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Say it ain't so. Alright, it ain't so.

The night wore on into a whirl of Magnum 40 madness...30 sleepless hours now on the ball and off the cuff. Soon the sun came as we stared into the box. The editing stalled when the message came in.

Stage 3a lung cancer. Grandfather one, this shall not be easy. The words were nowhere within or without. Only exhalation and again to the words. Another one down the gullet. This is weak sauce. Must walk, must move. Eye waited for the proper moment to come and surely it did. The newly installed toilet choking on its own filth and mine, eye scooped the waste out in a party cup dashing it over the back lawn over multiple trips. My head was boiling and eye knew the edge was near. Clogged and dying, the throne and grandfather now as one. Silently now screaming, nobody here deserves this soon to be misplaced rage.

Accept something now if you can. MOVE. Eye departed on foot, red eyed and deflated. Ipod blaring jibber jabber. And two more for the walk. My face crushed beneath the weight of a furrowed brow, my inner diaphragm trembling.

Welcome to the waterworks. Gotta get somewhere now, the streets are no place for a grown man to weep. Not until after dark at least. Eye found myself on the front porch of the Zen Master of Bulldog country. Eye dare not knock. Just rest my bones now and cry cry cry.

Hours go by. Magnums go dry. An elderly lady helps her grandson cultivate marigolds across the street and the sun beats down unmerciful. Christ. She sees me in my state of misery. Eye hide my face in my hands. Eye need my mother. She and the boy are gone now. Eye can't stay here.

Eye return to the house now, drained and able to think. Let go young blood. This is the way of the rock in the storm. Mother synchronistically announces her arrival in less than an hour. Eye pack hastily. The stones, the guitar and the drainage. Two more sips and the rest into the sink. She pulls up. We weep. We depart for the farm.

More talking and information exchange as to what lymph node correlates with which spotty lung and prognosis schmognosis this is a bit jacked up. Apologies for not seeing her enough and REmembering the now factor. The sun goes down at 36 hours. Eye smoke a cigarette and can no longer walk talk or feed myself. Eye retire to my room, another spoke in the wheel of where. No archives tonight. Just sleep, just REMitation. Breathe deep big bolt. Take it in.

Ten hours or more and awaking to another now. Distracting myself with carnal matters creates a moment of zen. Small but a moment none the less. And again the sour stomach. Mother returns hours after scrambled eggs and vomit. It settles slowly in front of me, a strange reflection of bad vibrations and would be chickens. Move over butter. Steadying for her, we share another moment and attempt the family sigh once again.

Moments later a telephone call. Do you want the good news of the bad news? We say both. The doctors fucked up. There is no cancer. Only active cells post bronchitis. WTF with a side of bonkers and a spruce of a different type of cry. Could have done without it but it's true. A medical mistake. Instant redemption. Reflections are a trip indeed.

They all talk of miracles. Eye simply stand, put on the ipod exit into the sun and walk through the fields here in the heart of it all. Eye spring full speed to the edge and light a smoke. Soon a deers jawbone finds me in the freshly sprouted corn. Eye bag it in the Crown Royal pouch, select a walking stick and salute the sun.

Another day in paradise.

eye
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