a pro-active admonishment; an addendum

lest anyone think that this whole last month was simply natural and inevitable, let me just state for the record that my grandfather was, until Saturday, 11/06/04, an active and capable man, whose only daily problems were the fact that he was getting old and starting to show signs of a little wear and tear. he could be forgetful at times, and was often frustrated just because he couldn’t think of a word he was trying to say right away. other than that, he worked in the yard and frequently puttered about the house on various projects. we had planned to go out for dinner the week he went all haywire, and he was going to drive, as usual.

this is a guy who has had leukemia for over thirty fucking years, which is a testament to what a tough motherfucker he is. the fact that he’s still alive at all at this point is an even greater testament, if you knew exactly what he’s been through the last month. it’s amazing that he’s still here.

but his mind… i hope beyond hoping that it’s just hospital psychosis. but still. it’s frightening to hear him tell you (outside of a [previous] context of mind-altering sedatives and/or painkillers) that there are ten-foot-tall, big-eyed, pro basketball-playing Indians around here, with saucer-wide eyes and a look of genuine concern on his face. my grandfather hadn’t a racist bone in his body, more or less, and if you accused him of such a thing he’d get enraged and point to his hero Chappie James, who he admired and served under in Tripoli, during the time when Ghaddafi took over Libya.

“listen: they’re talking about it too.”

“…and alligators!”

my heart has been breaking so bad lately i could just die. very often, i want to. i will not take my own life in my despair, for reasons too numerous to discuss, but i do so dearly want to spend my paycheck on a big fucking gun and blow my miserable head off. there’s just too much amiss. but also too much i’d miss. besides, i’m just a big drama queen. still, it’s hard not to be completely thrown for a serious emotional loop when every goddamn iota of your life is going haywire.

this is a cursed season.

also: an LJ-friend [i regretfully hardly communicated with at all] is now dead and gone, too. Paula Anderson, a larger-than-life writer without precedent who lived an amazing and untamed life, is free in infinitudes now. and i practically barely even knew of her. thanks to her editor, the equally impressive Jackie Corley, a good deal of her work is available for reading online or purchase. it is so terrible and sad to see such a richly talented young American writer leave the fold; thankfully, hers was not in the least a wasted life.