Juliet Cook's Blog, page 156
August 30, 2011
better than dizzy
I am feeling much better than early yesterday (and the days preceding), which I wrote about a bit in the blog entry below.
For several days, I was experiencing some oddly uncomfy side effects from my EKG (most likely), but was feeling worried that my seizure pills were already creating ickfest side effects; blah.
I also experienced a small, unlikable phase of being reminded of last time I was in the hospital, which among other things, that experience seeemed to result in me losing love - thus yesterday morning I had an awful little bad spell of worrying that I might lose other important things this time.
What if I lose new friends, who don't wish to deal with some creepy old seizure lady?
What if I lose my poetic passion?
What if I lose all my natural hair color, which freakishly turns white from another stress infusion?
I feel better today though and don't think I am going to lose anything else.
Hopefully, the latest odd health condition was just a strange, small fluke.
Also, I got the latest darkly delicious Blood Pudding Press poetry chapbook added to my etsy shop yesterday - and will be writing a little blog entry about that haunted delight semi-soon.
Yay!
For several days, I was experiencing some oddly uncomfy side effects from my EKG (most likely), but was feeling worried that my seizure pills were already creating ickfest side effects; blah.
I also experienced a small, unlikable phase of being reminded of last time I was in the hospital, which among other things, that experience seeemed to result in me losing love - thus yesterday morning I had an awful little bad spell of worrying that I might lose other important things this time.
What if I lose new friends, who don't wish to deal with some creepy old seizure lady?
What if I lose my poetic passion?
What if I lose all my natural hair color, which freakishly turns white from another stress infusion?
I feel better today though and don't think I am going to lose anything else.
Hopefully, the latest odd health condition was just a strange, small fluke.
Also, I got the latest darkly delicious Blood Pudding Press poetry chapbook added to my etsy shop yesterday - and will be writing a little blog entry about that haunted delight semi-soon.
Yay!
August 29, 2011
Seizure Horror Fest
At the moment, I don't really feel like writing about this or doing much of anything, but if I don't write/do things, then what is the point of existing, so I guess I will give this a try.
This past week was an unexpectedly unfortunate, bad week for me. It was supposed to be a uniquely creative week, involving my first time being a part of the extra-special Kerouac Fest at the Grand Midway Hotel in Windber PA. Part of the festivities were going to involve me & Margaret Bashaar introducing Margaret's new poetry chapbook, 'LETTERS FROM ROOM 27 OF THE GRAND MIDWAY HOTEL' , which was inspired by the haunted hotel and published by my Blood Pudding Press. Unfortunately, I did not get to go and participate in that.
The day before I was to leave, I was working on packing my attire and took a quick break online. A few minutes after 3:00, I wrote a comment to Margaret on facebook. The next thing I knew, I woke up, was lying on my bed, and was gazing upon my new manikin with confusion, not remembering where it had come from. Even my older headless manikin seemed confusing. Even all the clothes lying on my bedroom floor and the passage of time seemed confusing.
As soon as I got up, it got worse. I felt nauseated, dizzy, faint, and as though I was about to pass out. I immediately become afraid that I was dying. About a year and a half ago, I had suffered from a sudden, unexpected carotid artery dissection which led to a couple aneurysms which led to a stroke. Was I having another stroke? Was I about to die? I felt like I was going to faint and collapse. I called my mom. As I glanced at my cell phone, I saw that it wasn't quite 4:00 yet, so it's not as though a lot of time had elapsed since I was online, but what had happened since then?
My sister and parents arrived to my house shortly. I was still feeling disoriented and dizzy – and we soon found out that I must have fallen down hard, because the back of my head was terribly bruised and painful. I later found out that the bottom of each elbow was also bruised. Within about an hour, most of my memory came back to me, except for the memory of when/how/why/where I had fallen down. I figured I had suddenly passed out but why? That is not something that often happens to me. I had been feeling fine that day, eating healthy, drinking plenty of water. I wasn't drinking any alcohol or doing any drugs. What the heck had happened?
We decided I should go to the emergency room just to make sure I did not have a concussion. I wasn't lucking forward to doing that; I was worried it would take several hours, when I still had packing and other last minute preparation for my trip, for which I was scheduled to depart via Megabus the next morning. Unfortunately, I did not end up departing. Even though my CAT scan did not indicate a concussion, they suggested the fact I couldn't remember what had happened made them feel as if I could have had a seizure, so they wanted to send me to the hospital for more testing.
