fathers in fusion

where are we?  the baby's thought..we're home, I'm watching the hours pass wondering when I should leave..I think about her father...my daughter's father, totally disconnected from this and for good reason...he's from the future, her dad..  put it bluntly, she hates his guts...I try to think of this in couched terms 'h.ate' like assisted 'food'..somehow I try to make sense of her not loving the person who tended her so gently her first month or two...when everything blew up in our faces like a goddamn chemical war...and we were split apart more easily than a neutron bomb..totally fused..so I call this 'fathers in fusion'
I don't think we need cry about it..my daughter spews off a lot of illogic in her residency as the n ewest mother on the block and you get to know the phase options of talking in the manner of 'mother of pearl'..as in expressing anger...she hisses at me like a little poisonous snake when she finds that I've made what she perceives as a verbal faux pas...in fact I wonder at the sanctity of my using 'their' computer...as my scalp dislodges more and more of my own hair to pay the biology of the situation
there are good and bad in this but we ride across the top of it like we're at the skating rink and it's all good...he masquerades in New Orleans with her/myexmydaughter/and she's a veritable fashion plate but no one is sure is it her is it him...and of course I don't exist in all of this but that sad part was when we were sitting on the grassy knoll and watched across the parking lot, the doppleganger enter the apartment above ours...'this is the law as we now know it' he said to me then but I didn't understand until another day when I'd thrown out my last pair of shoes trying to catch the sucker

Politically Correct

day before yesterday, days are flowing into one another like too many people using the bathroom, overcrowded with impressions...rendolent of issues and times and places I never wanted to be concious in...but then I knew I was...
lately I've wanted to speak out in verse whenever the mood was right..I should say that I'd taken a bong hit but I'd be lying on that,  for with me it's all compact disk insertion and what I trade my plywood on..how I handle those moments when you're back there where you were once upon a time, this time it was Havana.  In real time we were in Jaime's back yard with his huge mottled dogs, wolfhounds both of them, massive striped creatures that looked eversomuch like my zebra fabric only this mottling a more deadly signature..heads larger than human, about the size of cows maybe, bounding around the backyard quite friendly.  I had a sense of dead fear with the dogs, the one mothering the smaller, joyous greeting strides to say hello to us but at the same time, a respect on my part...you  keep me in the real, the now.  I don't have to go back to Havana if I don't want to.
I'm drinking real coffee this morning.  I figure I can leave off the other bad habits and see if it's the coffee that truly does it to me, raises my pressure a few points beyond the norm, the edge of the norm at that...I guess those years of dephenhydramine didn't do quite what I had hoped, although I'm seeing signs of it.  Well, enough of that.  My daughter is lying in her bed curled in a semi-fetal position about to have a baby.  For days now she's been in prelabor and is at the point where she is extremely uncomfortable, vindictive, grimacing, breathing hard, hehe, I shouldn't say laboring but when an animal is cornered and about to be captured is how she is...the pain is pretty bad.  So I'm here in duress but I'm her mother and I am the only one who can handle it.  I guess I'm helping her husband with it as well because he's taking the brunt of things, her pain mainly, the excitement of the baby coming, the assurance that all things are going well.  A neoophyte obsetrics specialist told my middle son in the birth of his daughter that the 'placental wall isn't growing right, there could be problems' and we worried about that one for the duration.  When little Maia was born, it was all my fault for a few weeks.  I got the cold chill over something I said about Maia's mother being 'fat'...totally misconstrued but there you have it, I referred to weight gain melting off and if she thought so, rest assured with four kids it wouldn't be there long...something to that effect, but it went in the wrong ear, I think the ear that was to the ground long ago in Havana, the very same.  The one that got my attention day before yesterday when I was helping shovel rock into the brother's backyard, the little German shepherd following the huge mastiff at play, me scraping up their remainders from the site, the sense of nausea at the smell crowding out the particulars of what could be done at that residence.  It was not that large..there did need to be a bigger backyard there if one was to have such a large animal in it.  Like my backyard, peaceful, serene, soggy.  That dog at the brother's house, he was as big as one of us shoveling, pity we couldn't have harnassed his energy somehow, that was intense labor.  