Face Plant

How much of our lives
Will become simply archives
How many more times
Will I forfeit what’s mine
With every passing night
Feeling homesick at twilight
Being anxious and uptight
Can’t say or do anything right.
And the moments still tick by
We both curse the same night sky
Before one of us will recognize
All the ways we jeopardize
The shot we had to eternalize
Has lost the chance to materialize.
And I wish we could rewind
Go back and redefine
We both tow an identical line
Attached to an internal deadline
Born of a universal design
That will eventually unwind.

Inklings.

Don’t humor the inkling to test me,
Always searching for angles to best me,
Your presence must constantly tempt me,
daily fail on your part to preempt me,
Too pathetic to bend,
Bite at the bowl that’s empty.
bullshit side-stepping,
pathetic button pressing,
Get on track dead last,
Any shot you had to win has passed,
Neurotic tail chasing,
Your stupidy’s amazing
Go long, carry on,
its so entertaining,
Your need to bear teeth,
at absolutely nothing,
It’s so funny,
You humor me,
Not a soul cares,
If you never get out of here,
You made your bed and it’s filthy,
The stench of the things you can’t be,
So many piles of what’s needy,
You think your logic is stealthy,
But your face makes me angry,
I want to punch at you; God help me,
For striking a helpless puppy,
It made me.

Dearly.

The sun is burning
The life outta me
My hopes are turning
Into a dumb fantasy
My tongue is yearning
To set my feelings free
My bones are learning
The ache of maturity

What once was agreeable
Feels as off as it can be
The tragic unforeseeable
Seems more comfortable to me
Dreams once deemed unbeatable
Are dust beneath my feet
As I dig deep for the redeemable
Buried somewhere underneath

Thoughts like whispered voices
Fading into vague memory
Lots of different choices
Looked back on regrettably
A kaleidoscope of faces
Come and go while I’m asleep
My brain always erases
The things my heart loves most dearly

Mescalene.

Try I do, to do the right thing,
Suck it up and bite the bean,
Keep it honest, keep it clean,
Oil the gears in this here machine;
Profound lessons learned on mescalene,
While at school all they see are mass shootings,
A universe stealthily winding up to spring,
As we build bombs and don’t suspect a thing;
Life must take pleasure in shaping misery,
While mutated versions of my fellow human being,
Clueless and empty like a fuzzy TV screen,
Get go on thinking they got anything on me.

It’s Not Rocket Science.

It can’t be possible that I anywhere in the world, there is someone saying to himself:

“Gee…I just LOVE the way my dog has destroyed my floors by pissing and shitting everywhere in my house since I brought him home NINE years ago…”

I have the hardest time thinking about the fact that The Old Man who I take care of actually paid money -like, lot’s of money- for the stupid ass, neurotic, total loser of a dog that he calls his own. It actually makes me laugh to myself, seeing as how they say you get what you pay for. Not in this case. In this case, The Old Man was ripped off horribly on the doomed day that he picked out the Red Headed Devil and brought him home.

I know this because even before I was living here to take care of Rodger, I cleaned his house for over a decade. I know the change that took place upon the Devil coming here and creating a space so disgusting and full of filth and absolute nastiness as it is now. The stupid dog does what he wants, even now. Upon moving in, I at first, didn’t have a problem cleaning up the puddles and piles on a daily basis until I realized how futile it was. I then explained to The Old Man that I will not pick up after his spoiled rotten and despicable dog any longer, as the dog is not reprimanded at all for his pathetic behavior, so there is no point in even cleaning it up because he will simply do it in the exact same spots the next day.

If I wanted to spend moments from each day in cleaning up after a dog, I would have a dog that behaved like a jack ass. However, my FREE of CHARGE rescued dog who cost me nothing to adopt (in comparison to the hundreds of dollars that The Old Man spent on his piece of shit pet) doesn’t have the many problems (and is almost 7 years younger than the Devil, mind you) that the Devil displays regularly. In fact, my dog would die before he let his bowels or bladder loose in the house. He is just built that way and has NEVER been a problem in this area at all. I do not feel in the least bit badly or wrong for refusing to enable a spoiled rotten and completely hopeless waste of money and hardwood flooring.