Next thing I know I'm inside an ambulance, talking with the man behind me. I wasn't in a terrible mood because I was thinking that my hospital testing would last a few hours, then I'd be home and even though I would be rushed, I'd still have time to prepare for leaving the next morning. Well instead, I ended up being in the hospital from Tuesday night until Friday night, receiving multiple tests and lying around on a hospital bed with an IV inserted and a heart monitor plugged in. Instead of being part of an artsy extravaganza with poet and photo artist friends, I was a hospitalized, disabled, out of control old lady.
And then even though none of my testing indicated that I'd had a seizure, they still decided that I should take seizure pills, twice daily, just to be on the safe side. Well I have always been an anti-pill person; the last thing I want is some pill changing my personality, my passion, my sex drive, my interest in life, and/or making me fat. Blah blah BLAH.
I've not had a seizure before in my life; I don't have epilepsy. BUT sometimes people who suffer from a stroke then start having seizures, due to how the stroke affected their brain. BUT my stroke happened more than a year and a half ago, so why would seizures suddenly start overtaking me after all that time? After a rather crappy (sad, depressing, difficult) year or so, things were finally becoming so much happier and better - and now I'm going to start having seizures? I'm hoping it was just a weird fluke.
But even if it was a fluke, the pill I've been given is a seizure related pill – and research indicates that some people have bad side effects from it. I'm really quite nervous about it. Again, I don't want a pill to change my personality, my energy, my poeticism, or anything like that.
I don't want it to zone me out or make me unemotional. I don't want it to make me uninterested in poetry, uninterested in art, uninterested in knee highs, uninterested in almost everything.
I don't want a pill to change me. I don't want to be lacking in passion.
I've started taking the darn pill but have also started taking notes and will share some of those soon.
I could go into more detail and perhaps I shall later, but being in the hospital for four days and then feeling out of it and depressed my first few days home have put me behind, so for now I need to get to work on publishing and promoting the chapbook that I was supposed to have available live at a haunted hotel while hanging out with its scrumptious poet lady, but alas. Instead I'm all worried about seizure medicine. Blech.
This past week was an unexpectedly unfortunate, bad week for me. It was supposed to be a uniquely creative week, involving my first time being a part of the extra-special Kerouac Fest at the Grand Midway Hotel in Windber PA. Part of the festivities were going to involve me & Margaret Bashaar introducing Margaret's new poetry chapbook, 'LETTERS FROM ROOM 27 OF THE GRAND MIDWAY HOTEL' , which was inspired by the haunted hotel and published by my Blood Pudding Press. Unfortunately, I did not get to go and participate in that.
The day before I was to leave, I was working on packing my attire and took a quick break online. A few minutes after 3:00, I wrote a comment to Margaret on facebook. The next thing I knew, I woke up, was lying on my bed, and was gazing upon my new manikin with confusion, not remembering where it had come from. Even my older headless manikin seemed confusing. Even all the clothes lying on my bedroom floor and the passage of time seemed confusing.
As soon as I got up, it got worse. I felt nauseated, dizzy, faint, and as though I was about to pass out. I immediately become afraid that I was dying. About a year and a half ago, I had suffered from a sudden, unexpected carotid artery dissection which led to a couple aneurysms which led to a stroke. Was I having another stroke? Was I about to die? I felt like I was going to faint and collapse. I called my mom. As I glanced at my cell phone, I saw that it wasn't quite 4:00 yet, so it's not as though a lot of time had elapsed since I was online, but what had happened since then?
My sister and parents arrived to my house shortly. I was still feeling disoriented and dizzy – and we soon found out that I must have fallen down hard, because the back of my head was terribly bruised and painful. I later found out that the bottom of each elbow was also bruised. Within about an hour, most of my memory came back to me, except for the memory of when/how/why/where I had fallen down. I figured I had suddenly passed out but why? That is not something that often happens to me. I had been feeling fine that day, eating healthy, drinking plenty of water. I wasn't drinking any alcohol or doing any drugs. What the heck had happened?