We were wheelbarrowing loads of gravel to lay down instead of turf, for this is Arizona.  You don't plant in Arizona unless you tend.  Me, I would be out there with the bath and kitchen water, the dishwasher and washing machines would drain directly onto it, I would have tomatoes and avocadoes, pomegranate, lemon trees...he does have some space for these things.  But he has instead giant dogs that leave giant  patties that smell bad and are usless unless one wants to incorporate a physical integer into it, keeping the dogs out and the ground moist, fertile and so forth.  I could do that there at home with seaweed for I have a similar issue with fertile loam, but I'm not hosting huge land rovers either.  They did bring the sinister into the afternoon and as it wore on, we walked to lunch in the shopping mall, bought shoes and a book instead of spending three dollars at Taco Bell, had a sugary grapefruit soda and ate much later in the day.  I've been hungry a lot of the time here but we eat well.  I have this uncomfortable sense about paying for things here, much like the mastiff occupation of the brother's backyard, a territorial dissonance no doubt ushered in by my acute lack of finances.  And that was the direct result of the Havana situation, which began so innocently back in the early fifties when Gullikson and Farnes took me sailing off Key West after the sewing circle broke up.  We were innocently afloat for several days, Farnes being the main man and Gullikson looking at us like he didn't know if he was the son or the daughter, but not unhappy.   He had provided the needle when the sewing circle started up.  I was good at embroidery I found, those rectangular moments making buttondown shirts being what they were, decidedly boring, it was a good change of pace, taking a float.  Well we got where we were going, several days after we set off.
Then there it was, closure, Gullikson sailing back with a little ghost boy from Dominica who trimmed sails nicely
News flash, we're going to the hospital, daughter and spouse, the pains are five minutes apart at last...we've been dragging heel around here all week and now is the time: beautiful sunlit morning, warm Mesa air no breeze, steadily pounding a footpath alon gthe side of the pool, large canines tails wagging spoiled grapefruits in their mouths, the black lab more likely to heist the fruit...and she utters a moan that recalls what it was there, in Havana, in the early fifties, something like blood guts and gore and Tana from Monroe, that large Teutonic woman that sewed well and made my life a misery.  Well, Roselind was friends with her and evidently my friendship with Roselind wore off because of the association with Tana.  Roselind and I carpooled each morning in my insight, usually, but sometimes we took the old Caddy that Roselind drove.  I always wanted to breach the gap Kezia had left and Roselind did it nicely.  but there was Tana...arc tan in geometry, if you can't heist the stress in a linear maxim, get it a curve, like the melted flesh of my belly that has born four live children and lost three, well, lost I suppose is a delineating word, I don't care to use it...for there are interlopers more than anything else.
"Ready?"  the husband walks in.
Speaking so I cannot hear her words, she walking in bright fuschia sleeveless gown to the floor, the belly hump maximum, jets in the far distance up above the mesquite and the one-story rooftop..pains are five minutes apart.   He hangs up his suit in the guestroom where I sit in front of this laptop, I hear her pant and moan in little gasps..it's coming.
so here I take a break and go out to the kitchen where the last moments of pregnancy are ending.  This is where Fidelito took the place of his father when the documents were signed in Montenegro.  There was an agreement that should it be necessary, such would be the avenue.  There would be no despair.  But in thata hot gravely rock afternoon in Havana...I could smell the long cigars and see the knivees coming out, the giant dog snarling and menacing..that it was no longer so and perhaps had never been, was only in my mind.  And then there were the Felices taking the Ashtons to Puerto Rico in the winters.  Such as it was, that's what it was for a long time, people saying they were where they were when they were there...I didn't hear much about the Puerto Rican landscape but I did know little Amy had a mother named Big Amy and they were friends of Purse'illa, my mother-in-law, who was manic depressive.  Pursilla had a psychotic episode on an Alaskan cruise we went on with the children.  I was in trouble with the burser big time because he was on the take, being we were so close to the Bering Sea and all he figured he was in good hands and could jump off at any large iceberg.  But I revamped windows '95 due to the fact the fish were shaping up nicely and a Val Kilmerov faggot caught me at it and gave me the what for in no uncertain terms: I could see the chin hairs on his softend jaw looking so much like sandpaper...now THIS is not a good sign...
