Great Spirit,
I send out prayers to my Brother's and to my Sister's in lands far and far away.
I ask you, My Dear God, to bless my Brother's and Sister's who live here, in the U.S.A.
Please, my Great God, bring relief, justice, and peace, to these home lands that have suffered destruction, blood shed and death.
Bless them with grace and hope.
God Bless Syria! God Bless Turkey! God Bless Oklahoma!
God Bless America! God Bless us all, each and every one.
I Am, I am your Son.
Big Bear
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Waiting For The Lil' Blue Bus
Hello,
I am sitting hear in total silence, as if I think I could hear, here where I sit, waiting for my Lil' Blue Short Bus swing by and pick me up for my trip Down Town, to the Rehabilitation Center at Tampa General Hospital. I sit here, as if with baited breathe, unable to explain why I am having such a difficult time breathing.
It is probably my nerves and the nausea.
Nerves, because I am a bit more anxious today than yesterday, and now that I am a few hours shy of injections, I begin to feel a wee bit like that. The nervous nerves have been with me since I awoke at 0655 this morning, up with the hounds in these parts.
The nausea also up with me since awakening. Meniere's related rubbish and the sorts. My quad cane will come in handy this morning.
As you may have read, I will be having another round of Botox Shots this after noon. A Round of a dozen plus injections to the face, skull, and neck.
Figure, I better get up front and wait by the storm door like a good feller. I so look forward to getting out to my appointments...
...I so hate it when the bus runs behind. Like today.
Oh well, what can you do when you live in a shoe? Boo?
You all have a splendid day!
I am sitting hear in total silence, as if I think I could hear, here where I sit, waiting for my Lil' Blue Short Bus swing by and pick me up for my trip Down Town, to the Rehabilitation Center at Tampa General Hospital. I sit here, as if with baited breathe, unable to explain why I am having such a difficult time breathing.
It is probably my nerves and the nausea.
Nerves, because I am a bit more anxious today than yesterday, and now that I am a few hours shy of injections, I begin to feel a wee bit like that. The nervous nerves have been with me since I awoke at 0655 this morning, up with the hounds in these parts.
The nausea also up with me since awakening. Meniere's related rubbish and the sorts. My quad cane will come in handy this morning.
As you may have read, I will be having another round of Botox Shots this after noon. A Round of a dozen plus injections to the face, skull, and neck.
Figure, I better get up front and wait by the storm door like a good feller. I so look forward to getting out to my appointments...
...I so hate it when the bus runs behind. Like today.
Oh well, what can you do when you live in a shoe? Boo?
You all have a splendid day!
Monday, June 3, 2013
The Botox Shots
Hello.
Tomorrow brings another round of Botox Shots.
I am neither excited nor in trouble.
Well, alright then, maybe both.
This is Round Two. Yes, it's true.
I knew, it was coming soon.
Believe me when I share this place
my dear reader's, where I do see and feel,
each and every needle at my scalp and face.
With each and every very one, I feel ...
The Botox Shots.
True, with these, I will not waste,
as with each and every injection plunged,
is one less pill I have to taste.
I will not decline,
I will not say no -
if anything, please,
just shoot me mo'.
Tomorrow brings another round of Botox Shots.
Yes true, with these, I will not waste,
as with each and every injection plunged,
is one less pill I have to taste.
I will not decline,
I will not say no -
if anything, please,
just shoot me mo'.
The Botox Shots.
Tomorrow brings another round of Botox Shots.
I am neither excited nor in trouble.
Well, alright then, maybe both.
This is Round Two. Yes, it's true.
I knew, it was coming soon.
Believe me when I share this place
my dear reader's, where I do see and feel,
each and every needle at my scalp and face.
With each and every very one, I feel ...
The Botox Shots.
True, with these, I will not waste,
as with each and every injection plunged,
is one less pill I have to taste.
I will not decline,
I will not say no -
if anything, please,
just shoot me mo'.
Tomorrow brings another round of Botox Shots.
Yes true, with these, I will not waste,
as with each and every injection plunged,
is one less pill I have to taste.
I will not decline,
I will not say no -
if anything, please,
just shoot me mo'.
The Botox Shots.
I Forgot
Folks,
Minutes ago, while sitting here and listening to my ipod, I became dissatisfied by the volume and sound quality of what I was listening to, which just happens to be, "Lindsey Buckingham - Words And Music ( A Retrospective)", an awesome one of a kind find and I love him too...
...but yes, I was adjusting the volume, moved both speakers about trying to find space, a spot where I could listen as Mr. Buckingham, spoke and sang to me. Kindred, I promise I would so have had him over for tea and sandwich's. Nice little finger foods and biscuits and such, but like, I could not figure out what was going on with the audio and was getting frustrated, maybe more like side-ways, true, as I checked "all" volume controls and all were at a maximum and the speakers are fine...
