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alzheimer demon Sunday, 22 January 2006

Posted by cerebralgraffitti in melancholy, mental illness, nursing, poetry.
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memory, mind, dignity
devoured by this demon …
alzheimer’s … who siphons souls,
a trail of empty shells strewn in its wake
who settles on faces it possesses
like a shadow crosses a wall of clear gleaming light
traces of wisdom, regret, and sometimes love
erased from creases time has pressed into
friable skin,
replaced with
fear … suspicion … hostility
or … worse …
replaced with nothingness
a sweet flowing spring
has run dry

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silent moments Saturday, 21 January 2006

Posted by cerebralgraffitti in erotica, melancholy, stories.
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(a continuation of ‘mona lisa man’)

my mona lisa man stood near the door inside the small terminal building. a single shoulder bag sat on the floor, at his feet. he wore a blue jacket over his crisp white shirt … 4-bar epaulets and pilot’s wings glowed in the streaming midday sun. my heart sat in my throat like a stone, skipping a beat when we touched in an embrace. his lips gently brushed my cheek … the hush of his breath in my hair … a flash of goosebumps – mine … and his hands traced the curves of my body, like they had visited these places before.

his touch stirred in me a deep, desperate longing … longing that lurks in the dark recesses of a shattered heart. a longing i thought i could deny, when i thought i’d never see my mona lisa man again. now … this longing haunted me … a restless ghost, enticing me … beckoning me … teasing me. his voice – exotic, european – enveloped me like warm, rich chocolate … creamy, sweet, smooth … so tantalizing, leaving me thirst for more … more … and … more … my mouth felt hot and dry and desire burned in my lips …

we three rode through the small mediterranean town, to his lonely, highrise apartment … we talked about regret, estrangement, and the dark despair of grieving. he spoke tenderly of his wife’s death from cancer three months ago, his self-imposed estrangement from his family during her final days and disownment by his son and daughter for failing to witness his wife draw her last breath.

my husband remained silent, the kind of silent that comes from feeling choked, as i solemnly recounted the details of our youngest son’s untimely demise … the words tumbled from my lips, sailing on a stream of regret, longing and cavernous loneliness as i recalled a loss that could only be described as ‘plucked away’ … as in a large, bright and deeply-rooted feather deliberately plucked from a bird’s plumage …

i did not speak of my husband’s inability and unwillingness to conceive of parenting anything ever again, his oppressive despair at this crushing blow, or the bitter taste of what-could’ve-been that resided in his kisses and lingered on his tongue … all of these things lurked in the lines and angles of his face and lived in the undulations of his voice. i did not speak of the oppresive sorrow … grief over the loss of our youngest son … that extinguished the passion which once fired our marriage. or the desperate emptiness i felt as i wallowed in its charred remains …

i think these resided in our tentative physical contact: the way each flinched reflexively when touched by the other, as though stung. i contemplated all these things i failed to speak of, as we silently disembarked the taxi and waited for the lift … in these moments, grief settled upon us all like flour settles on damp skin …

tension lived in all the silent moments that followed … heavy … weighty … oppressive. i pondered silently now that i understood the intimate familiarity, the enchantment, the captivation … the magnetism of the connection i had forged in that utility closet with my mona lisa man.

… to be continued …

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piece-full death Wednesday, 18 January 2006

Posted by cerebralgraffitti in melancholy, nursing, stories.
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the obit said he died peacefully at the hospital … a fucking lie … a real fucking LIE … and i should know – i watched him die. it haunts me still, his death. Filled with pieces of undigested food, mixed with old blood, vomit, bile, and scented with shit – i recall it as most violent, certainly not peaceful.

v-i-o-l-e-n-t. that’s how i categorize this story in my head. no weapons of any kind. no alteractions. no gunshot. no stabbing. merely violent death by cancer. what else do you call it when the paramedic is ‘bagging’ the guy (i.e. using a bag-valve-mask to artificially respirate the patient) and coffee ground, bloody and shit-scented vomit shoots out of the one-way valve. we were trying to breath for this patient and all we ended up doing is ‘pumping’ the fluid out of his lungs. he died before we could every displace all that bloody, shit-vomit from his lungs with good ole oxygen.

he died with no loved ones in his midst. with no one holding his hand. alone. with two nurses and two paramedics farting into thunder, trying save his life. the doctor, comfortably sleeping in his small town bed when i called to inform him of his patient’s sudden demise, snorted at the thought of leaving his nice warm bed to carry out his duty to his patient. and all he could say, when he did finally arrive to sign the death certificate, etc. etc., is stupidly remark how i should have taken my gloves off before entering the nursing station …

i recall the thick, sickly thud of the vomit hitting the tv cabinet beside the bed as it rapidly shot out of the one-way valve. i recall the gutteral wretching sound, orginating from the depths of his gut, and the force of the projectile vomit as it shot out of his mouth like a high-powered missile. i recall the frantic desperation that descended on all of us in the room as we saw this patient slipping away, toward death.

i recall the lightening speed with which we erased all traces of the truth from the room – the tell tale linen, the resuscitation equipment, the splattering on the cabinet, floor and the patient himself. it haunts me. haunt. haunt. i did not know this patient. but i cried for him, we cried for him.

