Kitty video

While reading Ian McLeod's book Dead Tree Version (second in the Darwinverse series), that I am soon to write a review on, my cat Posh became interested in my bookmark. Since she's gotten better after our recent health scare, seeing her play was a joy. So, I took the opportunity to use photobooth to make a little video (& glancing up at the screen to make sure she was still in view between sentences).

New game

Okay___, new game plan. These are the two books I am studying right now. My research in natural pain management is growing more intense. Beyond diet etc. I am now learning to treat myself through trigger point therapy. The knowledge in these books amazes the mind, for me at least. After YEARS of pain & most doctors not being able to really help me___ I finally feel like I may be getting somewhere in my work. W/ the ability to treat myself (& others hopefully) using trigger point therapy/massage, as well as tending to my diet properly, it might be possible to create a good balance for my health & chronic pain issues.
It doesn't matter to me what anybody says. In my mind the majority of the medical industry is a vicious racket that the populous is subjected to, generally w/out knowing. My life is a horrifyingly accurate example of this fact. Now, I have TWO doctors I trust, then___ there's myself. I know my condition better than anyone, because I live it every day. Once I was ignorant, but thanks to the cruelty of another human (calling themselves a professional), I have found ways to deal & navigate in my condition. As time goes on I learn more about ways to benefit my health & ability to regain my livelihood.
Truly, it is time for the people to take matters into their own hands. In all actuality___ we can only trust ourselves.

Picks

No edits, that's all me. I now have metal finger picks & a plastic thumb pick. So far I'm best w/ just the thumb pick. Those crazy metal things will take time to be able to use well.

PaPa

They gave
me
his guitar.

I don't want to say goodbye.

I don't have the memories from when we were younger.

Tear drop river

Unable
to maintain my
composure,
I got up
from the table
& my sister followed
me in to the bathroom
& talked me down,
later
she said she
had to
to keep herself laced,
& I think it’s selfish
that I can’t stop
crying,
when there are others
closer
to the situation daily
w/ straight faces
assisted by
decreased appetites,
w/ more pain
from direct
contact
to justify rivers
of tears

Celebrating life near the end

[Original title: Heartbreak Christmas]

Never have I cried so much on Christmas,
on & off all day___
& still going___.

I thought I was stronger than this___.

This must be the point in my life where I
learn to make an intentional smile
& be genuine as ever___
while sad,
heartbroken sad___.

Seasoned smiling lambs

Photos by Josh Abernathy
Models: Claire Abernathy & L. Worthy
Location: Madison, AL

Walking back to memories of the 1800s

Photos by Josh Abernathy
Models: Claire Abernathy & L. Worthy
Editing: L. Worthy

(I don't want to sully Josh's thunder, so none of these photos will be on facebook; only blogger, twitter & ello. He did a great job shooting & hasn't had the chance to edit his own work. I just can't help myself when it comes to a fresh series of shots.)

Tree adventures

Photography & editing by Leena Worthy
Models: Josh & Claire Abernathy
Location: Madison, AL

(Josh is an aspiring photographer, so we were passing my camera back & forth___ I hope my memory serves me correct that I took the first photo in this post. Based on the timeline/progression of the photos it's my shot, but there's a slight chance he may have had the camera in hand at that moment. Hope I didn't make a mistake on that one.)

My favorite couple

Photos & editing by Leena Worthy
Models: Josh & Claire Abernathy
Location: Madison, AL

A trip out

Photos by Josh Abernathy

models: Claire Abernathy & Leena Worthy

editing: Leena Worthy

Potential outcomes

http://www.webmd.com/brain/reflex-sympathetic-dystrophy-syndrome

Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy Syndrome / Complex Regional Pain Syndrome
Pray tell___ this hits close to home.
Hung out w/ a childhood friend today & apparently she went to nursing school. She gave me a better idea of what my physical ailment may be, since it has gone undiagnosed. As well she had some suggestions for medication to treat my nervous system, because the medications I'm on don't quite fit the deal. The pain that doesn't stop has, so far, surpassed all prescriptions. In fact will cut through them like a knife. Now if I can just find a way to get my nerves tested___ I might actually know what's wrong w/ my body. For once it won't be as much of a mystery. Not to mention then more options open for treatment. Naturally there's the chance of walking away after dishing out a ton of money I don't have to still be living a painful mystery. Guess I'm just getting anxious as my situation is nearing a decade.