...and then, I remembered. I forgot. And I forgot to remember to not forget, but did.
Even if but for a brief moment in my life, I forgot that I was Deaf and I forgot to remember that my right-good-bad-ear-hole-to-the-brain has been sub par, lack luster, inattentive...
...for just a spell, I forgot I was thinking and listening to thoughts of not too long ago, I did forget that the problem was with me and my ears, not the computer, or the controls, nor the speaker's or where they were pointed.
Wow.
Damn it, that "I Forgot" shit is for the birds! Brings up all of this damned drama, almost did make me blue, but then I remembered, "ain't no body got time for that". But, how to forget?
Just, me.
Minutes ago, while sitting here and listening to my ipod, I became dissatisfied by the volume and sound quality of what I was listening to, which just happens to be, "Lindsey Buckingham - Words And Music ( A Retrospective)", an awesome one of a kind find and I love him too...
...but yes, I was adjusting the volume, moved both speakers about trying to find space, a spot where I could listen as Mr. Buckingham, spoke and sang to me. Kindred, I promise I would so have had him over for tea and sandwich's. Nice little finger foods and biscuits and such, but like, I could not figure out what was going on with the audio and was getting frustrated, maybe more like side-ways, true, as I checked "all" volume controls and all were at a maximum and the speakers are fine...
...and then, I remembered. I forgot. And I forgot to remember to not forget, but did.
Even if but for a brief moment in my life, I forgot that I was Deaf and I forgot to remember that my right-good-bad-ear-hole-to-the-brain has been sub par, lack luster, inattentive...
...for just a spell, I forgot I was thinking and listening to thoughts of not too long ago, I did forget that the problem was with me and my ears, not the computer, or the controls, nor the speaker's or where they were pointed.
Wow.
Damn it, that "I Forgot" shit is for the birds! Brings up all of this damned drama, almost did make me blue, but then I remembered, "ain't no body got time for that". But, how to forget?
Just, me.
"The Switch Hitter"
Relation's,
"The switch hitters are always at a premium in baseball."
My team mates and I learned this as boy's. I was a switch hitter for my coach and team while playing in the West Tampa Little League. I leaned more to the right, but Coach would have me switch it up every once and again, had my Goonie-Goo-Goo ass bunt every once and again too...
...but Kindred, there I was, this humongous mixed blooded boy, and no, that was not an exaggeration on my size as a youth. I was not obese, very tall and simply larger than the average kid at that age. When I went up to the plate, lefty or on the right side of the plate, my mates went wild and the other dug out often went quiet. Although, there were the occasional racial epitaph's tossed out, I seemed to thrive playing ball until incidents beyond my control became a factor in my baseball career. Oh, but Holy Crap,, I loved playing baseball so much I would sleep with my baseball mitt. Thinking back, I reckon I must've looked a bit ogreish compared to them little blond haired, blue eyed, white demon children. The white boy's freaked me out when they cursed and cussed out loud in front of or at their mom. Heaven to Betsy. At the plate, I was a swinger, lefty or over there on the right side of the plate. I would swing the bat the other boy's could not use, and swung away I did. Oh yeah, many strike outs, but, when I made contact, that bat "smacked", it didn't "tink", like them aluminum/tin can bats the white kids used. And Ma'am, that damned base ball traveled too. Distances. Sometimes it got ridiculous. There were also many a cracked bat and an occasional infield player from the other team struck by a fast moving projectile that is going to leave the marks of thread on an opponent's body. What a sound. And, no, the sounds of Baseball are something one never forgets. I never will.
I think I like the Switch Hitter, as a title for this communique. Truly I do. Right. Please, my Guest, let me try to make sense in my own skull and explain my theory; It was because of the abilities to switch hit, the skills and lessons learned on that baseball diamond, that switch hitting became the foundation on which everything I did in life would be based. My being a switch hitter in every thing I did as a child, are the reasons I survived my childhood. Coach, taught me then, what I would utilize as an adult, where I have had to put into place an immediate switch hit scenario in mind, then follow through. Since adolescence, I employed my switch hitting abilities and skills to school, other sports, hobbies and the places of employment and businesses that I held management positions with throughout the years. Many times over an MVP, these switch hitting skills helped make million's of dollars for a few companies I've spent some awesome good years with. I smile. And wish to say, "Thanks, Coach!"
"The switch hitters are always at a premium in every day businesses."
