Tag: Fiction

Songs Yet Sung – Verse From a Drug Addled Mind | Let’s Set The Record Straight

NaWritePoemsInApril Logo

In a previous post, I discussed my failure to get on track with NaPoWriMo, so I decided to create my own challenge for myself. Well, here it is, complete with my very own fancy-schmancy logo for my very own challenge. And here is poem number one – so five more to go, since I set my goal as six by the end of April. Enjoy.

Let’s Set The Record Straight

 

Let’s set the record straight. The drug addled mind

Is mine of course. It’s all quite legit.

Don’t think I’m a junkie, there is no abuse.

One doc wrote this script, another the others,

One pill now, another later, take two at bedtime,

And take all the blue ones, make sure that you finish,

Then quit.

 

So no need to worry, no pause for concern.

No meat wagon needed, my heart’s still tickin’

And if you please and you’ll be so kind,

Don’t call the police, no need at this time.

The pills won’t fix me, just help me feel better

When pain racks these bones, I’ll take one more.

Then quit.

 

These songs; they’re only words searching

For rhythm and timing, a hum or a whistle,

A catchy good chorus sung by the Angels

A guitar, a sitar, Entwistle on bass.

In these words are my songs, yet to be sung.

When I sing them, if I sing them, I’ll be happy

Then quit.

 

So, I’ve said it already, but just to be clear

Let the record be straight, let there be no confusion.

The mind that’s quite addled and “Dazed and Confused”

Thanks much Jim and Robert for singing the blues.

This mind is okay, not doing that bad;

Just works kinda slow and sometimes shuts down

So, I’ll have one more white one for this drug addled brain

Don’t fret, please don’t worry, don’t have you a fit

I’ll just have this last one, maybe one more.

Then quit.

A bird doesn’t sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.

Java Fueled Journaling – 4

No Caption Needed. Use your imagination.
No Caption Needed. Use your imagination.

04/16/14, 03:08:00 AM

Columbia, South Carolina, USA, North America, Earth, The Milky Way, The Solar System

Dear Java Fueled Journal,

Guess what? Yep, you oh so smart dude, you! You now have a new home in this crazy world wide weboblogosphere. I decided – on my own mind you – that you no longer need to reside on this silly little blog written by this silly little man. So, very soon, you will be moving in to your brand new, everything included but the dancing girls, home on the range. Well, not exactly. Your new web-home will be http://www.javafueledjournal.com. Of course you, nor any of this journal’s thousands of readers can’t move in or visit just yet; it’s still a vacant lot. But very, very soon, it will be ready for you; Melissa, the Mermaid; Bubba, your bartender and butler; Conrad, your chauffeur and barbecue chef; and of course, all the thousands of loyal fans of this terrifically entertaining and enlightening journal. I’ll let you know when it’s ready, since I just now decided to be your business manager and guru.

You need to read this. It’s a quote from the blog criticaldispatches.com and it captures quite succinctly the reason I write. And just so you know I plagiarize only about ninety-five percent of this blog; and just so my lawyer, the FCC, FTC, FTP (remember them?), NASCAR, the RCMP and the Cirque du Soleil all know, I did get permission from the author to use this quote.

I write because I’m compelled to do so. As I would wager most of the writers using WordPress – or any of the other blogging platforms – do. To communicate, to connect, to inform, to educate, to entertain, to let the world know I lived. That I didn’t follow the crowd, that I thought for myself and was able to share those thoughts with others.

You remember my so called best friend John. He and I were talking the other day. He was drinking. I wasn’t. You know I stopped drinking because of the drugs. Anyway, he was getting a little loud and making a real ass of himself. You know how thick-headed and backwards he can be sometimes. He believes that “real men” don’t write in a journal. He said, “Journals are nothing but fancy names for diaries, and only little girls and women write in diaries so any man that writes in a journal is a damned sissy.”

Well, I got a little PO’ed about that. I told him he was a lie and a thick-headed, ass-backward, s*&t for brains fool. I could of said more, but I knew it was the Wild Turkey he was drinking that was talking, and not him. After all, he is still my so called best friend.

