The LSD cats

I would like to acknowledge a blogger over at https://smsaves.wordpress.com/  for pointing out some inaccuracies in the original draft of this story.  I remember seeing these cat portraits many years ago and, at that time, I had the perception that they were done under the influence of LSD.  They have indeed been represented as such in a number of different accounts.

The true story is of a man named Louis Wain who was a commercial illustrator in England.  He was born in 1860, and gained popularity mainly through the many and varied portraits of cats that he did.  Later in life, he developed a mental illness, and was thought to be schizophrenic.  As he continued pursuing his art, his paintings became progressively more bizarre and complex.  For reasons I cannot pin down, the gradual metamorphosis of these paintings began to disturb me. In my mind, they represented a descent into insanity.

Now, I am not so sure.

Was this man simply trying to render the pure spirit, essence, and wholeness of What was before him, seen through an altered consciousness?

I think on this quite a bit now because, as i age, my own consciousness is changing. Dreams are more strange, and so is waking life. Perceived reality is at times different, as if I am existing one or two dimensions removed. Certain things fade while others come to the fore, as if through a kind of winnowing. I feel I am being shown things.

Others find it harder to relate to me, and I to them. Just so you know, I have had my head examined, both physically and metaphorically, and they have found nothing.  And yes, at times, I have seen a therapist.

If this the beginnings of senility, then it holds a certain clarity of mind on things that were once thought to be unimportant or unfathomable, and a letting go of things not sanguine to the new Now.

You may put this down to the midnight musings of an aging man. One who is trying to do his own paintings of a certain landscape, and one who has felt he is on a pathway, at the end of which lies something we all yearn to see.

A Poet Who Died In The Gutter

Give a listen to this cautionary tale from Frank Solanki, who writes at
https://franksolanki.com

Frank Solanki's avatarFrank Solanki

I’m a son who betrayed his father for a piece of land
I’m a brother who cheated his siblings with a rogue hand
I’m a friend to all those men who are useful and rich
While the real friendships I had lie in a lonely ditch
I’m a husband who was never there to wipe her tears
I’m a father who abandoned his daughter for several years
Finally, I’m all alone with the open skies and the birds who flutter
I’m a poet, hear my final song, who died in the gutter

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Barricades

I dreamt this morn’ of fences
They’d been put up while I slept
But the fog obscured my senses
And I stumbled ’til I wept

The urge was strong for going on
So I got up and I leapt
O’er barb-ed wire, until the dawn
Its promises had kept

The fog had burnt away from there
The barricades were clear
The wind was passing through my hair
And freedom was so near

“Awake me not”, I prayed to One.
(The Spirit in me now)
“I’m almost there, I’m nearly done”
Then lost the will, somehow.

This thing within my soul has made
The devil grin with glee
He’s scripted well this whole charade
To gloat his victory

Awakened was a new resolve
That I’d not lose the fight
The clock, its circle would revolve
And I’d join the dream next night

Jack’s winter

Jack sat in the living room of his big old house, chewing on a dry sandwich of rye bread and rubber cheese slices.  No butter.  Too hard to spread.  A container labelled “Milkshake” was in his left hand, to wash it down.  Too tired to bother reading labels anymore, he knew that the cheese and the milkshake were likely made of some chemical cocktail, and about as nutritious as eating Kleenex.

Surrounded by stacked up boxes, he had just enough room to peer out of the front window,  waiting on the movers to come.  Now, at 69, Jack was alone.  Irene had died six weeks before, and Jack didn’t want this house any more.  Sure, he could move in with his kids but, no.  There was not a chance he would do it.  He and the kids were pretty close, so it was not because of their relationship that he nixed it.  This old man was smart enough to know that something like that would change everyone’s routines, and the last thing he wanted was to be in the way.  Besides, he was still healthy enough to be on his own for a while.

He had five crisp hundred dollar bills in his pocket to give to the movers as a tip, if they deserved it.  He’d been in that business as a young man, and knew it was no picnic.  Between Irene’s life insurance and his sale of the house, he had nearly two million.  A small apartment with a view had attracted his attention.  It was uptown, overlooking a  manmade lake.  A quiet and well groomed neighborhood.  He had given them the deposit,  and that was where he was going to end up tonight.  The other thing he had in his pocket was a folded envelope.  It contained five prepaid credit cards worth a thousand bucks each.  He had plans for those.

The movers arrived within the hour.  There were four reasonably burly guys in their 30’s and 40’s, and a teenage red-haired kid who looked skinny but wiry.  The kid looked a little nervous, standing there and shifting from one foot to the other.  One of the guys looked at him, shook his head, and said “Jimmy, let’s go.  I told you it’s your job to start packing the boxes into the overhead.  Start with the heavy stuff and use it as a base.  We’re gonna get the furniture padded and ready to go.  Hey, where’s the dolly?  You should have brought it with you!”  Jimmy nodded quickly and went up the ramp into the truck.

Jack spoke to the guy, saying “Don’t be hard on the kid.  He looks like he’s trying.  He’ll work out for you.”  The guy just gave him a sidelong glance.  As the afternoon went on, Jack noticed they were giving Jimmy quite the workout, putting him on the wrong end of kitchen appliances, heavy dressers from upstairs, and leaving him most of the boxes as well.