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nature’s balance Wednesday, 18 January 2006

Posted by cerebralgraffitti in melancholy, nature, nursing, stories.
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she had become a thinly clothed skeleton swimming in a white hospital gown. her eyes sunk into her skull, a sign of severe dehydration. days had passed since she last ate or drank anything per os. i stood there, recalling the spunky and often challenging attitude she presented the nurses early in her hospital stay.

now, those crystal blue eyes remained distant, and barely opened. as we repositioned her, i could feel death approaching. she did not resist, did not even flinch when we touched her . . . just continued her very tentative breathing pattern. her ankles and feet took on a mottled hue and the scent of death lingered around her. it only took a hour, maybe less . . . her spirit chose to depart when alone in her room.

Her family arrived within minutes, to pay their last respects – children and grandchildren – they took turns at her bedside. as i stood with the family, gathered in the hall just outside her room, we heard the distinct cry of a newborn babe . . . one of the children spoke: “hey . . .listen . . .”

we all stood in hallowed silence, listening to the cry of new life … the year’s first at that facility … as we pondered the passing of an old life … also the year’s first …

that’s nature’s balance, i guess

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cerebral burn … Tuesday, 17 January 2006

Posted by cerebralgraffitti in melancholy, poetry.
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the flames of anger
crackle and spit deep inside me
my spirit searing
my psyche, sizzling
i can feel the millions upon millions of synapses
stinging … burning …
rage … the cerebral burn …
a 4th degree burn …
… rage, a fire that consumes all in its path …
leaving a charred, scarred trail of ash
a hollow shell … no substance … no life …
death … rage …
immortalized
by the damage they leave behind

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hole in my soul … Tuesday, 17 January 2006

Posted by cerebralgraffitti in melancholy, poetry.
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drained…
hollow…
longing…
yearning…
lonely…
alone…
disconnected…
cut off…
infinite sadness.
my heart and lungs expand, contract, tho’ i do not feel alive.
the heaviness of sorrow…
a grief tamponade…
this feeling will never go away.

deception…
lies…
control…
manipulatation.
i don’t know why i’m crying.
can’t stop …
can’t start.
why do some people deplete energy?
why does death rape and pillage.
why …?

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invisible Tuesday, 17 January 2006

Posted by cerebralgraffitti in melancholy, poetry.
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phantom spirit in the wind
darkness pinches my heart
dusty, water-stained sepia photograph
time: a thin film veils my life
indelible imprint

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plucked away Tuesday, 17 January 2006

Posted by cerebralgraffitti in melancholy, poetry.
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searing …soul crushing …relentless pain
smothering me
the fruit of my mothering …
plucked away from me …
but … why …
and reduced to a large plastic bag

he came to collect your belongings today
the man walked out with everything … you …
casually, like a bag of garbage

the door closes behind the man with the bag
leaving me imprisoned in my sorrow
an image of you, etched in my heart
elfin child – soft ivory skin, long chestnut lashes
intoxicating squeals of laughter

each day that passes
without you
the deeper and more palpable my loss becomes
my respirates
i do not feel alive

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seagull Tuesday, 17 January 2006

Posted by cerebralgraffitti in melancholy, nature, poetry.
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a lover’s cry mournful
seagull screeches bleed into
the lonely silence

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desire Tuesday, 17 January 2006

Posted by cerebralgraffitti in melancholy, poetry.
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d e s i r e … w a n t … l o n g i n g …
they wash over me like
a spring rain shower

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wulf … act two Tuesday, 17 January 2006

Posted by cerebralgraffitti in melancholy, poetry.
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setting fire to paint thinner in the basement
i got a spanking for that one
setting fire to my big brother’s pants
stealing from the neighbourhood cellars
when we blew the food budget at the disco
sending my parents blank ‘letters’
on correspondence day
in exchange for my weekly allowance at boring school,
also known as boarding school
i wonder why mom and dad never said anything
going for joyrides with my brother when he stole mom’s car
the cops didn’t believe i took the car …
especially considering my feet didn’t reach the pedals
seeing the expression on mom’s face
when she saw the large water bong
crudely set into the gaping hole
i punched out of her favourite teak coffee table

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wulf … act one Tuesday, 17 January 2006

Posted by cerebralgraffitti in melancholy, poetry.
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mom and dad collected things
stuff mostly … money …
trips to exotic destinations
us children
you see, my parents didn’t actually realize
that children actually serve a purpose
beyond making their parents feel good
about adding to the collection
we attended boarding school
so that mom could keep track
of where dad put his dick
i feel like i raised myself sometimes
i watched a man blow his nose with a ten dollar bill in Dakar, Senegal
i drank powdered milk with dugout water in Libya
a hash dealer raped me in Israel
i got shot at, walking to school in Algiers
i wonder how many times mom watered the marijuana plant
i kept on the balcony of her Lausanne apartment

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the prey Tuesday, 17 January 2006

Posted by cerebralgraffitti in melancholy, poetry.
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your rank breath tasted of sour milk
car grease embedded in your fingernails
black soot pressed in the creases of your hands
fear, your sweet opium
sos – i seek refuge
who will rescue me from
you, a restless sexual vulture -
a vortex that hungers insatiably
fear anger shame hang thickly
an impenetrable fog

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