Look, I share as an adult, the over due embrace of these vibes and energies. These energies that still inhabit the spirit's deep within. I have had many hits and many misses in my 19,500 days here on my Earth Mother. If I missed, I swung again, if I miss, I swing again. And again. The energy I feel is Spiritual. The words I have shared are said in gladness and with hopes that this embrace remains intact for the reminder of my days. Damn it, to those numbers, not years, or decades, but days. Shit. Mahong.
Deep.
"The switch hitters are always at a premium in baseball."
My team mates and I learned this as boy's. I was a switch hitter for my coach and team while playing in the West Tampa Little League. I leaned more to the right, but Coach would have me switch it up every once and again, had my Goonie-Goo-Goo ass bunt every once and again too...
...but Kindred, there I was, this humongous mixed blooded boy, and no, that was not an exaggeration on my size as a youth. I was not obese, very tall and simply larger than the average kid at that age. When I went up to the plate, lefty or on the right side of the plate, my mates went wild and the other dug out often went quiet. Although, there were the occasional racial epitaph's tossed out, I seemed to thrive playing ball until incidents beyond my control became a factor in my baseball career. Oh, but Holy Crap,, I loved playing baseball so much I would sleep with my baseball mitt. Thinking back, I reckon I must've looked a bit ogreish compared to them little blond haired, blue eyed, white demon children. The white boy's freaked me out when they cursed and cussed out loud in front of or at their mom. Heaven to Betsy. At the plate, I was a swinger, lefty or over there on the right side of the plate. I would swing the bat the other boy's could not use, and swung away I did. Oh yeah, many strike outs, but, when I made contact, that bat "smacked", it didn't "tink", like them aluminum/tin can bats the white kids used. And Ma'am, that damned base ball traveled too. Distances. Sometimes it got ridiculous. There were also many a cracked bat and an occasional infield player from the other team struck by a fast moving projectile that is going to leave the marks of thread on an opponent's body. What a sound. And, no, the sounds of Baseball are something one never forgets. I never will.
I think I like the Switch Hitter, as a title for this communique. Truly I do. Right. Please, my Guest, let me try to make sense in my own skull and explain my theory; It was because of the abilities to switch hit, the skills and lessons learned on that baseball diamond, that switch hitting became the foundation on which everything I did in life would be based. My being a switch hitter in every thing I did as a child, are the reasons I survived my childhood. Coach, taught me then, what I would utilize as an adult, where I have had to put into place an immediate switch hit scenario in mind, then follow through. Since adolescence, I employed my switch hitting abilities and skills to school, other sports, hobbies and the places of employment and businesses that I held management positions with throughout the years. Many times over an MVP, these switch hitting skills helped make million's of dollars for a few companies I've spent some awesome good years with. I smile. And wish to say, "Thanks, Coach!"
"The switch hitters are always at a premium in every day businesses."
Look, I share as an adult, the over due embrace of these vibes and energies. These energies that still inhabit the spirit's deep within. I have had many hits and many misses in my 19,500 days here on my Earth Mother. If I missed, I swung again, if I miss, I swing again. And again. The energy I feel is Spiritual. The words I have shared are said in gladness and with hopes that this embrace remains intact for the reminder of my days. Damn it, to those numbers, not years, or decades, but days. Shit. Mahong.
Deep.
Saturday, June 1, 2013
A Cigarette?
I want to smoke a cigarette,
but I don't smoke.
I would surly choke
as if by a garrote, this puff
and smoke of a cigarette.
I have learned that for some
folks like me, who can sometimes
not breath, from all the Asthma, and
the bronchitis's and all of
those damned pneumonia's.
The smoke means death for me.
And, I would so rather
breathe than smoke
Once upon a time,
I had to make a decision.
Was I to continue smoking?
As I did since twelve, or did
I want to breath? Smoke or
breath? Breath or smoke?
I want to smoke a cigarette,
but I don't smoke.
I would surly choke
as if by garrote, a puff
and smoke of a cigarette.
I have been in the emergency
department, on bended knee,
knocking on Heaven's Door,
dieing and trying to breath.
To fight to take, my Dear God,
one more breathe, please.
Once upon a time,
I had to make a decision.
Was I to continue smoking?
As I did since twelve, or did
I want to breath? Smoke or
breath? Breath or smoke?
Live or die? Die or live?
Smoke or breath? Breath
or smoke. Cigars, cigarette's.
Cigarette's, cigars?
but I don't smoke.
I would surly choke
as if by a garrote, this puff
and smoke of a cigarette.
I have learned that for some
folks like me, who can sometimes
not breath, from all the Asthma, and
the bronchitis's and all of
those damned pneumonia's.
The smoke means death for me.
And, I would so rather
breathe than smoke
Once upon a time,
I had to make a decision.
