Java Fueled Journaling – 3

The poison of the day
The poison of the day

13 April 2014, 10:10:30 AM

Dear Java Fueled Journal,

Go figure. Another night of java-fuel for my nicotine enriched, oxygen deprived, gamma-raydiated brain. Its crazy! It’s wild! A circus and a freaking freak show! It’s like…well…like…gosh, you know what it’s like. It’s like all my brain cells are at war with each other and nobody chose sides and nobody has a uniform and no cell wants to align with another. I got neuron Nazis blitzkrieging their way from one side of my temporal lobe to the other side of whatever lobe. Meanwhile, the rest of me is sitting here listening to Ricky Skaggs, Drive By Truckers, Marshall Tucker Band and a little Lumineers to spice things up. Oh yeah, and trying to write, since I haven’t written anything at all in the last few days. Although I found out about it late, I actually thought about writing some poems to get on track with NaPoWriMo. Even though, as a rule, I don’t write poetry, I thought this would be a good opportunity to start writing more. Too bad for you it’s not working out that way. You don’t know what you are missing not reading the poetry I am sure I won’t write.

It’s alright, though. I’m determined and motivated. The java-fuel has me energized. I have a plan. It probably isn’t a very good one, but at least it’s a plan. I am going to start a new poetry writing challenge. I’ll call it National Write A Few Poems In April Month – NaWriAFPoInAprMo will be the acronym. The plan is to write at least one poem every three days for the rest of the month – six in total. Stay tuned!

Too bad the freak show is going on. I’m pretty sure right now the neuron Nazis are being busy little buggers crossing the channel and bombing the living bejeezus out of the south coast of my cerebellum and I ain’t got no Spitfires to fend them off.

Take you, JFJ, you won’t have a problem. Not you with your PMA, goal setting, Rich Dad, Poor Dad, Mobile 1 lubed brain. Let’s see, how would you do it? Grab a sheet of paper. Six poems to write, so jot down 1, 2, 3 and 4, 5 and 6. Brainstorm a little, maybe a mind meld with Stephen King, call in a favor, use your last life line and jot down 6 good ideas and start writing lines. Do a couple of lines first and get your head even more right??

It’s a different story for me. Look at this triple pornographic image of a little bitty piece of my brain that I took with the magnetronomometer I bought at Walmart last week.

Neuron Nazi Scan
Neuron Nazi Scan

You can see the neuron Nazi – the big black spot – has all my little fuzzy puppy neurons captured in a stalag. Some of them are scattered and some are piled on top of each other. Like I said, a freak show. And I plan to write poetry when I can barely remember how to spell this word. It’s like my 40 footer papier-mâché paddle boat brain hit the Titanic’s infamous iceberg, there’s one life boat and I am trying to climb into it with one of the propellers tied to my left ankle.

But, I’m going to do it.

Uh oh, I think the last remaining still functioning fuzzy puppy neuron is mounting a Great Escape. Waiting on the other side of the fence is MacGyver with some dental floss, two pieces of kibbles and bits, a ribbed condom and a six-inch strip of uncured alligator skin – all necessary and sufficient to cut the fence. Helping him out are Chuck Norris as both offensive and defensive weapon, Leno brought the Ferrari, and Ahhhhnolllld brought everyone some Cheap Sunglasses.

Gotta go for now. Love ya mean it.

Yours most sincerely, appreciatively, and apologetically, with my kindest regards and hopes for another year of carbon footprints and global warning,

Dr. Sam Stone, Esq.

P.S. My so called best friend John told me to write to “Dear Abby.” I think I’ll pass on it. Oh yeah, here’s a little tune my other John-friend wrote. It might be about me.

If I Forget

Laromme Shot 1

Some quick lines before I forget, cause harsh,
Throat burning, alcohol numbing my head.
Wild Turkey, Johnny Walker or maybe Jim Beam.
Don’t know, don’t care, each one my best friend
On a day like today and a night like tonight
Ain’t gonna stay sober, what gives you the right
To say where I’m going, do you know where I’ve been
I’ll live to see tomorrow if I don’t drop dead.


If I try not to lie and promise to quit
Starting right now but at least by tomorrow
But when I awake and reach for the bottle
That causes your pain and brings you great sorrow
Remind me once more, remind me again, remind me I’ve sinned
Remind me you love me, remind me my friend

If I forget.

I Don’t Write Poetry

Rich Writing PoemI don’t write poetry John

to pass away the time,

to purge the demons in my head,

nor make up silly rhymes.

I don’t write poetry John

to make a million bucks

to see my name in big bright lights,

no John, no such luck.

I don’t write poetry John

because the words flow through my blood

to spill bright red upon this page

a frenzied, raging flood.

I don’t write poetry John

to court a fair Irish lady,

to romance her on a warm spring eve

the bonny lass, young Beth O’Grady.

No John, sometimes I write poetry

cause I want to need to have to,

and when I must and can’t resist,

I reach for pad and pen!

For in the words, John, don’t you see

I find some long lost friends.