NOTES FROM THE GROUND-UNDER

 

PART 1. 

 

I am a sick man who hates himself, can't stand to look at myself, I live in his write hemisphere. I took a massive stroke that wiped out my hard drive,  left brain forty-five years of long-term memory so much damage was done to my broken mind that I can't cling on to memory. It's so strange that for ten years before the stroke, I wrote my life story as if I knew this would happen. 

When I read the fragments of that life story over and over it's as if I have read it for the first time, I had no cling on. Looking out from a childhood I don’t remember infantile me. Looking for a fixed point a bright spark, a point of reflection but I can't find one. In 1994 I wrote a poem called unwritten graffiti, I wrote it for the peace process but was I writing it for my nonexistence.

 

These instances don’t come from a memory I wrote them long before the stroke. On a cold damp day, I was six holding my mother's hand. standing in the gutters looking down to see her reflection in the puddles. I jumped up and down in my wellies splattering the image of two ladies meeting to talk on the street, I can't recall what was in the boy's head, was he his unwritten graffitied self?

 

I’m watching and have watched black screens of positive meditation energy is there anything out there to fire up the neurons of the mind. My body is impotent of stimulation I can't even use a touch screen ipod or phone as there is no electricity at my fingertips. Sex, books, and music does not do it for me. Seems I am beyond humanity locked in a default mode, this isn’t even creative writing I wouldn't even call it poetry it's just a pome from a moment a feedback loop, a reversed effort a backward law an unwritten graffiti. 

I even lost my sense of humor people tell me jokes and I just don’t get it, foxy was not here ok. some might say I shouldn't dwell on such negativity give me a bright spark that I can remember, non-existent.