You know he really isn’t the fool he sometimes acts like. After all, he did graduate top of his class from The Citadel and served four years as a commissioned officer in the Navy. Not only that, he was savvy enough to buy shares in Microsoft when their only product was MS-DOS. Now, he doesn’t have as much money as Bill Gates, but, well, you get the picture. He’s loaded.

If it turns out my so called best friend John is right, I’ll just go to Walmart and buy myself a bright red wig for my bright bald head, some pink spandex leotards, a halter top for the fake boobs I’ll buy from somewhere else and a pair of shiny ruby red slippers. Then see how sissyfied he thinks I am when I appear on his front porch dressed in drag from top to bottom with my journal/little girls diary in my hand with my nails painted black as coal.

But, I digress a bit. I didn't mean to go on a rant about John, my so called best friend.

I’m a little wary about tonight. Here it is a little past 3:00 AM on Wednesday morning already. I’ve been in front of this computer for most of the day – writing different things and working on paperwork for the projects I need to complete. And I’m still here. I’ve drank a whole lot of java-fuel today and tonight and I’m still drinking. Before I decide to go to sleep I really want to finish this – unless I just crash and my head drops on the keyboard and I’m out like a burned out sixty watt light bulb – which isn’t likely to happen. I also have three more articles I need to write and a poem I promised myself I would finish. It might be a long night! There might even be another java-fueled journal entry before the sun rises.

Right now I am listening to Muddy Waters singing Champagne and Reefer and it reminds me of what a friend told me eight or nine years ago. His idea for a perfect retirement was to divorce his wife, move to the Florida Keys and hang out with Jimmy Buffett on his boat and cruise the Caribbean drinking Margaritas and smoking dope all day. I like it, except for the divorcing my wife part. I think I’ll keep her.

This whole article is kind of like the classic TV series Seinfeld. It’s just a series of thoughts about nothing that are popping into my only functioning right brain cell and I am remembering to write them down before they disappear into the black hole of my only functioning left brain cell. And by the way, as much as I love my java-fuel, I don’t think I could “Rest Assured” ordering some dark roasted Arabica from the Yucca Swastika Coffee Shop somewhere in New Mexico.

Gotta go for now. Love ya mean it.

Masculinely Yours,

(Name withheld by request of the person with the bright red wig wearing the pink spandex)

Oh yeah, here’s a another little tune from Muddy Waters. It’s a man song. It might be about me.

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“Brains of elderly slow because they know so much” from The Telegraph (UK)

Brains of elderly slow because they know so much – Telegraph.
 

“The brains of older people do not get weak. On the contrary, they simply know more.”

Hazmat Training at SCFA
Hazmat Training at SCFA

I’m not sure I agree with this – of course I don’t have to – but it’s kinda cool to believe this is why my thinking is so slow these days. That, and the drugs. It reminds me of the “Married With Children” episode “Kelly Knows Something” when Al enters Kelly in a trivia contest. While he is preparing her, with every new fact she learns one falls out.

I’m convinced this is happening to me and it’s time to take action. Before I retired from the fire department, I received training as an OSHA Hazardous Materials (HAZMAT) Technician. That’s me in the pic, naturally. The training taught me to safely mitigate and contain really dangerous substances. That’s the reason for the “moonsuit.”

I thought long and hard and concluded that if a Level A suit – which is the actual name for the “moonsuit” – is impervious to just about anything, then it will also work in reverse. In other words, nothing can get out of the suit, so as the facts fall out of my brain, they will collect in the suit, and when I need one, I can just look around and grab it when I find it.

I suspect it might get pretty tough trying to live in the suit, though. Right off the bat, I can imagine the biggest problem is when I need to slip out of it to sleep or eat. I haven’t figured out how to prevent the collected facts from falling out – you know, the facts that fell out of my brain and collected in the suit. Who knows what facts and memories might be lost forever for the sake of a banana sandwich and RC cola.

I’ll just have to try; and just figure it out as I go along. I can’t do it today, but tomorrow I’m going to try to find a suit I can buy. I say “buy” but I really mean, well, you know, borrow on a long term basis. If I can’t get it to work, I’ll just return it. I say “return” but I really mean, well, you know, sell it on Ebay for a handsome profit.

I’ll report my results later. I say “later” but I really mean, well, you know, later. And if Al Bundy ever wants to enter me in a trivia contest, I’ll be ready.