Patrick Fealey's Blog, page 9
December 23, 2012
not free yet
not free yet
when we went to bail greg
out of prison
i brought a six-pack
in my bag
he’d been in 30 days
and was thirsty
i paid the bail cop
and we waited
greg came through the doors
he was not excited
or even social
but suppressed
and delayed
a cunt had fucked him over
told cops a story
she would take back in court
to save greg from three strikes
on the prison grounds
we ducked behind a hedge
and cracked our beers
greg relaxed
opened
returned
back in newport we hit billy’s
i left the bar for my room
to retrieve greg’s home-coming
present
greg took the barrel of morphine
into the men’s room
while john and i drank
greg came out fast
he grabbed us off our stools
saying, “LET’S GO! LET’S GET
OUT OF HERE! NOW!”
he was too high, he said
and i was not stoked to leave the bar
in the street greg was more agitated
than high
he feared everyone in the bar
would know
he had shot up
that he was too fucked up
to be seen in public
as if this had worried
him
before
December 22, 2012
NO KILL
NO KILL
i fell on my head in the sebec river
and woke up talking to a fire hydrant
on telegraph ave. in berkeley california
this could happen to you too if you were brave
enough for derangement
and bodily harm
yes, pain is good
readjusts perspectives
humbles
brightens the fact
that you are mortal
and you are going to die and it will probably hurt – we get a glimpse at an exit while savoring
life
oil trucks, pick-up trucks, lumber trucks, a train –
a parade louder than a fourth of july tuba
all day every day
we’re supposed to be on a farm here
but we’ve got this road
it leads to a lumber mill
and we also have the freight train
i hear it coming now 5:50 a.m.
one guy, i guess you’d call him an
engineer
his grandmother lives
with the tracks in her backyard
a few houses down
this guy, i guess you’d call him an
asshole
blows hello to grandma
every morning
trees bend over
birds fly away
the horn flies off the train
even turtles run
hi grandma!
the old lady laughs it off
she says she can’t hear a thing
power of ravens’ wings
see the light through the feathers
the viola buzz of mosquitoes
bumbling choruses of bees
my affection will not unlock
i don’t understand crickets
but i can hear this typer
i hear predators at night
fishers, martens, bob cats, great horned owls
devouring fawns, cats, porcupines
wails, growls and shrieks and plaintive peeps
black flies and mosquitoes
trying to eat me
leaves falling in august
while peter’s wood saw
is one more sound
to drown the whispering
of the blueberries
the lack of humanity
reminds me i was in a duel once
it wasn’t over a woman
it was existential boredom
a case of dislike in the moment and
a case of “why not?”
it was was winter
i remember the blood on the snow
electrifying my vision
i can attest to the obvious:
getting shot hurts
but less and less
and i’ve been hurt worse in gang fights, a stabbing, and accidents.
after five concussions
spewing blood onto the snow has a routine quality to it
his bullet went through where my mustache would have been, knocking out five teeth on it’s way out the side of my face
i was choking on blood and fragments
my bullet collapsed his right lung
as soon as we knew what we had done
we realized our fathers would kick our asses
“we can’t tell anyone,” he gasped,
as we bled into the bathroom sink.
“fuck that. you’re going to die.” “my father will kill me.” “we’ll keep the cops out of it, but
not doctors.”
the sonofabitch had no exit wound
which meant he was going to really get his ass
kicked
it was just a wintery day in the snow and a vacuous gray sky
his late grandfather had left us a full bar
and these pistols
there is something about a gun that creates the imperative to use it and we had animosities
his jealousies
i had lost my virginity
to olivia newton john
and he was a virgin
still jerking off to films from denmark
and i was attracting attention for my trumpet playing – recordings, concerts with miles davis
whereas he had quit
the horn and had went to a big name private school
where parents afforded the huge tuitions
to make their average progeny appear elite
the guy had many reasons to dislike me
but not to kill me
which is what he had tried to do
the rule was
shoot below the heart
below the midline
but he was a sociopath
who killed every bird, woodchuck,
chipmunk, dove, crow, catbird and cat that came into his
grandmother’s yard with perfect head shots
he shot me inches from my brain
why would i want to shoot him?
because he suggested shooting me
when i got home, i avoided my old man.
he was capable of taking a ball-peen hammer
to my mouth
and then pouring clorox into it
i waited for mom, who was a nurse
she looked at my face, mouth, throat – “not too bad”
and called my friend’s father
who did not know
his son was carrying a bullet
mom set up a clandestine operation
no cops involved
just her, an anesthesiologist, and her surgeon friend
the doc laughed
as he pulled the bullet from my friend
like he was taking part in something special
the gangster surgeon
who had found his first bullet
i couldn’t play trumpet for awhile and had countless trips to oral surgeons and dentists
but we both recovered totally
though it took him longer because his father was punching him in the face
every day
he and i did not hang out anymore – which might have been the point
i fell on my head in the sebec river
and woke up talking to a fire hydrant
on telegraph ave. in berkeley california
this could happen to you too if you were brave
enough for derangement
and bodily harm
yes, pain is good
readjusts perspectives
humbles
brightens the fact
that you are mortal
and you are going to die and it will probably hurt – we get a glimpse at an exit while savoring
life
oil trucks, pick-up trucks, lumber trucks, a train –
a parade louder than a fourth of july tuba
all day every day
we’re supposed to be on a farm here
but we’ve got this road
it leads to a lumber mill
and we also have the freight train
i hear it coming now 5:50 a.m.
