truly blessed and sacred?

Art by Kevin Peterson

Kevin Peterson

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Still worthless…

Still worthless, still overwhelmed & raveled in the talons of some forgotten Goddess, who needs converts. Still nearly blind, having troubles focusing as clarity is a rowboat that has drifted out of my reach. Still feeling pressure all around my head, with the screws tightened into my skull from a diabolical cap covering most of my head… Still out to lunch at a lunch counter where lunch is never served.
Storm Helmet sm 07.01.15

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