lil' soldier
Don't ever give up oh give up don't give up on me little soldier don't give up on me
But haven't you already gave up oh comrade we no longer stand toe to toe fighting the demons from so long ago.
I can't listen to their songs anymore in some tribute of fabrication when two beautiful souls are not there to join in on the fun. But isn't it all about money and was it always all about money especially you standing there with that bass in your hand. You are the greatest evil there ever had been. And poor Bingo no Ringo no Bingo no, it doesn't matter anymore.
A prelude to the farmhouse with the flowers growing so beautifully along the lane.
Of course McCartney closed with Hey Jude. I was wheeling around the stink rink and there it was on the sleeping balls of shit TV's. Ringo was in heaven and Yoko was in the front row taking credit for it all and making everyone feel uncomfortable but the evil one, the foul one McCartney will pay his dues some day for what he has done.
He's got that Parkinson's look on his face as he raises up in his chair and looks me in the eye. It's that look of knowing something and not being able to tell what it is. I always look back as if I am looking into my dad's dead Parkinson's eyes.
In the hallway as I came closer she kept looking at me. When I finally got up to her she stopped me and said "he's coming". I ask "what?" And she repeated "he's coming". I was so ready for her to say that Jesus was coming and then she said as a question "he coming for me to take me back to my room ?" I laughed and then she laughed and I told her yes he will be coming to take you back to your room.
The place is madness tonight. The woman that is always saying help me is doing just that, "help me somebody I want to lay down." A small Middle Eastern woman is on the floor screaming gibberish. On the other side of the building it's a battle of the television volume and my roommate is laying in his bed petrified because he is going home for the weekend and if the truth was known he doesn't want to go home. I'm taking bets.
There are no aides on the floor.
My life is a wheelchair and recovery and a reacher grabber or getter whatever you want to call it. My life is listening to the choirs that howl at the imaginary demon who has brought them nothing but pain and loneliness. Welcome to my world. It's a beautifully terrible place. Make yourself uncomfortably home.
I have talked about how my roommate calls all the women in here babe or baby. It irritates the hell out of me but the woman just go along with it calling him babe and baby so I leave it alone. My daughter Sunflower came into the room the other day and said hi to me and then turned and said hi to my roommate who promptly said "hey baby you are looking good today". My daughter immediately gave me a look that said "dad don't". It was good she gave me the look because I was searching the room for something that was Long and solid that I would be able to use to pummel this twit.
What has become an absolute truth as I wheel around the track in the wee hours is that at least seventy percent of us patients are up and awake. It's haunting to peer into their rooms and to find them always looking back with those hollow gapping eyes and I wonder if I am also staring that way. I race back to my room to be confronted with the mirror that is saying, “Well of course you do”.
I am craving a giant orange juice. Can you believe it? The thing that I loved, an ice cold orange juice. Damn you! Will make me sick and could possibly kill us all if they found out at Select Sires.
It's almost over again. The weekend is here and I don't feel sick, Today at the dialysis ranch there is this black guy who dresses very wild with his clothes and jewelry. He really is quite attractive. Being this he also is like some movie star and the nurses? Aides? What are these woman? Anyway they all just fall all over themselves to touch and talk and be a part of this man’s world. The funny part to all of this is that he could give a shit about the attention. He is way too interested in himself.
Forgotten
I remember when dad and I had one of our most vicious fights. I could not tell you what started the argument but it was beginning to fray at the edges which means it would become more aggressive or there would be a complete shutdown. What happened next was beyond anything that I could imagine. My dad refused to speak to me for three months. In the beginning I thought it was cool but as it continued it became truly unbearable. I would try to talk to him and he would just stare into space. I tried to negotiate through mm but mom finally told me it was wrong what he was doing but there was nothing she could do.
I would write my father extensive letters which he would not respond to. When he finally did talk it was as if nothing had changed. There had not been a moment of silence. In today's world I would have been vindicated. My father would have been made accountable. In our world on Middle Pike I was justly punished for what I did which was probably wanting to listen to the Beatles or something even more ridiculous.
It’s Sunday at Heartland. Sunday is the day of the week where I hide. It’s when the preachers come out of the woodwork to preach to the elderly and crippled.
The preachers seem to have some form of radar to find the “non-believers” because the all walk up to me and start their performance designed to convince me that God is the answer to a question that I didn’t ask.
If you are not Christian then you are a non-believer. Christian identifies all forms of religious following which is absurd because they have nothing in common philosophically.
It’s fascinating to me that religious men and women always believe that their best locations of new followers are in those places like nursing homes, hospitals, orphanages or prisons. You know those places where all hope is lost and the only thing to do is turn to God. Man that is really mistreating the creator(s) of this vast and endless universe.
My belief in God is really nobody’s business. My religious cluster fuck collision happened at an early age when I started going to the Baptist church in town because Ellen Roberts went there.
There were a number of things about the Baptist church that I found hard to understand but a budding teen who actually was sort of interested in this whole God thing I was willing to look the other way.
Ellen and I were actually getting closer and it could move into a boyfriend/girlfriend situation. Ellen and I were sitting in the graveyard one day and we began kissing. Judy Bliss snuck into the cemetery and hid and watched us and promptly went and reverend Michaels. What happened next was classic. I was punished for being aggressive to Ellen while Ellen was treated like an abuse victim.
That same week Reverend Michaels showed up at our house to talk to mom and dad about me. It was Saturday and it was time for beer and football in our home.
When the reverend walked in and made his introductions dad was already three sheets in the wind and the reverend tripped and almost fell over two cases of Burger Beer that was in the front room. Reverend Michaels promptly told my mom and dad that we were sinners because of the way we lived. I remember just standing there feeling rage for the reverend. My parents were not perfect parents but they did not deserve to have this man come in our home and make judgment on us. What I had been taught in this man’s church was that only God could judge.
I promptly told Reverend Michaels that he was a hypocrite and he could take his church, his religion and his God and shove it up his ass. I never set foot in that church again.
What I choose to believe is my business. If I choose to tell you then I will and if I choose to stay silent on the subject I will.
The universe is an infinite form of consciousness and we are a small part of that. We are one with everything even the stars.
cool peace
hippy mike
love
spirit
groovy times