Okay, younguns, this post ain’t going to be anything like Billy Joel’s hit song, "Only the Good Die Young”, in which a young man tries to talk a young woman into giving up her rosary beads and chastity to make him happy- so grab your best hold.
In my email box this morning:
Wait
By: Galway Kinnell
POETIC OUTLAWSAPR 03, 2024Wait, for now.
Distrust everything, if you have to.
But trust the hours. Haven't they
carried you everywhere, up to now?
Personal events will become interesting again.
Hair will become interesting.
Pain will become interesting.
Buds that open out of season will become lovely again.
Second-hand gloves will become lovely again,
their memories are what give them
the need for other hands. And the desolation
of lovers is the same: that enormous emptiness
carved out of such tiny beings as we are
asks to be filled; the need
for the new love is faithfulness to the old.
Wait.
Don't go too early.
You're tired. But everyone's tired.
But no one is tired enough.
Only wait a while and listen.
Music of hair,
Music of pain,
music of looms weaving all our loves again.
Be there to hear it, it will be the only time,
most of all to hear,
the flute of your whole existence,
rehearsed by the sorrows, play itself into total exhaustion.
Sloan Bashinsky
Sloan’s Newletter
The young have so much to look forward to :-)
81+, waiting on the Lord to take me,
I wake up each morning
wondering why I’m still here?
I lie in bed
thinking about my dreams,
what do they mean about today?
I might do some low back and pelvis stretches,
I might not.
I crawl out of bed,
walk to the bathroom to pee,
again
How long’s it been
since I had a boner?
Before the 2000 covid 19 isolation prostate cancer radiation-
my urologist said the PSA count is terrific now,
he wants his patients die from
what other doctors can’t fix-
I said I call people like you
motherfuckers-
he laughed,
I laughed,
we decided he didn’t have to
dilate my pee pee drain for a while longer,
excruciating pain,
so I could keep peeing.
the radiation created scar tissue,
narrowing the pee pee drain,
bladder cancer might get me first,
he mirthed,
I said I call people like you,
motherfuckers,
he laughed-
nothing about that when he and the X-ray doc
explained the risks of radiation v. surgery,
motherfuckers
they kept me alive -
my PSA was 22.
now it’s .02.
He prescribed generic Viagra
in case an opportunity came,
not yet,
don’t even know if the pill will work,
he said he wanted to receive my ravings,
I said be careful what you ask for :-).
Radiation messed with my gut,
which had messed with me since it arrived,
in one day, age 26,
never the same again,
fuck me
Medicine impotent.
Psychiatry impotent.
Healers impotent.
Praying impotent.
Church impotent.
Meditation impotent.
Radionics helped for a few days,
then whatever was causing it
punished my gut something awful,
and I told the radionics guy
to turn off his machine.
Some far out channeling folks prescribed
affirmations and postures,
Which helped
liked the radionics had helped,
until what was causing it
punished my gut something awful
and I stopped doing the affirmations and postures.
A naturopath prescribed germanium,
and that really helped until
a terrible pneumonia arrived.
I tried that again, same result,
that’s how I figured out it was a God thing.
Fuck me.
It lifted on its own a couple of times,
briefly,
then it returned.
Yeah, it was a God thing.
Now I’m taking magnesium supplement
recommended by a miracle healer psychical therapist,
as directed in a dream-
maybe God approved it,
I hope so,
because it’s helping some,
and the alternative is,
well,
feeling most of the time
like cancer is eating my gut alive.
My legs numb from the thighs down.
Nothing can be done,
the neurologist said.
My spine has been run over
and mangled a few times,
So don’t fall down and hope I
will help you up-
I’ll be flat on my back,
my spine shrieking.
Ailing pets kindly put down,
I’m expected to outlive
their veterinarians and my doctors,
no matter what the cost or pain,
fuck me.
Ah, but each day
something happens
that causes me to feel
I’m still still supposed to be here,
writing something,
saying something,
experiencing something,
of this world,
beyond this world,
which causes me to feel
kinda ok,
even as I wonder
why I’m still here?
Mother Fuckers
Headed now to see my internist,
a scientist,
6 month's check up,
I probably won't mention any of this
to him :-)
Snappyred
Snappyred’s Substack
maybe you're still here to keep life in perspective for the rest of us. My own pain becomes nothing in the light of your suffering and I become thankful again, hopeful again and kinda ok.
Perhaps, but later yesterday, my internist look skeptical about the magnesium and by dinnertime my gut was on fire, and it stayed on fire, and it’s still on fire this morning, and I’m thinking the magnesium looks like just another Lucy snatching the football away from the gullible Charlie Brown prank, and I’m hoping the Lord will take me, but not before I attend a really important meeting at noon.
There’s always something each day that I need to do.
What do I know?
What does anyone know?
This past Easter weekend, I had a wonderful time visiting one of my daughters and her husband and their dogs.
Yesterday morning, I had fun writing the comment at Poetic Outlaws.
After seeing my internist yesterday and cutting up with his staff, I had a fun mood-improving physical therapist session, during which I went off into another realm for a while, which happens every time during physical therapy.
Then, I had fun playing chess with a rural pastor friend, who I imagine would freak out if he lived in my skin.
Last night, despite the fire in my gut, I had an enjoyable dinner with a woman friend, who has plenty of ails of her own.
Thanks to my ailing tech friend Bob, who is about half my age, and AI programs, free, no ads The Redneck Mystic Lawyer Podcast averages 300,000 complete watches per episode in the Torrent platforms around the world, and my dozen or so digital metaphysical books and novels at the free internet library, archive.org, are read in 33 languages at the rate of about 8-12 thousand complete reads per book, per month. My 3 consumer protection books carried by the Prentice-Hall division of Simon & Schuster in the mid-1980s sold about 30,000 copies, total.
People’s memories of me, the good, the bad, the beautiful and the ugly, and cyber technology will keep me alive on Earth a lot longer than nature, my doctors and I ever dreamed.
sloanbashinsky@yahoo.com
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