But there it was three days of Pursilla getting the yahoos in her cabin with my then young daughter standing guard.  She's grown up to be a nurse from that experience.  I took one look at Pursilla and bent over to tie a shoelace.  My back went out and I was in pain for three days after that, during which they unloaded all our trunks and personal items and banished us from the boat.  Pursilla was laid up nicely in Sitka in the mental ward, such as it was, and eventually Grandpa flew up and fetched her h ome.  He also miswired a ceiling fixture in our living room which I had put right later on by the same crew...snarly monkies anyway, hehe
but back to Havana..I'm just kind of blown away the baby is coming today but it's been a good wait and I was glad I was here to help..  Childb irth is the sweetest form of torture and so rewawrding for all the pain..There is one thing I feel absolutely avoidable and that is pain, the mind does control the body...my daughter missed one of her five minute calls on thatnote because we were talking about the cousin's spontaneous wedding : the girl already has a two-year old with this fellow and they married in the park this morning.
 Evidently this person routes swap outs solet's hopes that's helping..I feel the far off call of my life wandering in and wondering if I'll ever tell the story of how Michelina Federales substantiated the issues that led to the DOS calibrations and which have been in place ever since the Bay of Pigs started Fun Days...hehe..now if that ain't cryptic I don't know what is...or should I say Hunter Thompson has nothing on me..
people don't wear much down here, because it's so nice.  I should sit outside and do this, in the sun, with my new sunglasses...write or draw, whatever, go on for days about what hmmm..that crunchy new gravel underfoot, the large dogs present...the battery is going kwampus suddenly, I think my personal computer likes the idea of a little sun...outside Angela is walking along the edge of the pool groaning and doing breathing exercises..in all a strange day and it got stranger
and there's the hospital delivery ..but that's not what I am thinking of I should have gotten a journal to record this, but eh, I didn't, and all morning the convertibles have been revving quietly in the corners, assuring the factor basics of this entire process...you bring some back, you cast some back in, you sneeze hard and think about the tobacco \disk, substituting a little caffee for the engenderment, whatever words come out beneath your fingers onto the keyboard, you are resolute about what you know, and recognize those very pigs squawking that we'd use human speech to calibrate integrity of their voiding systems..bark bark..leads you to the beer bin in the fridge come evening and you find that most of what you put there the night before has been purloined to prolong the sustenance of that which you have been forced to cultivate as a substitute for the mighty within..somtimes being ripped off the visual basic program the wa I was, irritates me to no end, but I could have it back, I think, I only have to recall it in my head to have it there in front of me again..like the sharpest scalpel that ever was..so bloody  efficient!!
and then you couldn't trust absolutely ANYONE to repair your stuff, not after the Alaska Cruise..nope...but you'd gained visual basic out of it, and that went back directly to the mind source in Havana, the development of the Satsop tobacco ring, a diversion to DOS for user states, a wonderful connotation of the sixties movement...we're liberal, localized and in nirvana always..  but you know, we need a little medicagion aftger things like Capote..I should like to say this fluently in Italian but I read about it instead, the young food travel writer with his daughter and eventually a new wife, the segments of that story that bred some influence over me in that regard..thoughts with winged foot spread lightly out of my mind onto the page and because can't type fast enough to collect them all...begin to collect dust in the corners as though they were part of the furniture..

