Where They Never Thought They’d Be

It had that metallic taste she’d come to appreciate, it reminded her of the real taste of life, not quite sugar coated, not the perfect blend of dream and fantasy all rolled up into good little girl checklisting through life until one day, or maybe it’s one moment like the movies say, I prefer the thought of a gradually spinning out of control top montage of life unravelling. She could do nothing but recover. But the problem with that was she didn’t know it yet, so she fought, and she floundered, and now had arrived to the point where to get anything done, any shred of normalcy falsely created or created on falsity, she didn’t want to think of why now, to get anything done resembling what was supposed to be done to live a ‘normal’ life required first the taste of metallic.

the week before

This is the week before, to the day, we celebrate my father’s life. My brother, after reading my first pass at the obituary which quickly cut to the chase of his unique qualities and eccentric character traits he would want included as those are the details of a good ‘yarn,’ and if nothing else, my father Barry Q. Walker was a fabulous teller of tales and spinner of fables, a lover of the hairy dog joke format (and a pechant for recalling the details with medical school board oral exam style) and appreciator of storytelling of all kinds and from all cultures. This I must have learned from him, the doctor, zoologist, feather painting virtuoso, animal whisperer, had to euthanize all the Hawks at the end when he and my mother parted ways, not so amicably but what is a life if not lessons learned and a making the best of the messes you find yourself in and turning those you create into, well, a wild life. In the sense of in the wilds where you can still hear quiet you can chase a butterfly and grab a knowledge of the world that NO ONE else will ever have. 

   
       You were one of a kind, Dad. I can’t tell the world how much I appreciate and value your esprit du corps I think that’s what I mean to say when I try to explain how fully inside life you were. No wasted moments. You taught us all so much to pay attention to. That’s it, isn’t it? Pay attention. Notice. Do the thing most right by human inkling and that involves passing down truths and knowledge and values and how we treat one another is what continues on.

The sweetness is all that matters

“It is disease that makes health pleasant, hunger that makes fullness good, and weariness that makes rest sweet.”

One of Heraclitus’ key concepts is that opposites define and inform each other.

The Graph: Math of Story, pt. 2

“No bones. Not even a knee cap.”

 

 

 

 

As if knee caps are a different currency altogether, and, if that were the case, I should have a buried treasure full of gold somewhere, risk-free, in the desert.

I’ve been watching Breaking Bad in consecutive order, an anomoly for me other than “Lost,” “Deadwood” and

to gorge on one season a while back; I saw a middle episode of Breaking Bad (the one in season 3 where the twins are buying body armor from a semi-fucktard redneck in semi-trailer, but I knew everything (pretty much) that I needed to know. I think I watched that in a motel in the midwest or was is South somewhere on location and half asleep, and I can’t remember when that was exactly, but now I have made it to the gun pulled on protege and sensei, student and teacher, grasshopper and master, season 4 episode 12 or 11 or something, but either way, it’s been a bad season for Walt.

I don’t

feel as obsessed as I did

 

when I dreamt I was in Deadwood (because I woke up bleeding

 

Then, there’s Mad Men, which I watched on Netflix from the beginning and that show holds up but can be watched as a one-off, and you get the story of the man, in a Greek tragedy kind of way. Breaking Bad kind of unfolds. More disturbingly, Breaking Bad kind of unfolds in a strange parallel universe I like to call the entertainment industry which is in fact owned by the German Multinational that, on paper, owns the Laundry/Meth Lab and Chicken/Chile HQ, based on conference calls privy to, dimensions of difficulty it takes to function in the ‘real’ world, whatever that is, I still am not sure and all the signs are telling me I should be.

Yet, this I know, I know how to tell a story. The math of story is a graph that must move downward spiral to be ripped usunder to go where no man has thought to plunder to be redeemed and taken to the place unimagined, beyond and beholden, all the nipping at the heels of and chasing with shadows has stopped, but the signs point nowhere, are quite deceptively evoking payment of some kind and this should be no bones, not even knee caps, but something else entirely.

Reading the Water: Portait of a Young Artist Grown Old

The book to come probably end of this year 2015 has been writing itself through me since’ve easily  been recovering and redrafting after Chimera. All scattered. I’ve dreamed of having the time and the space to do these art forms properly and the way I see fit which is all I’ve ever asked of my aesthetic heroes- a basic mindset, not too Braggart but definitely strong of purpose and limber of ego to waste my precious time left learning anything new this experiential dog ain’t learning new tricks unless they make money or Lead to the making of money a changed repurposed focus in the springtime of my Loving The installation. Piece – multimedia remembrance quilts

The donations favorite causes for lost loved ones

The book reading the Water 

Collection reprint mutation of love in the time of cholera 

Meets my Brain spur Chimera  

This book reading the Water covers roughly 1994-2014 span that is all over the place, quite literally, and I am thinking of shaping the collage like poems as visual art offerings and figuring out my multimedia vision as part of my current sports of Clear, unadulterated vision®mission©align™ and Managing my dissociation disorders bodily manifestations of pain and changes i know I want to make and life I see living out my years as not a complete waste of human potential but a contributing factor to other than gorilla mentality might makes right bartleby scrivner existence from here til my own private eternity

Midlife crisis is third book can’t wait to get to that

Hank Moody is my Harry’all$ in Bar character 

Need to write that story while it’s happening

Taking care of business make a commitment to write 

Each day

Gathering at bay

Moving to Montana soon



In plain sight

She hidesIn pinkish faded light

Losing hours

Like a blight

She cannot face

What she cannot

Release

And 

She miscarried 

The burden

For so long

And now

The answer 

Carves 

Upon her face

With childless chisels 

Causing hate

Lasting indentations 

Of blind faith

I’ve harmed myself

I know that now

But now to begin the

Ending of such reactions actions inertia fear and hideout 

Reprobate 

No one wants to Deal 

With That s hit

You made 

Sure of that

And now I feel. Like I just want 

To check myself in to a place that lobotomizes 

All hope emotional thought and

Logic asserted as survival tactic

Just stare blankly out the window

It seems I get so close

Then backslide

Hopelessly 

Miserably

Against all possible intent

It’s as if my own worst enemy

Is this thing that Cant be stopped

And it’s the past undealt with parts

Colliding with futiure Miles and draws 

Of hopes and dreams 

To present where you can’t move

You’ve hurt yourself again

And feel closed in

Afraid

Weary

Sad

And all you see is the crooked mouth

And the Self-flagellation instilled thru generations of

Coding comes right back up and in

And no good can come of that but it is horribly familiar

Like sickness and lack

Deserving nothing better

Resignation to a martyrdom fate to block any 

Others from needing more emotional 

Care than 

Your mother

My grandmother

Somebody’s frustrated wife

Someone’s alcoholLo spouse

Someone’s mistress 

Someone’s suicidal daughter

This leads me here

Where  what I do

Is nothing close

To storybook or fairy tale 

Or proverbial moral to

This story is

Don’t end up like me

But why

And how and

Way too often 

When will this all be over

The questions 

Are never

The same as the answers

Except in this one

Case