Sunday, August 21, 2011
Friday, August 19, 2011
Considering Magnetic Poetry
So I'm cleaning everything out of my closet. Everything-everything. A salesman in my head whispers, "Everything must go!" Indeed. I am moving soon. Everything that's not critical to my long-term betterment is going into the trash.
One of the items in my closet is a book of "refridgerator poetry," a collection of submissions to a kind of magnetic poetry contest. I guess it was a contest. It became a book with magnetic word sets, and so I wrote a few things. For many years I had stuck to the bottom of my lamp, "May a teacher teach with the intensity that a bomb can burn." That's an intensity level that few instructors ever reach, I suspect.
Inside the magnetized front cover is a rather racy poem I wrote, sans punctuation (because they didn't provide any magnetic commas or periods, natch). I believe it was between 2004-2006. I think it's worth preserving:
love his tongue
all up on my skin
morning day and evening
use shower dry off and leave
stagger to work smelling
minutely like blossoms
people like these secrets
she pages him as you ask
what when how
why was ed over there
after dark
did he consume the wild sister
through her lace
I say go at er if you want
slice bruise
we are out of this
use
The "ed" was a verb ending I had nowhere to use, and I believe the "use" was a leftover word. Initially I switched the places of "ed" and "use," so use was more like youse. The last line changed to, "We are out of this, Ed." That darned Ed. But the original is something to behold from random words in a pouch.
One of the items in my closet is a book of "refridgerator poetry," a collection of submissions to a kind of magnetic poetry contest. I guess it was a contest. It became a book with magnetic word sets, and so I wrote a few things. For many years I had stuck to the bottom of my lamp, "May a teacher teach with the intensity that a bomb can burn." That's an intensity level that few instructors ever reach, I suspect.
Inside the magnetized front cover is a rather racy poem I wrote, sans punctuation (because they didn't provide any magnetic commas or periods, natch). I believe it was between 2004-2006. I think it's worth preserving:
love his tongue
all up on my skin
morning day and evening
use shower dry off and leave
stagger to work smelling
minutely like blossoms
people like these secrets
she pages him as you ask
what when how
why was ed over there
after dark
did he consume the wild sister
through her lace
I say go at er if you want
slice bruise
we are out of this
use
The "ed" was a verb ending I had nowhere to use, and I believe the "use" was a leftover word. Initially I switched the places of "ed" and "use," so use was more like youse. The last line changed to, "We are out of this, Ed." That darned Ed. But the original is something to behold from random words in a pouch.
Friday, August 12, 2011
A Pregnant Silence
(Post started in early July, finished in mid-Aug.)
I found out why I was having such a hard time reaching Joseph. He was locked up in the hospital after a suicide attempt.
Apparently he went over to his mother's and downed a handful of Vicodin. Vicodin!!! My how-the-fuck moment was answered by somebody the other day; apparently it was prescribed to him to deal with the physical pain of his muscle problem. Well, Joseph began exhibiting signs of paranoia and claimed the metal in his mother's house was malignantly affecting his muscle disorder. He was apparently going through the drawers in her house looking for metal I guess, I don't know what. Anyway, she questioned him and called the cops. He admitted he had taken something and needed an ambulance.
The hospital triage people told his mother he could only be held against his will for 72 hours. If he refused treatment after that, they were powerless to do anything about it. The best thing she could do was to go to court & get guardianship over him. That's exactly what she attempted to do. I am amazed to this day that Joseph went to court with her. Apparently he woke up from his haze around the time the judge was evaluating his competence. He did exactly what I expected he would do: He went outside, hailed a taxi and went straight to the airport. The one thing I didn't expect him to do was throw away his car keys "because they are made of metal." Nevermind that there's plenty of metal at the AIRPORT! My boyfriend said, "No -- the plane is made out of aluminum!" Humor is the lube of difficult experiences.
So basically he had his 80-something grandparents pick him up at the airport and holed up with them. They realized, quickly for once, that he was super wacked and needed to be seen by a doctor. Did they bother to tell his mother where the hell he was? She was about to call the police to have him listed as a missing person. He had abandoned his apartment, his car and all his stuff. No, they didn't.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Joseph had discovered that lotion had some kind of deflecting, soothing property and helped deflect the harmful wa-wa waves of all the metal around him. I got ahold of his grandmother and laid her out for not telling anyone where the hell he was. I explained to her that if she opted to ignore his obvious issues, she would NEVER UNLOAD HIM EVER AGAIN. He'd be with her until she died and frankly she's already 87. She tried to give me some rigamarole about his mother but I said, look. Is she around? No. Is he fine? Fuck no. If he doesn't go willingly to a doctor, you're going to have to have him committed against his will. Since we already know the bare minimum is a 72 hour hold, YOU are going to have to go to court HERE and do the exact same thing his mother was attempting up THERE. Wow, I could have knocked her over with a feather. 42-YR-OLD HEAD CASE + HIDING OUT IN GRANDMA'S HOUSE = ROAD TO NOWHERE. If you want to have to PAY for the privilege of becoming his temporary guardian, etc etc, think about it Grandma, harbor him and castigate his mother for perceived problems from 40 years ago. But pay you will, one way or the other. No sooner did the dawn of realization hit than I heard, "Uh, uh, I'm on Social Security.." Uh huh. Reality is sitting on your couch, slathering on lotion and changing the TV channel with gloves on so as to lessen the sting of the metal from the remote. SEND HIS ASS BACK TO HIS LAST CITY so his mother can finish what she started. She may not be the greatest option but between her and you & your spouse, who is the court going to choose? Someone in their 60s or two people in their mid to late 80s? Nigga please.