Thin

Stretched over the frame of living
w/ a slug trail for our past,
an oil-slick rainbow
leading to a knot of nerves
w/ a heart beat that was once
bright & healthy,
sometimes it appears as a beautiful thing
then becomes a monstrosity

*

“The great fragmentation of maturity. The great change. In youth we were whole & the terror & pain of the world penetrated us through & through. There was no sharp separation between joy & sorrow: they fused into one, as our waking life fused w/ dream & sleep. We rose one being in the morning & at night we went down into an ocean, drowned out completely, clutching the stars & the fever of the day.”

-Henry Miller

Feeling w/ an ache

For a bit
I would like to not feel fear
or worry
___ just acknowledge the
emotion for what it is, until
something changes, even
if not dramatic
some how it adds up,
but to remember is necessary___

sometimes there’s a decrease in value
or as it comes: depression___, &
if I could more frequently
accept these emotions
there might be
less of it

Forsooth

Remember me
like a dream you never
saw coming___,
play me like a flute
you always keep
in your jacket
pocket___,
twist me around
your finger
& tie me into a bow___,
don’t let me go
& don’t
forget your key to my
only locket___.

Vocal play

Just felt like singing an old tune in the dark. Here's your piece of it my dears <3
My voice has been ripped up lately due to weather change & having gotten sick, so I'm taking the chords out for a test run. Trying to pull together a small group of musicians so we can play local gigs.

Lock-pick hearts

[Still searching for the entry wound]
Rejection that pulls you in for a hug. Like a yellow butterfly in December___.
A case unsolved. A riddle still unwound that only exists through memory.
We met by working together. I was the sous chef that gutted, cleaned & applied economic flow to the kitchen. Starting by working w/ two drunken 'philosophers' so down on their luck they could never get up out of the mud they had caked themselves in out of sorrow. The head chef & I had fired the other one, & he took the job of dishwasher.
On that day, when he walked in, it was just me working. He didn't look at me, he didn't say anything, he just walked right to the pit & started scrubbing.
Most of our beginning talk was a series of orders, & in the midst___ the head chef went missing. Naturally, I took over. He got moved up to assistant, thus we worked side-by-side___ mostly in silence, aside from the music I played. [You need tunes when you wake up half alive but mostly dead, fucked on pain killers & flipping hundreds of crepe shells & bashing out quiches before the lunch rush hits.] Eventually we started cracking jokes, laughing, telling stories & getting to know each other in that backward ass way. The first time I saw him in awe occurred as I pulled quiches out of the oven bare handed. He had burned himself attempting the same using rags (we didn't have mitts). [My pain tolerance was so high & hands so callous from heat that it didn't bother me.]
Somehow___ eventually, we started spending time together outside of the kitchen, but not in the way you'd think. He's the kind of guy that quits a job by posting a note on the cork board, saying his band is going on tour (I didn't even know he was in a band, until he was gone). Once he was on tour I quit too___. Only, I went in & prepped everything for the week, made sure another person was there to handle the line, & walked out.
It wasn't sweet, it wasn't cute, it wasn't even direct. We were both fucked up & just sliding through life, but in the middle we found something I still don't understand. Sometimes I supplied the whiskey, sometimes I supplied the weed & sometimes we slept in the same bed.
In his most honest moment___ I slammed several doors on my way out. We never walked away from each other permanently, we never talked about any of it, we just went about our business & occasionally met up or ran into each other.
Years passed, & the last time we actually talked to each other was over the internet. For some reason he felt compelled to confess how horribly a female had treated him, & I understand that moment. It was only confession though, & he ran away from the conversation he started.
He always ran away.
Little does he know, on occasion, I check up on him. Just to know he's still somewhere, doing something & being himself. The person I always oddly accepted, knowing I could never hold for more than just a moment.
The kind of moment that rejects you, yet pulls you in for a hug, & remains as a spark in memory.
Like a yellow butterfly___ in December.