one guy, i guess you’d call him an
engineer
his grandmother lives
with the tracks in her backyard
a few houses down
this guy, i guess you’d call him an
asshole
blows hello to grandma
every morning
trees bend over
birds fly away
the horn flies off the train
even turtles run
hi grandma!
the old lady laughs it off
she says she can’t hear a thing
power of ravens’ wings
see the light through the feathers
the viola buzz of mosquitoes
bumbling choruses of bees
my affection will not unlock
i don’t understand crickets
but i can hear this typer
i hear predators at night
fishers, martens, bob cats, great horned owls
devouring fawns, cats, porcupines
wails, growls and shrieks and plaintive peeps
black flies and mosquitoes
trying to eat me
leaves falling in august
while peter’s wood saw
is one more sound
to drown the whispering
of the blueberries
the lack of humanity
reminds me i was in a duel once
it wasn’t over a woman
it was existential boredom
a case of dislike in the moment and
a case of “why not?”
it was was winter
i remember the blood on the snow
electrifying my vision
i can attest to the obvious:
getting shot hurts
but less and less
and i’ve been hurt worse in gang fights, a stabbing, and accidents.
after five concussions
spewing blood onto the snow has a routine quality to it
his bullet went through where my mustache would have been, knocking out five teeth on it’s way out the side of my face
i was choking on blood and fragments
my bullet collapsed his right lung
as soon as we knew what we had done
we realized our fathers would kick our asses
“we can’t tell anyone,” he gasped,
as we bled into the bathroom sink.
“fuck that. you’re going to die.” “my father will kill me.” “we’ll keep the cops out of it, but
not doctors.”
the sonofabitch had no exit wound
which meant he was going to really get his ass
kicked
it was just a wintery day in the snow and a vacuous gray sky
his late grandfather had left us a full bar
and these pistols
there is something about a gun that creates the imperative to use it and we had animosities
his jealousies
i had lost my virginity
to olivia newton john
and he was a virgin
still jerking off to films from denmark
and i was attracting attention for my trumpet playing – recordings, concerts with miles davis
whereas he had quit
the horn and had went to a big name private school
where parents afforded the huge tuitions
to make their average progeny appear elite
the guy had many reasons to dislike me
but not to kill me
which is what he had tried to do
the rule was
shoot below the heart
below the midline
but he was a sociopath
who killed every bird, woodchuck,
chipmunk, dove, crow, catbird and cat that came into his
grandmother’s yard with perfect head shots
he shot me inches from my brain
why would i want to shoot him?
because he suggested shooting me
when i got home, i avoided my old man.
he was capable of taking a ball-peen hammer
to my mouth
and then pouring clorox into it
i waited for mom, who was a nurse
she looked at my face, mouth, throat – “not too bad”
and called my friend’s father
who did not know
his son was carrying a bullet
mom set up a clandestine operation
no cops involved
just her, an anesthesiologist, and her surgeon friend
the doc laughed
as he pulled the bullet from my friend
like he was taking part in something special
the gangster surgeon
who had found his first bullet
i couldn’t play trumpet for awhile and had countless trips to oral surgeons and dentists
but we both recovered totally
though it took him longer because his father was punching him in the face
every day
he and i did not hang out anymore – which might have been the point
December 21, 2012
no cure
No Cure
Is it again or is it always?
Oh no, not again
Life, the greatest virus,
Hides in itself, the uninvited
Opportunist
The host cannot live without
The ocean, black, patient with menace,
Is a straight philosopher
The galley is set for cannibals,
Tongues against teeth, the sounds!
And blood on the walls
And sidewalks
The advantages of a grass blade
Clumps sprouting from
Apathetic nutrients
Know when to stop
We roam on a cursed breeze
With shared destinies,
We are roaming, bent
A drowned ballet feeding like barnacles
Is it again or is it always?
Oh no, not again
Life, the greatest virus,
Hides in itself, the uninvited
Opportunist
The host cannot live without
The ocean, black, patient with menace,
Is a straight philosopher
The galley is set for cannibals,
Tongues against teeth, the sounds!
And blood on the walls
And sidewalks
The advantages of a grass blade
Clumps sprouting from
Apathetic nutrients
Know when to stop
We roam on a cursed breeze
With shared destinies,
We are roaming, bent
A drowned ballet feeding like barnacles
December 20, 2012
my next best friend
my next best friend
you’ve been crippled by manic-depression? light bothers my eyes too.
i received your novel. I read the first ten pages and they are perfect! i wouldn't change a word! but i'm not going to read it because i don’t want it to affect my writing style.
thank you for the great painting. but if i hang it up, i won’t look at it, so i am putting it in my closet.
your best friend of ten years died? i thought you weren’t talking to him.
even though i met my wife long distance and then corresponded with my girlfriend, your long-distance relationship with marilyn isn't real.
do you think writing poetry is just a way to accomodate your drinking?