She thought about it and the next time I saw her, she knew I was right. How do we get him to the next destination/situation? He is still in their house. He has been to the dr. since then; he did go willingly. The dr. gave him some as-needed anti-anxiety prescriptions and they seem to have patched his mind back together. I had thought it was fucking hopeless. At least there's that. He really needs to go back to Portland and let somebody be his guardian. I know it's distasteful but he needs a minder. He has abandoned the last 3 apartments, he cannot work and he needs regular social contact. On his own he is failing miserably at maintaining stability.
I found out why I was having such a hard time reaching Joseph. He was locked up in the hospital after a suicide attempt.
Apparently he went over to his mother's and downed a handful of Vicodin. Vicodin!!! My how-the-fuck moment was answered by somebody the other day; apparently it was prescribed to him to deal with the physical pain of his muscle problem. Well, Joseph began exhibiting signs of paranoia and claimed the metal in his mother's house was malignantly affecting his muscle disorder. He was apparently going through the drawers in her house looking for metal I guess, I don't know what. Anyway, she questioned him and called the cops. He admitted he had taken something and needed an ambulance.
The hospital triage people told his mother he could only be held against his will for 72 hours. If he refused treatment after that, they were powerless to do anything about it. The best thing she could do was to go to court & get guardianship over him. That's exactly what she attempted to do. I am amazed to this day that Joseph went to court with her. Apparently he woke up from his haze around the time the judge was evaluating his competence. He did exactly what I expected he would do: He went outside, hailed a taxi and went straight to the airport. The one thing I didn't expect him to do was throw away his car keys "because they are made of metal." Nevermind that there's plenty of metal at the AIRPORT! My boyfriend said, "No -- the plane is made out of aluminum!" Humor is the lube of difficult experiences.
So basically he had his 80-something grandparents pick him up at the airport and holed up with them. They realized, quickly for once, that he was super wacked and needed to be seen by a doctor. Did they bother to tell his mother where the hell he was? She was about to call the police to have him listed as a missing person. He had abandoned his apartment, his car and all his stuff. No, they didn't.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Joseph had discovered that lotion had some kind of deflecting, soothing property and helped deflect the harmful wa-wa waves of all the metal around him. I got ahold of his grandmother and laid her out for not telling anyone where the hell he was. I explained to her that if she opted to ignore his obvious issues, she would NEVER UNLOAD HIM EVER AGAIN. He'd be with her until she died and frankly she's already 87. She tried to give me some rigamarole about his mother but I said, look. Is she around? No. Is he fine? Fuck no. If he doesn't go willingly to a doctor, you're going to have to have him committed against his will. Since we already know the bare minimum is a 72 hour hold, YOU are going to have to go to court HERE and do the exact same thing his mother was attempting up THERE. Wow, I could have knocked her over with a feather. 42-YR-OLD HEAD CASE + HIDING OUT IN GRANDMA'S HOUSE = ROAD TO NOWHERE. If you want to have to PAY for the privilege of becoming his temporary guardian, etc etc, think about it Grandma, harbor him and castigate his mother for perceived problems from 40 years ago. But pay you will, one way or the other. No sooner did the dawn of realization hit than I heard, "Uh, uh, I'm on Social Security.." Uh huh. Reality is sitting on your couch, slathering on lotion and changing the TV channel with gloves on so as to lessen the sting of the metal from the remote. SEND HIS ASS BACK TO HIS LAST CITY so his mother can finish what she started. She may not be the greatest option but between her and you & your spouse, who is the court going to choose? Someone in their 60s or two people in their mid to late 80s? Nigga please.
She thought about it and the next time I saw her, she knew I was right. How do we get him to the next destination/situation? He is still in their house. He has been to the dr. since then; he did go willingly. The dr. gave him some as-needed anti-anxiety prescriptions and they seem to have patched his mind back together. I had thought it was fucking hopeless. At least there's that. He really needs to go back to Portland and let somebody be his guardian. I know it's distasteful but he needs a minder. He has abandoned the last 3 apartments, he cannot work and he needs regular social contact. On his own he is failing miserably at maintaining stability.
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