How do I return? Often, I return. To go back. To the pain. To the profoundness that it was. What was it? Did I pay attention? To there, the place, the destruction, the moments. No, these words are shallow. How do I capture? Those moments of my worst. Is it a comfort zone? Who am I to separate from it? Do I urge it back, to return to it each time? Do I desire the sickness? So that I might be taken back there? Back into the comfort of the misery, to capture again that tranquil place of pain, where I am brought again back to nothing and its miserable rest and its truth.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
The Tranquility Of Pain
How do I return? Often, I return. To go back. To the pain. To the profoundness that it was. What was it? Did I pay attention? To there, the place, the destruction, the moments. No, these words are shallow. How do I capture? Those moments of my worst. Is it a comfort zone? Who am I to separate from it? Do I urge it back, to return to it each time? Do I desire the sickness? So that I might be taken back there? Back into the comfort of the misery, to capture again that tranquil place of pain, where I am brought again back to nothing and its miserable rest and its truth.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Outside Akron
A while back I was layin' there in my sorry state; my wife next to me. She asked if there was anything she could do. Well. As you know. That's always a hard one: there really isn't much anyone can do for you. So I replied as Dr. Chumley: (found the text) There's a cottage camp just outside Akron - in a grove of maple trees - green - cool - beautiful. I'd go there with a pretty woman. (that would be my Rosalie, my wife) A strange woman -- a quiet woman. (my wife actually happens to be quite level-headed--a reason I originally fell for her) I wouldn't even want to know her name (I just told you her name) -- while I would be just - Mr. Smith. Then I would send out for cold beer. No. [no whiskey...gives me heartburn] Then I would tell her things. Things that I've never told to anyone. Things that are locked - deep in here. (COUGHS) And as I talked to her, I would want her to hold out a soft white hand and say 'Poor thing. You poor, poor thing.' [For how long would you want this to go on, Doctor?] Two weeks. ... That's not asking for much, is it?
Monday, August 6, 2012
It Takes Guts
Five months after graduating High School I decided to enlist in the Army. I decided I would be like my hero, my uncle, who flew aircraft in the Army for four decades. I decided I would try my limits, to be all I can be, to see if I was tough enough, to reach for my breaking point. All it took was fifteen minutes with my recruiting officer for him to tell me I didn't have the guts.
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