We decided I should go to the emergency room just to make sure I did not have a concussion. I wasn't lucking forward to doing that; I was worried it would take several hours, when I still had packing and other last minute preparation for my trip, for which I was scheduled to depart via Megabus the next morning. Unfortunately, I did not end up departing. Even though my CAT scan did not indicate a concussion, they suggested the fact I couldn't remember what had happened made them feel as if I could have had a seizure, so they wanted to send me to the hospital for more testing.
Next thing I know I'm inside an ambulance, talking with the man behind me. I wasn't in a terrible mood because I was thinking that my hospital testing would last a few hours, then I'd be home and even though I would be rushed, I'd still have time to prepare for leaving the next morning. Well instead, I ended up being in the hospital from Tuesday night until Friday night, receiving multiple tests and lying around on a hospital bed with an IV inserted and a heart monitor plugged in. Instead of being part of an artsy extravaganza with poet and photo artist friends, I was a hospitalized, disabled, out of control old lady.
And then even though none of my testing indicated that I'd had a seizure, they still decided that I should take seizure pills, twice daily, just to be on the safe side. Well I have always been an anti-pill person; the last thing I want is some pill changing my personality, my passion, my sex drive, my interest in life, and/or making me fat. Blah blah BLAH.
I've not had a seizure before in my life; I don't have epilepsy. BUT sometimes people who suffer from a stroke then start having seizures, due to how the stroke affected their brain. BUT my stroke happened more than a year and a half ago, so why would seizures suddenly start overtaking me after all that time? After a rather crappy (sad, depressing, difficult) year or so, things were finally becoming so much happier and better - and now I'm going to start having seizures? I'm hoping it was just a weird fluke.
But even if it was a fluke, the pill I've been given is a seizure related pill – and research indicates that some people have bad side effects from it. I'm really quite nervous about it. Again, I don't want a pill to change my personality, my energy, my poeticism, or anything like that.
I don't want it to zone me out or make me unemotional. I don't want it to make me uninterested in poetry, uninterested in art, uninterested in knee highs, uninterested in almost everything.
I don't want a pill to change me. I don't want to be lacking in passion.
I've started taking the darn pill but have also started taking notes and will share some of those soon.
I could go into more detail and perhaps I shall later, but being in the hospital for four days and then feeling out of it and depressed my first few days home have put me behind, so for now I need to get to work on publishing and promoting the chapbook that I was supposed to have available live at a haunted hotel while hanging out with its scrumptious poet lady, but alas. Instead I'm all worried about seizure medicine. Blech.
August 22, 2011
The First Review of my Thirteen Designer Vaginas!
"As in all Cook's work, there is wonderfully dynamic wordplay, an undercurrent of horror and little tolerance for the candy-coated comforts..."
A small snippet from the very first review of myThirteen Designer Vagina's poetry chapbook now appears on the Melusine blog, here:
http://melusineblog.blogspot.com/2011/08/juliet-cooks-thirteen-designer-vaginas.html
Thank you ever so much much to Melusine editor Janelle Elyse Kihlstrom AND of course to Hyacinth Girl Press, which published this chapbook.
Here is another snippet from the review:
"In these poems Cook's signature motif of the "doll injection mold" is applied to the one aspect of anatomy the cookiecutter-variety plastic girl's doll explicitly lacks but which, for the adult woman, has nevertheless failed to escape the influence of the "injection mold" philosophy of shame for any sort of deviance from an arbitrarily prescribed ideal."
Here is where you can buy yourself a copy of this chapbook if so inclined:
http://hyacinthgirlpress.wordpress.com/2011/07/01/thirteen-designer-vaginas-now-available/
***
And speaking of small press poetry chapbooks brimming with artsy darkly delicious delight, Blood Pudding Press will be offering a newly published chapbook, very very soon!
LETTERS FOM ROOM 27 OF THE GRAND MIDWAY HOTEL by Margaret Bashaar.
Stay tuned if you dare.
A small snippet from the very first review of myThirteen Designer Vagina's poetry chapbook now appears on the Melusine blog, here:
http://melusineblog.blogspot.com/2011/08/juliet-cooks-thirteen-designer-vaginas.html
Thank you ever so much much to Melusine editor Janelle Elyse Kihlstrom AND of course to Hyacinth Girl Press, which published this chapbook.
