he was trying to lift the
hazyreturn to a kind of normalcy – who likes that – return from the reelingthe
unexpected difficult death
is difficult reversals are difficultchallenging and holding his own counsel he preached to the choir
but its the stuff of Life
the mornings black coffee an
dates werent going to avert or rectify itnot the not-so-daily Irish whiskey
either
in the wake of his stream-of-consciousnessthe
brisk chat between his consciousness and unconsciousness it roiled and tossed from its
bed indignant spoiled
having to be reminded Youre in this
too the bland dumb look on its face it was in it it couldnt be an ostrichits head suck in the warm loam even if it wanted Yah yah yah yah UnderstoodGot it I got it
It getting it was always the huge
first step
his Unconsciousness played an enormous
part of his Consciousness largerhe thought than most people
he made his Unconsciousness dress
in a priests collarnot that he believed in priests or what they believed rather that the white stiff collar chaffing
its throat suggested a kind of sobriety and discretion avowed silence something to confide in that would have his best
interesttheir
best interest at heart
his Unconsciousness would always finally get around to be his best counsel he had to contend with its preliminary bullshit an harhar reminding him that
humour is the best medicinethe best disinfectant the best rosecoloured glassesthe brick hurtled through the glass wall
of the glass house his reality lived inside like a freshcleaned mirror reflecting
his uncle died
he refused a surgery to remove a brain
tumor that was already removed
his uncle understood his death was
imminent
he did too
but death is always unexpected
his mother was hospitalised
because she neglected herselfa neglect that was only exceeded by her
unmitigated concern for his fathers physical circumstances which were always
diceyhed never met a better craps player
his cousin revealed she had
breast cancer her sister died late last
year too late to her breast cancer to
remediate it
rendered in twothree months rendered awful but appropriate
rendered in twothree months rendered awful but appropriate
those were heaped atop his daughters
boithday celebration which he adamantly refused to step back or away from for
the news that found them
hed deal with it tomorrow
today was tomorrow
he was dealing with it
Consciously
Unconsciously
reckoning
You can run but you cant hide.
Yadont run from a bear
even his eight year old granddaughter
knew that You make yourself BIG. Right, Grampa?
he smiled secretly he made the obscene
wish she would never have to make herself BIG stand pat
inevitably
everyone does
1154, Monday,
30 4. 18
