1nce

Now that the doctor is standing over an individual a strong as me, and saying "You won't make it to see your next birthday." The always sarcastic side of me says "well that sucks"

I wrote a book once. I did in 6 hours what takes most people 6 months or 6 years. I wrote a story to my life. I painfully jotted down every painful event that my finger tips would dare type. All while yahoo chatting with a close friend. I saw headaches come and go, and physically felt my eyes cross from staring at the same screen for that long. Until this day there are 3 of those books in rotation, not because I was scared to publish. I just felt it was a user guide to me. I wrote a book in 6 hours, now I wont live 6 days to see my next birthday.

I mainly sit secluded and quite. Thinking, even now too proud to ask the doctor if there is anything else he can do. My mother said my pride will be the life and death of me. Even now that my own life depends on it I am too proud to ask for help.

I crashed my motorcycle once broke my collar bone, handle bar violently twisted and knocked my knee cap out, fractured my jaw, broke my shoulder, and fractured 3 ribs. The doctor said I would never walk again because screw the other injuries I had to walk bone on bone. I am minus a knee cap. That was medically impossible. I walked. But I cant make it to see my next birthday.

Why beg for mercy? I am where I am supposed to be. I am with the ones I love.

I spoke to god once. He came to me at my darkest moment of my favorite sin. The only time I was ever helpless since I was an infant. He did most of the talking. Actually he did it all. "Live your life as much as you can, while you can. Have faith in something, love someone, cause some trouble, repent, then cause some more. Be you faithfully, plant your seed and watch it grow."

I lived a life once. Lived it well, I loved, a lot, and hurt a little. I lived a life once played some instruments and enjoyed some music. I made enemies and friends. In that order. Once I lived a life and at the end of it I had no regrets nor did I think I should have done anything different.



Dedicated to Willie Johnson 1940-2011

Medusa

Maybe thrice times is the best. As I lay in the solidity of my solitude this sourceless flame burns now deeper than ever. From the tip of my big toe to the very tip of the longest hair on my head. Metaphorically of course. But so real that my actual body temperature spikes. It speaks to me in the most foul voices of all that is sweet. This flame, my Bonita Mentirosa. I can go as far as to saying it is a she, and she hurts me. She hurts me so (not to be vague) beautifully. She gives me butterflies in the deepest places that hurts, but hurts in the highest places that I have butterflies. Scares me into being fearless. The flame warms all but my finger tips and feet. One look at her warms my heart and stones my brain. Thinking of staring in to the different hues of her embers glowing makes me want to break into song: "Oh, this burn in my soul. Watch me as my embers glow.." But when she stings it's more like "Go ahead and sell me out and a I'll lay your shit bare.." My flame, the reincarnation of Medusa herself. I know well she doesn't deserve me, all my love, my devotion. She deserves more. I try and douse this flame (metaphorically of course) with this act of being more than meets the eye. And it tames her, but burns me more now than ever. So I confront it with my all. Now as this not so sourceless flame dies, and I am subtle. I begin to settle, and think. This flame didn't start its self. I am the arsonist, the pyromaniac. All it takes is my all.