Here is another snippet from the review:
"In these poems Cook's signature motif of the "doll injection mold" is applied to the one aspect of anatomy the cookiecutter-variety plastic girl's doll explicitly lacks but which, for the adult woman, has nevertheless failed to escape the influence of the "injection mold" philosophy of shame for any sort of deviance from an arbitrarily prescribed ideal."
Here is where you can buy yourself a copy of this chapbook if so inclined:
http://hyacinthgirlpress.wordpress.com/2011/07/01/thirteen-designer-vaginas-now-available/
***
And speaking of small press poetry chapbooks brimming with artsy darkly delicious delight, Blood Pudding Press will be offering a newly published chapbook, very very soon!
LETTERS FOM ROOM 27 OF THE GRAND MIDWAY HOTEL by Margaret Bashaar.
Stay tuned if you dare.
August 10, 2011
dark purple
Three new photos from August 2011, taken at Lakeside Ohio.
Also please feel free to read my interview, linked to at the post below this one. It is my first poetry-related interview in over a year.
August 9, 2011
profiles in poetics: ME!
'women's quarterly conversation' presents the first long poetry related 'interview' I have completed in over a year; it focuses on my stroke/my aphasia/my loss of love AND how this has affected my poetry.
partake here: https://womensquarterlyconversation.wordpress.com/
a small snippet: "I sometimes feel as if I am buzzing around from one feeling to the next like an unstable swarm; like a bee sea creature hybrid who doesn't know how to fly or swim."
a ghostly Juliet photo (taken by Joe Gallagher):
this tornado loves you
Semi-related to my small love post below, today I feel compeled to post this Neko Case song. I've liked Neko Case for years, so did D. (ex-husband), he & I saw her in concert together, among a number of other concerts we attended. I have not been to a single music concert in over a year now.
I pilfered this Neko Case song link from a facebook friend of mine's site; he had noted that he & his woman were seeing her in concert tonight at the Beachland Ballroom; a fun little concert venue near Euclid OH.; which is also a place that D. & me & his brother J. had been to together quite a few times; and again, I have not been there since; & sometimes I miss it & sometimes I miss them; but alas, none of that is part of my life anymore right now.
So even though I like this song (and at this point in time, 'this tornado loves you' strikes me as a strangely pertinent phrase), it also made me feel a bit sad.
Perhaps I ought to plan a concert with someone else semi-soon?
August 8, 2011
FEMALE INFESTATION
(poem culled from old blog post about...
FEMALE INFESTATION
(poem culled from old blog post about girlhood thoughts and child play)
cutting girls out of catalogs, holding child-sized scissor blades deep inside
scissoring images of women, categorizing them into portals
making flashcards out of some of them, gluing them onto squares
a hole series comprised of busty ladies, in the back
subject subconscious mind to skimpy assets
make fun of little girls' matchbox cars and transformers
rap their knuckles, slap their heads, retail their brains into bikini zone palettes
slash me into desirable womanly creature over under
conjure up my broken doll legs, sink me inside my odd doll factory
mounted on a strange colored vase – I am a poisonous beautyskull lollipop
(poem culled from old blog post about girlhood thoughts and child play)
cutting girls out of catalogs, holding child-sized scissor blades deep inside
scissoring images of women, categorizing them into portals
making flashcards out of some of them, gluing them onto squares
a hole series comprised of busty ladies, in the back
subject subconscious mind to skimpy assets
make fun of little girls' matchbox cars and transformers
rap their knuckles, slap their heads, retail their brains into bikini zone palettes
slash me into desirable womanly creature over under
conjure up my broken doll legs, sink me inside my odd doll factory
mounted on a strange colored vase – I am a poisonous beautyskull lollipop
August 6, 2011
love
Everyone has their own definitions of 'love', which can make the word very challenging to grasp and believe in - especially after you've lost something you thought was real love. For me, in terms of romantic love, it's a word I don't usually like to hear unless the person saying it really feels strongly about me as an individual (instead of feeling strongly about sexually-oriented women in general) AND expects to feel that strongly (or stronger) for a very long time. Much as part of me might crave the word, I don't really crave easy little blurts, fakery, or 'love' from a person who loves 100 others. I only want it if the person feels truly intense about me as an individual; if the person adores the way I am (my good parts and my imperfections) and will not quickly/easily get tired of me, give up, or back away all of the sudden.
