Father and Son Another gray hair springs up on my head: a dandelion in a suburban lawn. I’m getting old. I now strategize how I am going to pull myself off the floor, which result in pushing, but not too hard, cause then my bum left wrist will act up, sending pain messages: "This is a test of the Emergency Alert System. Sometime in the distant past you fucked up your wrist. We don't know why, but it hurts so don't put much pressure on it. This is only a test." Oh, my, I’m getting old. Taking a shit is now a sort of study session, where two hours later I reappear after finishing the latest double issue of Rolling Stone . I'm debating moving a book shelf into the bathroom, so I'm never forced to abort because I finished what was at hand. Yet, I'm peeing every 20 minutes as if my prostate has swelled and now presses up against my bladder like dancing with a drunk cowboy at a Country & Western Bar. Oh, my God! I'm getti...
Confessions of a Human Nerve Ending: Poet-Writer-Rhetor-Monologist- Photographer-Dudeist Priest