my home your home their home OUR HOME

well, I miss my dogs, of course, but the ones here are pretty big, pretty friendly and seem to encompass some of the space and comfortability that the dogs at home supply.  I see the little logs of wood waiting for the fire.  I know where the chain saw awaits my turning around the chain so that it will cut these logs to the right size for the fireplace.  I see the cool weather with the damp lawn, the little shrubbery going down the slope, the woodshed of creativity that depends on morning glory to keep the rain off the wood inside it...mmhmm, not gonna happen, that, but I did tarp that wood and it still needs defining to fit in what I call the Polish stove...I suppose it is a Polish stove, so contrary, so unable to heat the house no matter what burns in it...well, I move with the pace of a hopping flea at home, always engaged in a task, unless I'm sitting directly in front of the fire, contemplating my next adventure.  That's kind of a fun thing to do, but then I'll sweep and dust along the sides of the stove, rearrange the furniture near it, wash windows, dust, play music...would that the piano had at last arrived...I cannot understand why it hasn't already magically appeared in its preordained spot...music waits at every turn near the site of the placement..there are oriental rugs christened and steadfast in their places, there are a stack of paintings holding the spot...there is a blank wall that will never hold pictures because the back of the piano will rest there...there is even new floor where the old floor was a plank of plywood.  but there isn't a piano as yet.
what I do actually have is the piano.  I do plan to tune it, I have a funny little tool that will twang the strings so I can determine the resonance...the right pitch I think they call it, the thing you do with a guitar, same principle, twist the little ivory-capped screw at the top of the neck, plink the string, compare it to the next until you've done them all...so it will be with the piano and it will provide me with a medium to declare my innocence in the world, a way of speaking to it, describing it, the bird call, the big long bus last night that was totally electric and running on a set of three wheels down its underbelly, the pregnant daughter about to give birth, that's a sonata right there, at least...
but I guess there's poetry as well, real words aligned in a paragraph or two, or several pages, that talk about an epic or just an observation..that could work, it has to have been working this long without the piano...oh, there's the garden too, well, I did the front part last month, just dug it all up and told it to behave, I need some fancy lilies there, stargazers and callas and so forth because the little slope there does very well with lillies and it's time to put them in for next spring.  there's also this funny bush there that needs a good prune, like I needed a good prune the last few days...it's boogered and shapeless and looks like a pair of nylons with ladders, about run out and I think, eh a little mugo pine or two, lots of bark, pretty big rocks, that would do it, it would, but there's the highway right on it, so you have to think about that, what kind of aesthetic isgoing on there that should be addressed, a kind of a buffer perhaps, like Sid's little cone of cedar...it will grow taller and I put another pine there, another baby I rescued from the gutter of Georgia's little cabin..I s topped hovering over them when it began to be rainy, I do hope they'll thrive and not turn orange like the other hemlock.  I was hoping to bonsai but apparently the hemlock did a new lifecycle and cloned itself so that there are now more than one of it..  so we'll see how the baby pines do.  there's also that mix of weed and weed out front there that I twisted up a bit with varigated grass, a variety I have that multiplies like flies in summer.  Like the flies here in Mesa that know about Cash and June, the two dogs...and the oranges, the flies must really like the orange trees as well..well I guess one is a grapefruit.  The varigated grass spreads in the yard as if ithas its own agenda, it goes where it will, determined.  I'm not sure the orange poppy is even there anymore it has spread so, but that lilly I planted in front of it, well it'll have to be put on the slope along with some others I'll find...some I think
Carolyn will give me when I get back to the gardening zone, the forest primeval where we live..
I just about blipped into a poem there
I wasn't going to speak in the manner of Robert Frost, but I was going to think and say a thing or two
in a way that made it the light skip of words that poetry is
some that rests with you afterward...a way of observing the clarity of observation
I see what Isee because it's in front of me, or I feel what I feel because I heard and saw it and perhaps I
processed it in my thinking mode in a way that made me have an impression of emotion
I guess
I should make some more coffee, I am having fun with this and it's all being put into my own words in my own place to save it..I think this is very nice...and it's willison cottage because that's what it is, where I do this
I could say more about willison cottage, what it meant to me growing up
that could be described
it's not a vermont snowcovered house in the woods where the trees are bare
no...and about charming, it's getting there but monkey brown paint is probably going to have to go the way
of troll dolls and neon shoelaces...a trend fortified by better paint in this case...
ok...I think I will talk about willison cottage since I talked about the front slopeand the lillies that should go there
the lillies that I have that aren't there that should be there
those are a nice yellow, Himalayan water lillies I described them...but what I meant was the stargazers are out and about...wanting to come home, along with all the tulips and the other flowers that were planted
and took a journey to another yard, that I might see them in their full benefit...
coffee..