Dig up the rush

Childhood memories for me are rather dubious due to my skull having been cracked open when I was___ um (hah) 9___ maybe 10. All I know is I was one age when it happened & woke up three months later an age older, w/ seven staples in my head. Every day I miss the place I went during those three months, & I remember it better than I am able to pull up memories of being a child or an adolescent (that's a story for another day though). Most of my life I've been studying human behavior/psychology. Self-examination is where it began, because the wreckage was such that I was required to develop my own tools in order to cope w/ life. The further I got into psychology the more certain aspects made sense, but there was a particular day. Back in college, in one of many psych classes, I was taught that in the case of a traumatic incident resulting in amnesia, the memory/information of the trauma is still buried in the subconscious. Like certain wires get crossed to protect ourselves, & at any time___ any second, some external event could trigger the return recollection of said incident. A fact I found quite intriguing, because it also means that all the memories lost could still be uncovered. That day I decided to take on the task of digging out my childhood, because at that point it was as if I didn't have one. It felt like I was born at 16! Something I couldn't tolerate w/out investigation. The trick was finding a method/strategy that was effective. I used my writing___. & yes, I found some of the memories. Once my method was well in place/use___ it opened a strange sort of flood gate. It didn't ALL rush back to me at once___. After having retrieved a good hand-full of childhood memories, I stopped, because I didn't want to see anymore. Even after having ceased my initial dig, I still get flashbacks at what appear to be random times. Each day I still ponder the potential of regret for having done so, because it's not just the fact of the incident that disturbs me. Everything I pulled back out has only brought me sorrow I must continually reconcile w/.
Please consider the above words as an overture to what I initially set out to say.
There are two blurred memories from elementary school & middle school of me speaking to each of my parents about why the children & faculty treated me like a leper. I wanted to know exactly why they were cruel to me, because I didn't fully understand that I was born a different type. My parents raised me to think for myself, & I hit the ground running on that mentality. I wasn't so much a bad child, just different, because no matter what I stood out from the rest. Even before public school I was wearing black, which to many members of society is an indication of a negative mindset. Something that isn't necessarily true, ___I wore black as a child for functional reasons: it made getting dirty easier to deal w/ & I was always cold (I knew dark colors attract heat from the sun). After listening to what my parents had to say, I decided to take the chameleon stance. It was an experiment that went over rather well actually, until I got sick of click-pop bullshit, & returned to school in my regular garb. The kids asked what happened, why did I change BACK, & I told them I realized it wasn't worth it to try & be something I'm not. Of course, they returned to treating me w/ derision. Eventually I came to terms w/ being 'on the outside looking in' & that I didn't want to be on the inside. I knew for certain it was better for me to just do my own thing. Every now & then, if they were giving me a particularly hard time, I would go back into chameleon stance for awhile just to mess w/ their heads. Somewhere in all that a balance was developed, where they showed me some strange degree of respect & would even come to me for various reasons when their friends weren't looking. I guess because I did what I wanted, found a way to bend the rules, & didn't take shit from anyone___ including the faculty.
In short, I'm not this way exactly by choice or due to my brain damage.
A somewhat ironic memory though___: the day of the accident, by choice (not playing chameleon) I was wearing red shorts & a white shirt that tied in the front. That day I just wanted to, & I didn't even understand why. It took years for me to remember those red shorts & little white shirt___. They were shredded, covered in blood & were cut off my body once they got me to the hospital. I never dressed like that again___.