In about five hours, they pretty well had it done.  Jack had made them coffees and sandwiches for a break in between.  Jimmy had asked to use the washroom before they went.  He seemed to be gone for a while, so Jack went upstairs to check on him.  Jimmy came out, and had obviously been crying.  Jack said “What’s up, buddy?”  Jimmy sat down on a chair and said “My Mom died three weeks ago.  My Dad left us two years ago.  Now it’s just me and two brothers and a sister.  I don’t know what we’re gonna do.  I started with these guys two weeks ago, but I’m finding it hard to keep up.”

Going downstairs, Jack said to the mover boss “Listen, can you get along at the other end without this fella?  He’s sick, and I want to drive him home.  If you need someone else, get them, and I’ll pay the extra”.  The guy grumbled a little bit and said “Well, he never told us anything, but if there’s an elevator we can use, we’ll be alright.  Just take a little longer.”  Jack said “Right, I’ll meet you there in half an hour.”

So it was that he took Jimmy home, and met his younger siblings, who were trying to cook macaroni and wieners on a hotplate.  He took an old business card out of his wallet and wrote a phone number on it, then gave Jimmy one of the hundred dollar bills and a couple of the credit cards.  “Look, this will be enough to keep you going for a little while.  You’ve got a tough road ahead, but I think you can do it.  Call me and let me know how you’re doing.”

At his new apartment, most of his stuff had gone into storage.  Unneeded furniture and what not.  Jack gave each of the guys their tips and thanked them.  The day was finally done, and he was once again alone.  He was warm and dry, and had lots of food.
Well.  He wouldn’t be home much anyway.  Irene, with her optimistic spirit and her charitable ways, had changed him a great deal.  He had plans for the winter.  They involved more credit cards, and the little wagon he had in the basement.  It would hold a good amount of groceries.  The people sleeping with a sheet of cardboard between them and the sidewalk would do a little better this year.


Follow Jack’s last adventure here:

https://secret-lifeof.com/2018/03/07/oh-that-magic-feeling/

No rest for the wicked

now I lay me down to sleep
there’s no more noises, not a peep
the shades are pulled, the light is out
and slumber’s what it’s all about

fluff the pillow, warm the feet
Sin’s solicitations meet
mantras said to calm the mind
gently will the stress unwind

in five or ten or twenty three
‘Tis the latter, I gotta pee
back in bed and pull the cover
then read a book, my secret lover

start to yawn, and eyelids droop
but I’m hungry for a bowl of soup
hit the kitchen, scratch my head
the wife is bitchin’,
“go to bed!”

so once again I scratch my noggin
think of more ideas for bloggin’
get the tablet, write the story
and then I’ll never have to worry

so now it’s finished, nicely done
I’m sure it will be number one
Martians and a teenage girl
whose empathy may save the world

I check the clock, my God it’s three!
whatever has come over me?
I’ve gotta drive the wife to work
(So, better get to sleep. You jerk)

At the X-Ray dept.

Well, I went in for a CT scan today. More about that in a minute. If you’re lucky enough not to have been for X-rays, you may not relate to some of this. What is with those gowns they make you put on? The nurse tells you ” please strip from the waist down (or waist up), and put on the gown. It ties up in the back.” Yes. Sure. It ties in the back. Now, I have always prided myself on being able to tie my own shoes with a flourish, but trying to tie bows behind your back is like doing brain surgery with a catchers mitt on. Why can’t they give you a bathrobe style thing with a string around the waist that you can do up? Easier and more dignified. They’re going to want it open anyways, right? And don’t even get me started about those ones with three arm holes.

As for the scan, the first thing she tells me is that they are going to put a bigger than normal needle into me so they can inject the special fluid into my system. Right away, I am at ease. And, it hurt like freaking hell. To add to the calmness, she informs me that the special fluid has certain properties, and can cause certain reactions, the most common of which are hot flashes and an instant urge to pee. Less common side effects can include difficulty breathing, and numbness in the lips. I am to report these things so they can give me an emergency antidote. Fine. Just fine. I am on the table now, rolling slowly towards the scanner. I hear a voice say OK Mr. Dunn, here comes the fluid. Almost instantly, I have a fever, a bad taste in my mouth, and I really really have to pee. (Actually, I had to go before I even got on the table, but was too embarrassed to say anything).

Then, the machine itself speaks to me. “Take a deep breath, and hold it for 15 seconds”.

Please, just kill me now.

Just cuttin’ my lawn

The terror of Godzilla

The mighty King of Kong

Ain’t nothin’ like the thriller

Of mowin’ my front lawn

Seven primes and seven pulls

It takes, to start the beast

The horsepower, the raging bulls

Strikes fear, to say the least

I care but not a mere pittance

For the forests I destroy

I show ’em my omnipotence

In the tactics I employ

There’s Henry, King of Fire Ants

He’s running for his life

In nothing but his underpants

Without his nasty wife

The bumblebees and butterflies

I spare ’em when I can

and watch ’em as they flutter by

It’s in the master plan

I blunder on, so nonchalant

and never have a care

Supreme am I, the Commandant

Come at me if you dare

But, one sad day, I felt a jolt

That made me stop and stare

The Crows had staged a mad revolt

and gave me quite a scare

The angry birds had organized

to help their helpless friends

They had me truly terrorized

I had to make amends

So now, today, my cutting’s done

I’ve given up for good

My weeds and grass, they’re having fun

The talk of the neighborhood.