Donald Trump and his new Republican Party proved something: That a Constitution written when indoor plumbing was actually cutting-edge technology, is not itself strong enough to withstand a manipulative assault on it by a modern day organized crime mindset that literally came of age in the dark gaps found between its words.
Chronic pain, headaches, muscular issues, and migraines from cervical damage, just plain suck.
If you’re a drug seeking individual, this kind of pain is like a winning lottery ticket. Willy Wonka meets Powerball.
But, if you’re just trying to stay sober, and do life in a clear and lucid manner, pain is a lifetime sentence in the sandals of Sisyphus.
I’m just going to put these thoughts down for my own purposes. Predictions for posterity, I guess.
When I run this stuff around in my head, I time-trip and visit each scenario as it plays out, including each possibility in the multiverse of choices that branch off from it. It’s exhausting. Anyway, when I run this stuff through in my head here is what I keep coming up with. (Yes, I keep… Meaning I have done this a few times. I’m in quarantine like everyone else, so I might as well time-travel.)
Pundits and talking heads keep saying Donald Trump is going to fade away once he is out of office. I don’t see it, I really don’t.
Here’s the problem -— Some of his followers think he is the great and powerful Q, and then a bunch of other ones that think that he was sent by God as wrecking ball to help clear out the unworthy. And, as we now know, Trump will do anything to stay out of jail.
When those things get tossed around together, they add up to “He’s not going to just slink off into obscurity”. I just don’t see it. Not him, maybe someone normal, but not him.
each word draws the poison
suffering and anger leach
angst and puffed the same
the way I rid yourself from me
ink lathered in blood on page
tear-soaked paper scraps
shriveled napkins tinged with rye
a collective act to ward off life
Skull full of daggers,
shooting ache of burning. And
pain causes migraines —
nails and scrape to outside out
blind shot of deaf thought
Today I woke up with an even worse migraine than I went to sleep with. This one has a roller coaster attached to it. It has been it hijacking my vestibular system and turning them into a rocking horse with afterburners. On it, it will ride a glorious steed to Valhalla on.
Days like today make me consider every little factor just to decide if so should take the day off sick, or should I force myself to power through it. I have found that, depending on how freely I can treat the symptoms dictates how well I can function. Since there isn’t a “cure”, I’m really left either treating symptoms, or working on prevention.
Prevention is out the window once the storm hits (outside of taking note of any factors that may help you avoid migraines in the future), now it becomes triage time. It’s pretty much always triage time when one hits. Right now is one of those. Enough for now…
This used to be a cohesive blog to some extent, until a few years ago. A few years ago I started to get migraines.
Actually, based on what I now know about migraines, I guess I’ve had them for most of my life. So the fact that I say it the way that I do means they got pretty bad. Bad enough to have screwed with every part of my life, in one way or another.
I always loved writing, but as the migraines got worse, the ability to string two thoughts together has gotten more difficult. Add to that the fact that most of it is written on a tiny little phone screen, and I fat-finger things when I trying to ride an epiphany and get the words out as fast as they roll through.
Then there was this thing I learned about that can go with migraines, called aphasia. I can ‘see’ exactly what it is that I want to say, but its word isn’t with it anymore. When I am writing and it happens, I give up. In daily life, I just come out with weird shit, like referring to a cutting board as ‘the under-the-knife block’. I get frustrated because I want the writing to be good. I’m starting to not care about that as much as i used to. Fuck it. If my typos bug you, there plenty of other blogs you can visit.
I’ve written a lot, but I think I deleted even more.
Poetry has helped me though. Because I don’t have to string thoughts. I have to evoke images and feelings, and tie them together in some sort of dance. And so, that’s been the majority of what I’ve been writing.
Many times I have tried to write about what I had been going through, only to delete it the next day when everything seemed to change again. If you know someone suffering migraines, you know what that means.
Much of it is related to chronic pain, and so a great deal of this involves dealing with that, when I wasn’t in migraine. And often with both at the same time. Although migraines tend to take over the show. Back pain is kind of like a guy who follows you everywhere playing a harmonica. He would be obnoxious and drive you crazy, right? But imagine if he were to then follow you into a Lou Reed concert or something. If you were even able to hear him, even then he would at best be mildly irritating. Migraines are like that. They’re so loud, they drown everything else out around them.
And with pain, comes pain management. And with pain management comes medicines. And I am in recovery. And it’s at that point that Pandora’s Box comes apart at the seams, as the scotch tape repairs let go again.
That’s been the juggle lately, anyway. Or at least it’s a good jumping off point for a few things.
It’s not so much that I’m naturally a negative person. It’s just that I am starting to figure out that if you avoid seeing the positive stuff in life, then you’re only left with negative things to look at. And, yes there is a difference. Ask anyone with self-esteem issues, it builds upon itself like compounding interest.
a cosmic pulse goes out from you
like a sunspot on my mind
stirring and interfering with myself
and the ways I live and die
veering down an antique canyon
searching through rubble and pictures
for you, thru you, i come to them
regret rains down like foam
a testament to eternality
and the permanence of love
families go on, friends are gone
when the strings of you unwind
the gordian knot of grief, it shivers
resonates itself through space and time
the 7th dimension of too much hurt
revolves in time with Yamantaka
turning and spinning
towards the center and back
esteem hits below the belt
love only takes one more
the inevitability of karmic debt
meets the prayers of the saints
halfway to providence and back
I should have learned it then
the silence I long sought inside
now returned an echo of dense
that old son of a bitch is dead
chattering on from his grave
chance took my chance away
with misery born of longing
solitude’s underbelly exposed
while guilt slow nurtures the hounds