Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Paul Auster says:

Becoming a writer is not a “career decision” like becoming a doctor or a policeman. You don’t choose it so much as get chosen, and once you accept the fact that you’re not fit for anything else, you have to be prepared to walk a long, hard road for the rest of your days.

Thursday, May 03, 2012

If you stuff yourself full of poems, essays, plays, stories, novels, films, comic strips, magazines, music, you automatically explode every morning like Old Faithful. I have never had a dry spell in my life, mainly because I feed myself well, to the point of bursting. I wake early and hear my morning voices leaping around in my head like jumping beans. I get out of bed to trap them before they escape.


RAY BRADBURY

Tuesday, May 01, 2012

mayday resolutions

may day is a good day to re-evaluate my resolutions. it's like, mayday! mayday! i'm not doing what i planned to! help! let's fix this.

1. stop putting up with takers.

2.a. be selfish about who i keep close.
2.b. find better people to keep close.

3. if i don't write, draw every day. if i don't draw, write. no exceptions. one is good. both is better.

4. get lost. go wandering. at least one adventure a week.

5. save enough money for a fucking car already. even if it's a piece of shit. as long as it runs. this is a necessity.

6. be selfish with my time. it's precious, and should be spent on precious things.

7. cut the bullshit. especially the bullshit i try and give to myself.

8. i don't have to forgive everyone for everything. it's ok to call an asshole an asshole. It's better to not even call them.

9. be me. the end. stop trying to please everyone with all the little facets, it's making me miserable. 

10. emotional integrity, and integrity in general. refocus to this. stop being afraid to face the feelings, and ignore what everyone else thinks is the right thing. do what i know is the right thing. 

11. i had cancer. my arm doesn't work great. it's ok to be sad and mad about this. even if people act like it's not.

12. work when I work, and play when I play.

13. read more. read more poetry.

14. write my fucking novel.

13. one random, anonymous act of service for someone else every day. earn some karma credits.

15. find someone who will be sweet to me.

16. keep letting love happen. even if it hurts.

17. white hot passionate is the only way to be.

18. let past crap stay in the past. learn to let go. focus on the instants at hand.

19. only listen to good music.

20. stop worrying my opinions will offend someone. stick up for what i believe in. stand for things.

blaahhhhhg

i've been taking it hard the last few weeks, freaking out more about the nodules in my lungs. all the forums say one nodule is usually benign. more than one and it's most likely metastatic.
i'm gonna end up with lung cancer too. and dr. randall just didn't want to tell me until i'd gotten through the arm stuff.
i just feel like i've kind of been babied with how much the doctor's telling me
first it was replacing my bone.
then it was oh, we replaced your bone and took out some muscle
then it was oh, we replaced your bone, took out some muscle and then put new muscle in.
like, they replaced a whole part of the muscles on the back of my shoulder, which is why i can't rotate my arm out more than an inch.
they had me do all these new rotation exercises at PT yesterday, and I couldn't do any of them, and I just started sobbing.
so i spent all last night googling and reading and trying to find out what other cases like mine there have been
and there's just nothing there that says it won't recur if it's spread to the lungs or the soft tissue, which it did.
i'm ready to bet my life that the nodules in my lungs are cancer too.
guess what the life expectancy is for someone with osteosarcoma that's metastasized to the lungs?
five years.
five fucking years.
and i've done fuck all with my life.
blaaaahhh.
sorry.
done unloading. just a bad week.

book of images: i

rain lashing
so hard
the dead dog
writhes angrily
in the street
where it fell.


wild waste of words
works a wound way
within whitenoise whispering
without want, wonder,
or worth.


drowned by
riptides of thought
while the baby
cries itself
into oblivion.