RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,300
(I can't be any happier than that)
To paraphrase Hannibal, 'What the
heck are these Alps doing here?' It's
like that everywhere, and by me too.
Every height has its descent, which
is mostly where the difficulties are.
I wake up again every morning,
not so much because I want to but
just because it occurs. Been doing
it that way for years and years, and
I never really thought about it until
those first hospital stays - Dec. 15,
heart operation, and all the rest.
When the doctor told me I'd been
artificially sustained for 7 hours,
heart stopped while I was electrically
tied into a heart/lung powerplant
that ran myself for me, I said 'What!?'
Then I asked him if hearts always
come back on. He said 'I've never had
one yet that didn't, but we are prepared
in case. See, the human has a propensity
to wish to live on.' News to me sometimes.
-
Now that all this is rolling over into
June, which would have been my 6th
'death month' by what they'd told me,
by prediction, and which they later
(afterwards) changed to 2 months
(Jan), based on the condition of
what they saw when they looked
inside me. And, of course, that was
and is only the half of it. It wasn't that
I was a cholesterol bomb, or gross and
heavy eater. No way, and never. My
problem was genetic, and ran in the male
side of my family somehow from my
Mother's genetics. I guess it was a crap-shoot
that caught me up. A strange lottery I
should have never won. Death has
a greeter? I want to ask all those
geniuses, with their pat and almost-
sufficient solutions and answers,
religiously. In April I needed another
equally perplexing operation, after
10 months of major prostate
difficulties. I sit here now, writing
all these sort of 'censored' memories
of my time - wondering - had I
died - what would have happened to
all that and where would they have
otherwise languished, or disappeared?
The parameters of the human social
situation restrict me from actually
writing a lot of the things I went
through. Bar-scene pigs and sluts,
the murderous ends of knives, I could
add layers to all this, but in the same
way spell-check again won't allow
my clever mis-spelling of the word
'count' for something other than that,
so the mixed-up, wasteful world of
'takeover reality' has ruined our world.
-
So, how does one get from A to C
without using B? More stupid games.
'She sucked my duck at the bar-stool
setting while 'Melissa' played on the
juke.' See how you read that.
-
Fifty years ago, if someone in Elmira
told me I'd be sitting around as an old
man 75 miles from there, trying to reclaim
all those old spaces, I'd have shook my
head, claiming Death's Breviary would
have had me first....and that still may
happen. My condition runs day-to-day,
and I've got no faith any longer in either
the dream nor the urge to go on. But,
as it goes, here I am, atop my spread
of greenery, and staring sown below
to the water. I don't really care about
either.
-
I guess if I need proof of my existence
now I have scars I can point to. As I sit
here writing this, out in my garage-studio
there's even the life urge of an itty-bitty
mouse to watch, as it curiously scuttles
around, seemingly seeking water. I scoop
it up, in a form of loving pity for all the
rest of the living, and place it outside,
in the grass, by the watering pails and
collection pots, and it drinks. I can't be
any happier than that!
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