21 April, 2005
orange coloured sky

...not spelled the same on any of Screamin' Jay Hawkins' LPs.

rather, on the short jaunt back from town, the twisty creeks looked more yellow than anything... or so it seemed in the periphery of my vision.
whiz. bam. alakazaam.

eyes crusty with the flocking of pollen, molar sore from the earlier ear blockage, promises of the garden of medical delights... no wonder my mental playlist is dipping deeper into the sinister. with the imminent alien anal probe lurking in the next twenty-four hours, my nerves are shot... my brain playing the"what if?" game, that only serves to magnify the tension and the geriatric preponderance for aches and pains.

i know, logically, that the apprehensions are probably for naught. thanks to the generational skip that made my sustained good health possible (channeling my grandmother's almost to the "T"), i've been more than lucky.

of course, there was that three-week hell just as my sophomore year in high school was commencing... a feared ulcer or polyp bleed-out that required the same procedures that i'll, ahem, "face" tomorrow.

history loves to repeat past horrors... perhaps, one fine day, a repetition of more pleasant things may be possible. ah, yes... when i grown too old to dream....

"lucky". that's probably the best word for it. considering the daily ordeal that my brother faced since his eleventh year, luck of the genetics must be the key... the difference in patriarchal DNA, the crux of the matter. that was when he nearly sunk into a diabetic coma, unexpected and almost undetected. from that day forward, his life revolved around daily injections and forced obsession with urine tests and dietary exclusions. then blindness. then kidney failure. then a burst appendix. drug dependency. the failure of the medical estblishment. the attending yoke of poverty. then, the .38 barrel in the mouth.

yeah, call me "lucky".

hence, the apprehension. never, have i entered into a hospital of any sort that i did not absorb the vibe of painful experimentation, imperious and menacing and judgmental personnel, the presence of the "machine" of doom. the best visual i can picture is the unfortunate AbuGrahib"Detainee" tenuously standing on the wooden box, shrouded in the black-peaked hood with the electrical leads attached to the fingers... leading to... Scylla and Charbdis? heaven and hell? the lady or the tiger?

fuck.

maybe when i get real food back into my system, some of this blackness may cease. nothing more than some miso soup, pears, nutrigrain bars, and liquids have passed my lips since Tuesday. the real fast isn't supposed to begin until... two hours from now. at which point, i get to shit myself silly.

until then, the other mental image... the bug spun in a silky cocoon, the spider approaching for the soul-sucking... is burned into my head like the display on a worn out computer monitor.

whiz. bam. alakazaam

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