These images are seared into my mind
These images are etched into my mind,
branded like livestock aphant-trauma,
aphasia, paralysed my down right side.
This is my dogs honest truth. Even I cant
understand, I call these pomements moment-
us moments No past
cling on to memory spoke from a broken
Emind.
I feel so alone,lost they cant handle my
negative capability.
My filthy realism, how can you come to
terms when you have no long-term memory
There is nothing else in my mind like
odes they are a song of myself. I wanted
to write a romantic poem like Keats,Milton,
but my paradise is lost. The morphic vibration
of life is felt through works of art like a sham-
manic fox foot fall, fingerprint. I feel poe-art
without memory; poe-art is undermy skin.
It seems I have lived two lives, one with
and one without.
A Fox Looking at a fox by A Fox means
so much to me; I like those flow states.
A Fox Thought and the Dreamscape of
the fox thought.
I can't put my finger footfall on nature's
memory but feel adrift. Like the diving bell
and the butterfly, fluttering in a backward law.
A reverse effort floating up to the top, locked-
in a default syndrome.
When I first took the massive stroke, j was
drifting between life and death in a flimsy
hologram, a grey state. Beside my hospital
bed was an exit door.
Above it was a little green man. I was tripping
like I had never tripped. The drugs to keep me
live were making me hallucinate, and my balance
was gone; I couldn't even put my foot on the floor,
it was like an ocean. My compass point of fantasy
and reality, I had no fixed issue and couldn't tell the difference.
Everything on the ward was moving nurses on off rota; patients
time/space meant nothing to me. The little Greenman I focused
where I got this strength of mind is beyond me because
the stroke erased my hard drive. There was nothing in my mind
but I told myself if I had seen the Greenman, then I was in reality
and not fantasy hallucinating. I realised that the consultants
whispered, not knowing where I fit in life or death.
Self-determination gives you strength if you just believe in you
It felt great knowing that I was in control of my stroke recovery.
The nurse opened the exit door, and I tasted greenery. My ashen grey
flimsy hologram felt the rush of life. The breath of fresh air was like the stroke boost that woke me bolt upright from death's door. Declared dead for seconds, I saw my reflection in my son's eye
like a zoom-me.
Summer entered me like a rebirth; the nurses, and doctors saw me
in a different light. Paddy, the little green man, showed me Ashfalt
which led to the bluestone road and Lylo cemetery, where my mother
and sister are soiled, waiting for me. This was the first day of my
blemished acceptance; I knew where I was at the back of the hospital. A Google map opened in my mind like a sat-nav. From that
moment, no matter what three hospitals I went to, the compass point
was in my mind. I no longer felt lost and alone. I felt good in myself, knowing my mind had figured this out; there was hope in me. Paddy showed me the road; self-determination is a beautiful thing. If only
we believed in ourselves. I was on the road to recovery, not hell.
