Thursday, January 17, 2019
Getting There
-Are you fella ordered G19?
-Could be. Don’t remember.
-Well, what’s NAME of article?
-Got me! All I do is order all
day long, so some’s forgotten.
-You’re supposed to take a survey
about it.
-No way! My life’s three-quarters
bullshit already.
-Might be hints in there.
-If you think that, there never are.
-Well, let’s just go ahead then.
-In mutual incompetence?
-Like Politics!
-I just always knew that everything
would eventually arrive there.
-I...could give you money to
forget everything.
-Done that already as a
Useful Idiot.
-I’m talking about the future!
-What a great place! You piss,
shit, and sing at once!
-Trifecta!
Labels: forgetting, incompetence, memory, politics, work
Friday, January 11, 2019
Deep Nitwittery
-Forgot day of week!
-That Altzy?
-Did in my 30s too. So...been gone since then?
-What the hell IS today anyway? THURSDAY? No kidding? What happened to Tuesday and Wednesday?
-What did?
-Some god’s in charge of fucking us both
up with time.
-Yeah? He’s still going strong!
-I...didn’t expect to MUTUALLY disintegrate!
Tragic outcomes being strictly solo? America
being romantic that particular way.
-And therefore Literary? Then, why does it
feel like everything else?
-Never ask that question?
-Why not?
-It’s profound! Thus leave you your
very self in the process!
-I can breathe again!
Labels: Alzheimer's, forgetting, friends, literary, rhetoric of friends, romantic, self concept, self image
Wednesday, May 30, 2018
Dialog Not Happening
-I’m working on three pieces.
Two are fun and the third is
vitally, almost unbearably,
important.
-Give me a hint as to the something you see standing on third base.
-Can’t.
-Oh come on! Why be so precious?
-It’s not that. I’ve totally forgotten it!
Labels: conversation, forgetting, planning, priority
Monday, March 26, 2018
Friends Diagnose
-Heard you went Altzy.
-Almost. Very short episode, which
straightened itself around. Some
little confusion and forgetting.
-Welcome to the club!
-But I’m good to go now! Just
gotta write more things down.
-There goes your charm!
-Uh huh? Based as it is on
the half-assed?
-Tough area to claim accomplishment
in, since it’s crowded by the rest
of us.
-Anyway, Doc insisted on Brain Scan,
which showed nothing!
-Too bad. You’d like to see evidence
you have one.
-I’ve always wondered.
-Well I can attest I’ve seen it
operating these many years!
-Thank you! You’re lifting me up!
-What IS your name, anyway?
Labels: aging, Alzheimer, brain scan, confusion, forgetting
Monday, January 01, 2018
Cha!
-Off of what?
-I forgot.
--Just as well. Remembering overrated.
--How so?
-You get cluttered up.
-I get completely cluttered sometimes.
--What do you do?
-Start forgetting.
-That pendulum can swing too far.
-Then you must resist
the Deeee-MENT-
Cha-Cha-Cha!
Labels: dementia, forgetting, remembering
Friday, October 06, 2017
The Man Who Progressively Forgot
Left his car at work one day, walked home.
Reported it stolen.
Last straw for wife, Darlie.
She placed him in a school for remembering.
Most of these rackets run by big political
contributors, but his one did some good.
He trained as a domestic.
Ended up serving his wife’s boyfriends.
And girlfriends, for special occasions.
Such as the Women’s Rugby Final televised
from Kuala Lumpur.
He had to remember seventeen kinds of
fancy cocktails and make same.
(Though “Horny Serbian” still a favorite.)
Except for Monica. She just said “Bourbon,
and leave the fuckin bottle.”
And, later, “Make me a sandwich for
a man! Not itsy bitsy canapes!
What do I look like?”
She later put on the kibosh when the
ladies broke out a tape measure
in a slack moment in a game containing
many.
“No more stupid Lady Rituals! His pecker
humongous, all right? Let it go at that.”
At any rate, she proved his only friend.
Eventually adopted him.
A nice story mid depravity.
Some luck out.
Always hope.
Labels: depravity, forgetting, serving, Women wit and humor
Saturday, September 30, 2017
Salty Altzy
The white lie delayed things a bit, but the
new Accountant waited still, finger poised
above iPad.
“Had to remember my cell number twice
today, and that pushed out my home number,
somehow. Uhhhh?”
Beat or two, thuds, and then Del recalled it.
Accountant acted as if it were quite natural,
but Del felt crushed.
Couldn’t even make a joke about Alzheimer
Moments etc.
What he imagined–-his personality–-was the
worst possible scenario. Like “Bury,” the
Undertaker, who roamed the seaside town
looking for fresh corpses not called in.
His daughter had caught up with him at
Murcheson Hardware, where old Clint
informed him that he’s not dead yet.
“Try in a couple of weeks, though.”
Sheila drove him directly to Dr Destiny
(name for real) at Bide a Bit.