Was I to continue smoking?
As I did since twelve, or did
I want to breath? Smoke or
breath? Breath or smoke?
I want to smoke a cigarette,
but I don't smoke.
I would surly choke
as if by garrote, a puff
and smoke of a cigarette.
I have been in the emergency
department, on bended knee,
knocking on Heaven's Door,
dieing and trying to breath.
To fight to take, my Dear God,
one more breathe, please.
Once upon a time,
I had to make a decision.
Was I to continue smoking?
As I did since twelve, or did
I want to breath? Smoke or
breath? Breath or smoke?
Live or die? Die or live?
Smoke or breath? Breath
or smoke. Cigars, cigarette's.
Cigarette's, cigars?
These Past Eight Or So Weeks
Relations,
These past eight or so weeks, have been more than just my usual walk as I walk my path in life and as I do attempt to keep calm and move along. These eight or so weeks have been enlightening and also an educational process from which there were and are many lessons for me to be taught and learned. For example, I say, the dozens of injections are tolerated well because, I feel and so see it is necessary to get me to that foreseeable next level. On this subject of injections, pills, tablets, and compounds, these past eight weeks have been high on the medicinal additions and I eat each pill as it is ordered by my doctor's. Daily, morning and night. Sadly, I do not see an end to the influx of injections and the self administration of medication's. I stretch my finger's to catch a hold of that rope to hold on to, even when I know there's more to come.
My Good God.
During these past eight weeks, I have been in crisis in some shape or another, and did dial the 211, on one occasion. Almost, as if seen out of focus, I put my combat boots on and did what I had to do for "my" State of Better Health, Mind, Body, and Spirit. I have seen in some and other's, a genuine support, an understanding, guidance, and in so many cases an awesome unconditional love established. While with few, I saw, felt, and had hold of an ill perception of...
...and no, I don't like having Folk's all up and into my face about my business, because I know what I have to do for my business. Being Me, being the business. That's not easy for me to say, my dear friend, though not so much more any way's, this past eight weeks of my life.
Any way's.
I ran myself like a crazed Wild Pony of The Plains, and ran myself hard, and tried hard to push myself to get better, to do more, to make each and every so many doctor appointments. And to have failed. What is that?! The sicknesses of Meniere's prevented me from being seen by He-Who-Touched-My-Brain, just yesterday. He, who is the Very Doctor to diagnose me with this disease, Meniere's. Oui? Oui.
And with so many Little Blue Bus schedule's to coordinate, for labs, MRI's and X Rays, my appointments at the TGH Compound and the Campus of The Memorial Hospital, amongst visits to counselor and therapist. Girl, please.
Busy is as busy does and damn it, these past eight or so weeks have slipped right on by.
These past eight or so weeks, have been more than just my usual walk as I walk my path in life and as I do attempt to keep calm and move along. These eight or so weeks have been enlightening and also an educational process from which there were and are many lessons for me to be taught and learned. For example, I say, the dozens of injections are tolerated well because, I feel and so see it is necessary to get me to that foreseeable next level. On this subject of injections, pills, tablets, and compounds, these past eight weeks have been high on the medicinal additions and I eat each pill as it is ordered by my doctor's. Daily, morning and night. Sadly, I do not see an end to the influx of injections and the self administration of medication's. I stretch my finger's to catch a hold of that rope to hold on to, even when I know there's more to come.
My Good God.
During these past eight weeks, I have been in crisis in some shape or another, and did dial the 211, on one occasion. Almost, as if seen out of focus, I put my combat boots on and did what I had to do for "my" State of Better Health, Mind, Body, and Spirit. I have seen in some and other's, a genuine support, an understanding, guidance, and in so many cases an awesome unconditional love established. While with few, I saw, felt, and had hold of an ill perception of...
...and no, I don't like having Folk's all up and into my face about my business, because I know what I have to do for my business. Being Me, being the business. That's not easy for me to say, my dear friend, though not so much more any way's, this past eight weeks of my life.
Any way's.
I ran myself like a crazed Wild Pony of The Plains, and ran myself hard, and tried hard to push myself to get better, to do more, to make each and every so many doctor appointments. And to have failed. What is that?! The sicknesses of Meniere's prevented me from being seen by He-Who-Touched-My-Brain, just yesterday. He, who is the Very Doctor to diagnose me with this disease, Meniere's. Oui? Oui.
And with so many Little Blue Bus schedule's to coordinate, for labs, MRI's and X Rays, my appointments at the TGH Compound and the Campus of The Memorial Hospital, amongst visits to counselor and therapist. Girl, please.
Busy is as busy does and damn it, these past eight or so weeks have slipped right on by.
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