Number One: Get as many people as possible looking for place for you to live. Just get them all involved. Make them all feel like they are doing a better job than the rest. You cannot rely on just one entity to get this job done. There are to many distractions going on in this life anymore to put all of your eggs in one basket
I can't do it on my own either. The distractions of my daily life make it impossible for me to be focused on one thing. I am scattered between my energies that are designed to keep me busy so I don't go completely made. I paint. I write. I compose. I play music. I paint. If one of the nurses or aids leaves anything in my room I paint it.
I also have my little mission on Facefuck, whoops, Facebook where I post nothing but happy positive or political protest and change sites that are basically against the republicans, conservatives, Christians and all the rest of the nitwits that are causing us trouble.
I believe that the constant display of these very simple quotes, statements and affirmations will in time change the thinking of the majority and a closer connection becomes real in consciousness and by stating political beliefs and protests against certain factions on a continuous basis the same kind of mindset takes place. We as a whole begin to think in a more peaceful way. We find ourselves following these paths to enlightenment and consciousness. It's a brilliant idea and I'm not sure if the creators of Facefu, facefuc, facebook deserve the credit but, well like I said.
I have finally learned as I am a prisoner in this gulag that the only way t survive is to have continuous thought of a positive nature. When the negative sneaks in, which it occasionally does, you immediately see and feel a dramatic change in everything around you. You see the negative in all of the patients and the staff. It's profound and frightening. When I am able to get back to the positive feelings for myself the negative energies of the other forces don't affect me and I can even change some negative energies into positive in some of the forces that surround me.
See, this is not the way anyone should live. Not a recovering idiot like me to the zoommer patients that can't think or move.
We all deserve our own kind of humility and our own kind of respect and dignity. We deserve to be treated with kindness love and peace.
These places are full of the people that our system chooses to forget and the only people that keep us alive are those who have the generous gigantic hearts to come and see us on a consistent basis.
Connie and her dog are saints as are my daughter and grandson. Wyeth doesn't even realize it yet but when he comes into this place with my daughter people notice him immediately and they are immediately filled with a joy. My daughter also has that effect on people. They are of the light energies and they exhume this without even knowing.
Those individual's that choose to give a part of their lives to this place are very special people. I make fun of the religious people that come in but they also in their own way bring a light and beauty to this place for those who wish to be a part of that.
Most of the visitors that entertain groups here do however have that lounge David Lynch type of feel to it and i'm not really sure why.
A journey though hell is each individual's personal traveling. This journey will include their most intimate fears and also their most intimate moments of true passion and joy.
My journey though hell was a strange alternative view of the world. It was surrounded with images and music. I was in a different world that resembled this one but there were slight differences and variations and most of the hell was that our freedoms were gone completely. Nineteen Eighty Four was a continual procession in my world as I floated dead in a limbonic space, a place of many wonders and terrors. There were images that were so profoundly terrible that I refuse to give them life again in any form. Frank Zappa had the number one album and song and when it was to be played the earth would into the sun. It was from a long lost album that never existed on this reality but was in my alternative reality of hell.
I was helpless. I was trapped in a bed in a hellish place where no one took care of me. They just let me lay in my own body fluids and puke in whatever containers I could find. Of course the mix up had everything to do with insurance and money. My daughter finally found me there in a comatose state and took the situation into her hands and got me the hell out of there. I was taken to the hospital where my nightmare turned into a dream of beauty and brilliance beyond belief. I wondered if I was in Heaven a few times but the effects of my alternative universe were still close enough to make me aware of my fragile line I was holding onto.
It took three very long days before I was back in my own mind thinking clearly. I started looking around the room at OSU Hospital and realized I was at OSU. The thing outside my window wasn't a space craft but instead was a helicopter landing on the roof of the hospital and the angel that came in with the things in her hair was my daughter and for the first time in maybe a week I knew it was her.
Their primary goal was to take my one hundred and sixty pound frame and beef it up. I was seriously malnourished. There was a feeding tube in my stomach and one down my throat or maybe it was down one side of my nose. I wasn't sure.
It's amazing how a human body can transform from a three hundred and forty pound man to a one hundred and sixty pound man in five months and then be beefed back up to about one eighty and I now maintain right around two hundred.
The next step of this journey, this recovery was to place me where I am now and I've been here five months as close as I can figure and the healing and changes in that period are again profound. I could not do anything when I got here. Now, well I am doing unbelievably more and ready to get my own apartment.
I remember when I was still in that horrible hospital puking up water because there was nothing left in my body and I kept trying to log into my computer but my hands were shaking so bad that I couldn't get the log-in password right. I had a little cutie of a nurse that had taken me under her wings and I gave her the password and would have her log me in. Once on line I still had difficulty doing much of anything and writing was completely unheard of along with any real kind of artistic or craft work. I just continued to stare into the screen saver and go into some hallucinatory mind set.
I actually had been at this state of convulsive shakes for a long time now, clear back to Baton Rouge Nursing Home in Lima where again the nursing staff and aids stopped watching over me as if they knew the end was near. That time I was found by my brother and they airlifted me to good old OSU. As I have said before every time I was near death I found myself at OSU and they brought me back to life.
And once the play-lists are all filled and organized and all the waves have been converted to mp3's only then will I feel like I have completed something but alas I am never done because there always comes another song, another album that I just have to convert and save. I mix down from Neil Young to Frank Zappa and I can't wait till the day comes, a rainy Saturday afternoon when I will play this saved collection and think, “I have accomplished much”.
Means more to me than any of my artistic creations. The saving of music and art and all other forms of stimuli to my computer and have it in a listening, viewing format that is convenient and pleasurable to watch and listen to.
I am surrounded by this horrible place. The walls are closing in and the ghosts are begging for relief. I have been able to hide for the most part in my world of creativity at least for today but Oh what would happen if I hit a dry spell? How would I handle writer's block right now or just lost focus on my painting or playing of my guitar or if I just lost focus on everything and found myself in the middle part of the building digging a grave for myself with a coffee spoon.
Nobody has heard of the album Hot Rats by Frank Zappa. I am sitting here in the dark recording and listening to it. It is musically one of the most amazing albums I have listened to in a long, long, long time. It reminds me of the times when I was ready to perform my own music. The times when I was done with all of the negative emotions and I was on top of what I was doing. This is becoming one of those times again. I am ready to be a working musician, writer, painter and performer. Whether I make any money doesn't matter. I will be working and for the first time ever working at something that I truly love.
Oh how I long for that day to come when I am covered from head to toe in paint and in front of me is a new piece that has brought me to tears in my own little hole in the world apartment with camomile tea, a cat and a dog.
My final gig is to be an artist. The thing I wanted to be my entire life but never believed I was good enough. What a bullshit lie. I always thought I was good enough. I got attention if I played the coy tortured artist. Well now I am a tortured artist. I work in pain a lot of the time. I paint as much as I do because the painting gets my focus off of the pain and onto the paint. My writing has become documentation of the pain and the confusion and allows me to live in that alternative world that I was shown. I haven't figured out how the music fits in.
I create because it is what gives me life. If Bird finds that she can sell it or if I put something together here in Columbus and sell my work and make a few bucks then so be it, but it has become sagaciously obvious that my art is what keeps me sane and alive.
cool peace
hippy mike
love
peace
cool uber groovy cool