“There is a time write and a time to read, a time to speak and a time to listen. Only you can know the difference.” a glimpse into the life and mind of me, a man, father and artist living with and dying from Parkinson’s disease.
The following word mix is a mix of thoughts both poetic and not so,
mixed in the way that my brain melds daily poetic rambling and regular thought which at this point in my life have become, simply one fluid mess of words I watch fall from the sky and from which I pluck need the ones most needed.
Please know as you read these words below that they are a way for me to work through what it’s like consciously be aware as I watch my body and mind slowly and sometimes rapidly slip away from myself control. #mylifewithparkinson’s
I’ve lost my way again. Have I vested my heart and soul to the moon and it waned right in front of my eyes. Not slowly not gently into the night but brutally with haste as if storm raged across the unencumbered ocean straights or desert flats.
I’ve lost my way, my train of thought and pattern in this life as I’m sure in many others. This husk has orbited so far out alienating almost everything from its past. Such grief is born from these realities. Such wonder and confusion. Have I lost my way or has world lost it’s bravery. For shame on you think any less of the man because you can’t watch me die in front of your eyes. Well I’ll tell this isnt fucking easier in front of eyes either. Just sayin….
There is no way home, for there no home as know it left to go to. No normal calls my name anymore. New normal is old normal new again with a viscous twist. How could God give so much and take all of it back? What penance must a fallen angel make. How many miles must I walk in the daylight of darkness thag crushs the heart and soul of man kind. This hu-man.
I rant and rave as a lunatic free from its cage never to see bed again. Forever chasing a dream that once, just once the boy inside the man could be free again to stare at the stars and dream freely without demons and dreams of torture and war. For once I’d like to what see green really looks like and what “I’ll never leave your side” means when spoken in truth.
Alass this not the season for dreams in this autumn of my life. No tiny houses, nor studios abroad, no farms with fences or cottages by cliffs. Only pills and small scratching at paint as lose my ability to focus or sit, or feel my hands, legs, feet or smile of my face. I don’t see the future anymore only the past.. My rose colored glasses Worn and chipped. I fear I’ve lost my way daily so each day become more simple more one thing and less two less of me and more of you. Appointments and schedules, little reminders of what to do.
It’s early where I am and I’ve decided to press post. Another week has started another chance to fight for my place on this planet as my unseen disorder drives this body closer to the grave. Another week to open my very soul to the empaths and educators peeking at my deepest darkest fears and foibles. For those of you reading this do me, yourself a favor. Stop living a life not desired. Chase your dreams this the same passion you’d protect your kids or family with and you’ll be living g your dreams instead of calling them dreams. Anyhow I’m off to #OHSU to fight another day.
Much love. B. 2016 “a life in progress.”
Coming soon to an online gallery near you 😂😂😂 “Vessel and Gemini” both works in progress. Much live. B.