FUCK! Dry socket. I got dry socket. Imagine my life story – DrySocket: Life in Prison. Years ago when I discovered I had gonorrhea, a dear friend came over, assessed the situation, said “Yes, we’ll go to the emergency room tomorrow. Tonight we get fucked up.” & we did. Before open heart surgery got an ¼ of nugs - picked out 3 of my favorite songs & laid in bed getting stoned, listening to music while Colette, Evan, Noah & Jacob would pop in and ask me what I needed & ran to get it. It was perfect. Prepared for the worst but ready for the best. On Father’s Day back in ’05 my left elbow swelled up huge. Evan said, “You got to get some antibiotics”, I said “No, just a big needle to drain this pus”. “Are you crazy?” Sat the day in a cool tub to drop my temperature & took Evan’s antibiotics. Went to the emergency room the next morning. “You’re lucky to be alive.” Evan had saved my life. Either I am lucky or blessed. I tend to think blessed – but without friends & family I’m a goner.
Fred & Tony warned me Thursday, “John, you probably got dry socket.” When I saw the dentist Friday, “Boy, you’re lucky. You would have been stuck the whole weekend untreated”. I guess I’m a blessed idiot. & for those who have pointed me in the right direction whether to save my life, soul or to find a reasonable drug, lover, friend or adventure – I thank you with all my heart.
Reading Hank bio of Bukowski, not a bad book. When I was younger I read every thing I could get by him & yes he was an influence. Though Henry Miller was my man. Bukowski seemed a bit much. I can’t nor will I pose/live my life ready to fight. I was born a lover & choose to die as such & when Bukowski says, “Creeley doesn’t fuck, he makes love” not as a compliment but as a complaint, well, I go yeah, that’s why I adore Creeley. I rarely fuck but always make love - does that take from my substance? I doubt it. Just underlines my honesty.
Morning count was just called & I’m standing there thinking so many of these men standing next to me refer to their “women” ( and by that I mean relationships not property) as bitches & hos. I gotta think dude, relax, it’s all about love. It’s all about respect. It’s all about being honest to yourself & to the ones who matter in your life.
I was married in the late 70’s, left and divorced in the 2000’s. I remind Colette ‘I’m sorry I will love & adore you til the day I die”. A stranger when we met, she became my friend, sister, sparring partner, mother of Evan & Noah, gazer of art & the universe. The one traveled from childhood to adult, my magical Merlin. How/why would I want to forget?
Count is cleared. I will go out & walk a few miles, take a shower & return to you with coffee & write while the yard wakes up. -Later.
There’s a guy here who can see his backyard from this yard. Is that fucked or what? Another cross to bear. So much attitude here. Some substance. On the outside a punk is a rebel, punk rocker, you know, punk. Here he’s a bitch. A plaything. I have the copyright symbol on my upper right arm. Some dude from CA thought it was some offshoot of the A.B. (Arian Brotherhood). Between that & my hands tatted, dudes think I’m some kind of racist. This prison is like an after school movie on the Boys of Detention. Whisper orange ten minutes later a riot erupts. Teeth quake with every gust of wind.
My crime is simple. The charge – use of the internet to facilitate a child sex crime. In a fit of despair & self destruction I chatted with a cop posing as a 14 year old. Would have gotten work release but I used the computer (my lawyer knew I had friends & family checking my email) to find Sasha (you might remember him from a poem) & the cops contacted me pretending to be a 26-28 year old. We chatted of life & beer. Decided to meet for beer & chili. I was arrested at one of my favorite bars for violating my probation – bail jumping. The minimum mandatory sentence was 5 years. I got 2 ½. Thru the complete investigation with cops, shrinks, friends & family not an inkling was suggested that I was, in fact, a pedophile.
I did have a minor stroke 3 hours after being released from county jail. Timing. It’s all about timing. So ask your questions, perhaps I can answer but don’t just ask me. Ask those who truly know me. What I am. What I’m capable of. My dreams & desire. See again it’s about honesty. About truth. Not judgment or pointing fingers. I take full responsibility for all my action. For my complete life. Both good & evil. Talk with me & perhaps we might understand.
I miss music as if I could miss breath. I sit outside in total pain to hear traffic, wind, the basketballs on asphalt & voices. The scrambled words, vowels crashing & hollers rejoicing. Tomorrow brings Sunday. The rest for the previous week. A new week crouches in the corner ready to bound, to love, to disappoint, to devote & hopefully to let us live to see another morning.
Just borrowed a radio from Frank. Always have to sneak everything past the guards –success. As soon as I turn it on. Layla. When the piano begins Evan & Noah are children again. Eyes well with tears & my bed becomes an instrument of conjure. Just bought a sheet of 800 mg Ibuprofen for 10 stamps. Sometimes you got to be criminal.
the state can
but that doesn’t make me guilty.
the Lord can
but that doesn’t mean he’s dead.
i wear his bones around my neck
his breath cools my heart.
known a man from bosnia
sat on a roof watched
“you know john, “ he exclaimed
the day moves
quicker than you think.”
than we know
care to know.