July 26, 2011
FLOWING (ebbing) FLOWING
Had a bothersome phone conversation yesterday, during which it was suggested that the reason a lot of people probably back away from me is because I talk too much, revealing too much personal information, revealing stuff that most people aren't comfortable with or interested in talking/hearing about.
Part of the reason this came up is because I was talking a bit about how part of me felt a bit badly that I did not attend my 20 year high school reunion this past weekend - whereupon I was reminded that I often say I don't do well in group settings anyway - which is true - AND that I often semi-reconnect with someone, but then our conversational connections semi-suddenly seem to end and that is probably because of the too much/too detailed way I express myself - and that made me feel a little bad/sad, because I realized that was probably true too.
Occasionally I do crave fitting in a little better, but I don't really want to tone myself down in order for that to happen. If I talk too much for some people's liking (or talk about subject matter that most people don't like), then fine; they don't have to talk/listen to me. Yes that sometimes bums me out, but so be it. I'm not going to force myself upon anyone.
I want to be myself and I want people to like the way I am and the way I express myself, even if it IS sometimes a little over the top or extreme or oddly contradictory seeming or whatever. I'd rather be that way than toned done borderline fake. I mean I'll tone myself down at a job obviously. But real life? No thank you. Why would I want to tone myself down for a friend and then have a friend that really doesn't care that much about me in a detail oriented manner? I like more real, intense caring.
Part of the reason this came up is because I was talking a bit about how part of me felt a bit badly that I did not attend my 20 year high school reunion this past weekend - whereupon I was reminded that I often say I don't do well in group settings anyway - which is true - AND that I often semi-reconnect with someone, but then our conversational connections semi-suddenly seem to end and that is probably because of the too much/too detailed way I express myself - and that made me feel a little bad/sad, because I realized that was probably true too.
Occasionally I do crave fitting in a little better, but I don't really want to tone myself down in order for that to happen. If I talk too much for some people's liking (or talk about subject matter that most people don't like), then fine; they don't have to talk/listen to me. Yes that sometimes bums me out, but so be it. I'm not going to force myself upon anyone.
I want to be myself and I want people to like the way I am and the way I express myself, even if it IS sometimes a little over the top or extreme or oddly contradictory seeming or whatever. I'd rather be that way than toned done borderline fake. I mean I'll tone myself down at a job obviously. But real life? No thank you. Why would I want to tone myself down for a friend and then have a friend that really doesn't care that much about me in a detail oriented manner? I like more real, intense caring.
July 25, 2011
Thirteen Myna Birds New Snippets (& more)
slip under my tongue, our fingers will fuse and split, my body convulsing – so fertile and so brazen – magnificent desire, hearts bloody – the smell of ginger, sea salt, and starlight – loud music – deep hands – pink handled guillotine – whirling – eyelash-thick wires - egg-speckled swirl –eyes splitting themselves - love comes in many forms, higher then drugs or heaven
The above snippets are fused from the poems within the newly updated Thirteen Myna Birds. Here it is in its entirety: http://13myna.blogspot.com/
Poem #13 is by Margaret Bashaar from her chapbook called LETTERS FROM ROOM 27 OF THE GRAND MIDWAY HOTEL, soon to be published in artsy print by my Blood Pudding Press.
Next month's Thirteen Myna Birds update will include another poem from Margaret Bashaar's LETTERS and the chapbook and the chapbook will be available for sale in all its artsy glory within the Blood Pudding Press etsy shop here: http://www.etsy.com/shop/BloodPuddingPress.
Please feel free to take a gander at the shop and/or make a purchase – and stay tuned for the new strange innards next month!
The above snippets are fused from the poems within the newly updated Thirteen Myna Birds. Here it is in its entirety: http://13myna.blogspot.com/
Poem #13 is by Margaret Bashaar from her chapbook called LETTERS FROM ROOM 27 OF THE GRAND MIDWAY HOTEL, soon to be published in artsy print by my Blood Pudding Press.
Next month's Thirteen Myna Birds update will include another poem from Margaret Bashaar's LETTERS and the chapbook and the chapbook will be available for sale in all its artsy glory within the Blood Pudding Press etsy shop here: http://www.etsy.com/shop/BloodPuddingPress.
Please feel free to take a gander at the shop and/or make a purchase – and stay tuned for the new strange innards next month!
