On Being a Promising Writer

(from This Literary Life by Peter van Straaten)

Out to Lunch: Another Temporal Lobe Seizure

While meditating today, I reached a familiar sensation of arriving in a moment that had happened before (entirely Déjà vu), a reflection of memory or even prophesy (stretching from back, forward to this uneven now) at the end of my daily quieting pattern when my head utterly imploded in another Temporal lobe seizure as I felt hyperspace rush throughout this lonesome form until the regular overheating commenced & I knew I was leveling out to where some might call “coming back” to myself after an internal storm - this while torrential downpours continued to rage outdoors.

It was an old fashion kind of lower leveled seizure with the expected side effects affecting me to the very reality of my existence. Often lately they are fractured, not providing the euphoria afterwards, which I appreciate following such a hard time.

Still hot as I tap this, I lean into frame to find an awkward smile, a doubtful wondering whether it was a lone striker or will soon be joined by a fistful of coconspirators… I don’t know…

It launched roughly at 4:55 PM as Eric Dolphy’s ‘Out to Lunch!’ provided the jazz soundtrack to the meditation & my littlest dog licked the air behind me while resting on her bedding. I was almost out of the session, almost to shaking the final bells… “Almost” is such a silly adjustment, a weird word coming from where we expected, while not quite yet being to the ending.

How do I feel? I am these seizures unloosening my normalcy, rearranging what it is to be human in this wayward society sagging beneath the promises of modern technology & consumerism, remaking me into a fragmented, weary, idea of myself.

Really, how am I? I don’t know. I know less than nothingness when overrun, overwhelmed, made humble by whirl of electric short-circuiting in this neurological absurdity when malfunctioning becomes my only true function…

Putting up the sign: WILL BE BACK SOON. There is only the external storm right now as I wait for more.

Migraineur Out.

(Art © 2013 j. m. Scoville)

HAPPY SUMMER SOLSTICE

HAPPY SUMMERTIME SOLSTICE, ALL!

Just after midnight, my lone remaining Luna Moth was joined by this particularly intriguing critter called a Katydid. Such an insect-inspired celebration of the season!

I adore how much diversity visits on my backwoods front room window at night here in southern Louisiana.

(Photo © 2011 by j. m. Scoville)

Literary Inspiration

(from This Literary Life by Peter van Straaten)

Ban This Book

Incidental Comics by Grant Snider, originally published 10/04/12

To My Oregonian Friends

“…And she was prone to barometric migraines. Under a constantly cloudy Oregon winter sky, she could feel the atmospheric pressure shift inside her head.”
-p. 204, The Stud Book by Monica Drake

Often, Oregonian friends ask me to come back to my home state from southern Louisiana, where the weather isn’t so mutable, isn’t prone to drastic disruptions, allowing my extreme migraine condition (which includes occasional grand mal & temporal lobe seizures) to relax its vise grip.

Besides my not being able to move at this time due to my restrictive disabilities, western Oregon is the place where it all began & IS very perpetual in its gloom. That’s why a classic study on depression during winter was done in Eugene. I find “gloom’s dimness” hurts my worsening eyes, brings out further problems, as I react uncomfortable if not debilitating to such weather patterns.

Also, common in the Oregon west of the Cascade Mountains is fog. Fog confuses mosquitoes sensory systems causing them to crash. I find it overwhelms my mind, too, sometimes drawing out temporal lobe seizures.

So to all the kind friends that want me close, want me back on the West Coast, I am very afraid of what Monica Drake wrote – fearing trading one climate’s abrasive reactions for another.

Why can’t things be simple?

(Art © 2013 by j. m. Scoville)

My Brief Stint at Acting: the Films of John Yanez

http://www.youtube.com/user/jbyanez

Some of these Short films by filmmaker friend John Yanez, having me in them when I tried by balance at acting in those experimental days before K@trina: Kates & Dougs, The Blind, & Speak to Me.

BE WARNED: they ARE Arty, thus slow & often absent of Dialogue.

This is such a farce

The universe has split, come undone, fragmenting into smaller bit until all that is solid has been remade liquid by exhaustion...

It has been a Grizzly Bear of a week. Got nothing done besides the essentials in each day (write-draw-walk-meditate-read). I've been trying to get to the store since the 23rd of May & still can't. Instead, I go to the little grocery north of me in The Village (of Folsom) proper or south to Walgreen's, where the lines are less & the hours are longer. And those are brief sprints before fatigue man-handles me. Sped-up on Coke or Red Bull, I can only go for short durations before my anatomy collapses & I can't all over again...

Just a terrible week. Thursday wasn't as bad & I thought it was over, but tonight/day brought me back to my ineptness, reminding me of the quagmire of Tuesday. At least it wasn't all the way back to the dread & insecurity of Wednesday's fight.

And this w/o any storms corroding the sky. But the temperature is hot, the humidity is scratching at 100%, & even the lightning bugs (fireflies) have left entirely...

Hopeless is a shroud I wear, tilting its hood low across my face until only my lips & goatee/jazz spot are visible. I try for certainty, attempt to envision a future with some promise BUT its lousy ceiling was poorly constructed with inadequate timbers, falling down on my 'ead.

What am I doing here? Lonesome me, who wants so much to roam barefoot in imagination, to go shirtless in my inventiveness... I cry out to the star systems looking down upon my dramas, wanting help that won't come...

Now it is 5 AM. My little dog will want her breakfast... when I haven't even ate my dinner. I got up at 7 PM, having to collapse into a nap from 12:40 AM 'til 3. Fragmented. Dawn will be pressing out the creases for another day soon... Soon I will feel my couple hours of joy, of being actually awake, then back to trying to sleep, attempting to wake up for hours on end.

This is such a farce.

(Art © 2011 by j. m. Scoville)