He presently has a corner room full
of funerary knickknacks.
Quite tired each evening, since he
believes he works there.
Del leaves early that day and walks to
the cove. Sails are blinding.
His two sons arrive in daydream, bright
yet fuzzy.
“Wasting time?” asks Bink.
“What’s the difference? Long’s he
still knows he’s Dad!” adds Rentz.
They laugh. The bright sails laugh.
The whole salt day seems to.
Labels: Alzheimer, dementia, Family, forgetting, memory
Wednesday, November 16, 2016
Face to Meet the World
-Went to Publix for article
I thought about half the week.
Then, forgot to buy it!
-Who doesn't? Trivial. Ever do
the same in real life?
-It's why Veronica married Stephan
and not me.
-Are they happy?
-Fuck no!
-And would've she and you been...?
-Fuck no!
-Don't you think your central problem,
besides vulgarity, is attitude?
-Fuck no!
Labels: attitude, forgetting, happiness, marriage, match, Publix, vulgarity
Saturday, April 25, 2015
His Bell
You couldn't report yourself as missing.
Someone had to miss you, and wonder where
you've gotten to, and, of course, seek the help
of the police.
He went about, expecting a cruiser's stopping,
its blue light spinning down to still.
He had dropped his wallet, probably watching
Omar and Celeste in the new ape enclosure.
Had climbed an old fretwork that the apes had
formerly used, but now outside their fancy one.
Nobody turned it in to Lost and Found.
Just as well, since he forgot his name, and someone
would surely have asked, thence checking driver's license.
Ricky and Elinor, God's New Gifts absolutely, took him
home and fed him, tried questions to jog his memory.
No go.
That night they went to Lefty's Paradise to watch
Giants-Eagle on TV.
There the Professor guessed he had graduated Harvard,
and his fresh companion, the ex chorus boy, opined he
had the quickness of an athlete or dancer.
“Good and healthy and strong!” remarked Sudsy, who
hired him on the spot to unload trucks, flu having swept
his small firm.
Strictly under the table, since no Social Security number.
So he had found friends, a neighborhood, a hangout,
and a job!...and a name, Chauncey, bestowed by the Professor.
Not bad for his first disconcerting day.
That late night on the daybed gracing the sun porch,
he tried to fit some things together.
No use, but he replayed the football game in acutest detail.
Maybe that was kind of key?
Beatrice got interested in his story. She despatched trucks,
and started bringing him lunch. They dated, and eventually
he left his cozy daybed for her cramped studio apartment.
“Believe me, Chaunce fills it up without yours truly!”
Beats had season tickets for the Jets, but had promised them
to others in her family, but not for any playoff games.
The Bengals coming in for the first round got Chauncey so
excited he could hardly speak.
The old man checking the ticket with some sort of wand cried,
"Buzz Ackley! and they couldn’t find YOU better seats than THESE?"
Ripper Collins later sought him out with his mike for the Jumbotron.
..."But I'm not sure I'm he."
"Well, I'm sure! That ‘he’ gives it away: Pure Yalie!"
He took him down to the field and the young players, of course,
couldn't recognize him, but the twin gray-bearded trainers,
Hip and Bix, hugged him together, and massaged his shoulders.
She worked her laptop that evening. "You live in Nutley," she
told him, "18 Appletree Lane, wife Cindy, girl at Trenton State,
boy in Air Force."
They drove there next day, and Cindy fainted.
Detectives Markham and Pesticci were present, making sure that
Beats’ cautious phone call to Cindy wasn’t a con, and knew how to
revive her. Too, they swabbed his mouth for DNA. They explained
that they kept his case from the media since they believed it
involved the Mafia taking over sports memorabilia.
“We expected you were wearing a cement overcoat at the bottom
of a polluted pond in The Meadowlands somewhere.”
Cindy proved completely sure, and needed no DNA, so Beats left.
In a couple of weeks, Buzz recalled almost everything, and the
couple invited Beats back. Cindy told her she'd love her forever!
She became Aunt Beats at Christmas etc. to the youngsters
back from college and the Air Force.
Cindy, strangely, never had a jealous bone.
All the characters in this story of forgetting are pretty
unusual.
Buzz has more than his share of where did I put my...?
but functions appropriately enough for his age.
The League is kicking in to a fund to help those like him.
“I do remember every SINGLE time on the field that my bell
was truly rung!”
Labels: Bengals, characters, DNA, Eagles, football, forgetting, friends, Giants, Jets, Meadowlands, NFL, relationship, wife
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Frontier in Language
Groping
Can't find a word.
Many friends lend
cover, alleging
we truly all etc do it,
forget and fumble.
Then, a goofy perusal of
some wooly performance
you tell to agree. Though,
sorry, Funny One, passed
the awful frontier where
sly gods of linguistics
guffaw continuously.
But, laugh along there
also. Might as well.
Labels: Alzheimer, dementia, forgetting, forgetting word, inarticulate