I struggled at first with keeping my word on this, and have had to adjust my daily tasks to avoid the growing number of puddles and piles around the house. The Old Man either ignores them, hopes that I will clean them up after all, or doesn’t see them at all. It’s really disgusting and sad on many levels, how the dog rules the roost between them. I have started spending lots more time in my room with my good dog as means of getting around the ever-growing stench of dog waste in the common areas.

I didn’t come here to clean up after an out of control and incorrigible animal that has no concept of good behavior. And, to be honest, I barely get paid enough to cover my legitimate workload here; and, most certainly do not get paid to follow around a piece of shit, poorly trained, bad dog and clean up his messes repeatedly and with no end in sight due to the shortcomings of someone else’s ability to control his useless and good for nothing pet. Call me what you will, but you can’t call me stupid on this point. Stupid would be the redundancy of dog shitting and pissing where he wants – and me coming behind him to clean up his filth. Maybe The Old Man should hire someone to come specifically to enable his useless piece of shit dog.

If Only It Hurt To Be An Asshole.

So…I am plagued right now by several people in my life who seem to think that I am an idiot. I may not always say things in the moment, when someone is attempting to play me like a slot machine, I may not always even realize it at that point in time, but I will realize it. Trust that much. I can’t stand it when people are unable to own their own bullshit in life; much less when said people insist on trying to shift any blame or responsibility over such bullshit onto others when they get called on it.

I have my own bullshit and my own problems. I have my own issues to work on without other people constantly trying to force feed me the workload of their bullshit as well. People just don’t seem to comprehend how fucking stupid they look when they do this, as if I can’t do the math and see what they are doing, or trying to do. Do other people not see how low that takes them by behaving like a 2 year old? Do other people actually think that these pathetic and constant attempts at deflecting the TRUTH will somehow carry them through life? Without losing everyone who might have really cared about them?

It would just be really nice if other people could own their shit, even once in a while. It’s really old being mostly surrounded by people who always want to shift blame and try to make me accountable for shit that has NOTHING to do with me. If only it hurt to be an asshole, maybe people would find a way to check themselves.

Delay.

FOREWORD:

They say that the delirium is late-stage cancer – nothing more. Perhaps it is, I can’t say at this point. What I can say is that the delirious woman is still my mom; is still worthy of my love and support; is still a person who I love very much, suffering…dying.

baby-of-mine-dumbo-o.gif


Let me tell you a short (though, repetitive) story; one I have come to know by heart without consciously trying…one that plays itself out through each and every nightmare I have if I am lucky enough to fall asleep deeply enough…one that has come to define each and every “visit” I get with my mama, anymore:

The Bedpan: It is an inevitable circumstance, no matter where mama is.

In whichever facility that she is hospitalized, she is bedridden and increasingly unable to move without severe pain. She, therefor, has been reduced to a bedpan or commode when she is lucid, or, a fucking adult diaper, otherwise.

In her lucid times, the diaper must come off, else she have a massive coronary. During these interim of semi-coherence for her, is the perpetually running song and dance of trying to go to the bathroom. My mother is on diuretics for edema in her legs at present, and therefor has to pee like every 15-20 minutes no matter which state she is in…a detail that seems to define every moment that I spend with her anymore: the horrid revolving door of trying to get a fucking bedpan in time.

The orderlies and nurses are slow as molasses in any setting we have been; they seem to take pleasure in the circumstance of making my mama wait until she can’t hold it any longer, and a mess ensues, without fail.

Then, there I am: frustrated beyond words with the staff for letting this happen AGAIN; and there’s mama: so broken down and defeated by the humbling experience that she’s enduring, she just cries while I clean her up. Each and every time this occurs, it sinks my mama lower into her resignation to death and departure. Each time she cries, it does something to me that I can’t yet find the words to express accurately, but I can say with certainty that her tears in this context make me want to seriously hurt someone, or worse.

As a result of this hideous cycle of requests for basic assistance, delayed responses, messes to clean up, and mama’s subsequent withdrawal further into darkness, I have begun to absolutely dread going to see my dying mother at all.

bambi.gif