Love,
mike
mike,
you don't know who you are, but you know what you’re going to show me.
love,
pat
you’ve been crippled by manic-depression? light bothers my eyes too.
i received your novel. I read the first ten pages and they are perfect! i wouldn't change a word! but i'm not going to read it because i don’t want it to affect my writing style.
thank you for the great painting. but if i hang it up, i won’t look at it, so i am putting it in my closet.
your best friend of ten years died? i thought you weren’t talking to him.
even though i met my wife long distance and then corresponded with my girlfriend, your long-distance relationship with marilyn isn't real.
do you think writing poetry is just a way to accomodate your drinking?
Love,
mike
mike,
you don't know who you are, but you know what you’re going to show me.
love,
pat
December 19, 2012
my head will go first
none of them know
doctors excavate
while i swallow dirt
my parents
think they can have me
institutionalized
mother counts off the signatures
she needs on her hand
she’s one short
from giving me a
life behind the bricks
it is true my head is a poblem
but i’ll take care of this myself
my failing kidneys will never fail
i have not succumbed:
no liquid crystal television
no triple bypasses
no bulldozers
some say i will be damned
shoveling coal
into the boilers of the titanic
for eternity
drowning a billion times
doctors excavate
while i swallow dirt
my parents
think they can have me
institutionalized
mother counts off the signatures
she needs on her hand
she’s one short
from giving me a
life behind the bricks
it is true my head is a poblem
but i’ll take care of this myself
my failing kidneys will never fail
i have not succumbed:
no liquid crystal television
no triple bypasses
no bulldozers
some say i will be damned
shoveling coal
into the boilers of the titanic
for eternity
drowning a billion times
December 18, 2012
hollow man
this/that
so simple
quit
detox sends me home
and in minutes i am
drinking over the Librium
falling into rivers
falling on the floor
falling down the stairs
and when i try to stick a leg
in my jeans
i fall again
the director admonished, “you’ve
been here three times and it hasn’t
worked. come back any time.”
last night my mother asks
“what will you do when the
Librium runs out?”
“buy a case!”
nobody was amused
they’re never amused
if i look at the beer
case in a mini-mart
they frown and get nervous
i’m not amused either
because i am trying to quit,
but:
THERE IS NOTHING TO DO HERE!
i’ve been to detox three times
and i shook hands with sober
and he is not a bad guy
just a bit depressing and boring
December 17, 2012
scurvy
JACKSON: HOW’S THE SCURVY?
PADDY: PEOPLE THINK IT’S A JOKE. I’LL ADMIT, IN TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY AMERICA, IT IS FUNNY, BUT I’M NOT INTO IRONY. WHO TOLD YOU?
JACKSON: DANNY. AND YOU TOLD ME YOUR TEETH WERE FALLING OUT.
PADDY: HAVE YOU INTERVIEWED FATHER O’BRIEN?
JACKSON: I’VE TALKED TO HIM.
PADDY: MY HAIR IS ALSO FALLING OUT, BUT THE TEETH ARE HARDER TO DEAL WITH. IT TAKES TWO TO THREE MONTHS WITHOUT VITAMIN C TO GET SCURVY. I WENT ALL LAST WINTER WITHOUT C OR ANYTHING, TWICE AS LONG AS THAT. LAST WINTER I STARVED. I MAKE SIX-FIFTY A MONTH AND MY RENT IS FIVE-TWENTY.
JACKSON: DID YOU BRUSH YOUR TEETH?
PADDY: YES. MY TEETH WERE CLEAN WHEN I WENT IN. FIRST TIME SINCE EIGHTY-SEVEN AND THEY WERE CLEAN. CAUSE I DON’T EAT. THE HYGIENIST WAS ASTONISHED. I DON’T RECOMMEND IT. I RECOMMEND FOOD, SONICARE, AND LISTERINE. THEY HURT AND FALL OUT. THEY TURN TO POWDER OR THEY YANK THEM OUT WITH A PAIR OF PLYERS THREE FEET LONG. THE DENTIST WAS, HOW DO I PUT IT, INDIGNANT. HE ACTED LIKE I WAS GUILTY OF NOT FEEDING HIS TEETH. THE FACT IS MY TEETH SUFFERED POVERTY.
JACKSON: WHAT ABOUT HEROIN?
PADDY: IT COULD BE A FACTOR. PEOPLE ON JUNK LOSE THEIR TEETH, BUT IF YOU LIVED LIKE A JUNKIE, YOU’D LOSE YOUR TEETH TOO. I HAVEN’T TOUCHED THE STUFF IN FIVE YEARS. A DOCTOR TOLD ME THERE WAS NO CONNECTION, BUT I HAVE MY DOUBTS. THE RUSH HITS YOUR TEETH SWEETLY. GOES RIGHT TO THE NERVES. ZING! IT WOULD BE EASY TO SAY, YEAH, HEROIN IS A FACTOR. I DON’T KNOW. IT COULD BE ALL THE CAR EXHAUST I GET LIVING ON BROADWAY.
