Notes From A Sickbed

By Recuperating Ray X

© Copyright 2007



-- Lying in the ER, waiting for test results. They move my bed into the hallway; they need the room for another patient. The new arrival is taken in, screaming like a wounded animal. Mental, not physical, pain. They strap him down. I can still hear his cries through the closed door. What’s more distressed –- my gut or his mind?


-- Back home. Some people heal in hours; me, it’s usually days. Stuck in bed, only radio and TV for company. TV infomercial trumpets a cure-all. The guy hawking the miracle stuff: reedy, his hair gassed back, a ratty moustache. I think of Willie The Pimp by Frank Zappa. The miracle stuff guy is a cue-carder; not spontaneous. Sitting at a small round table, pseudo-talk show, a couple pretends to interview him. Question. Response: his little dark peepers just dart over to the cue cards and he robots his reply. Hey, Willie, I’ll buy five. Why? Your sincerity is so obvious.


-- On shortwave radio I hear Pastor Peter J. Peters, Scriptures For America, talk about this country being the New Jerusalem. And what does he base this on? Look closely: JerUSAlem. He also states the Ark of the Covenant is in ARKansas. Yeah. And Genghis Khan is buried in the state of KHANsas.


-- A couple of times I feel well enough to log online; just enough energy to catch up on some news; too sick to write and add stuff to my blog. My head hurts. Information overload. Too much; I can never keep up, even when I feel well. All sorts of posts archived at bloglines.com, waiting for me to review them. It’s no wonder that I don’t receive that many comments at my own blog. I’m just one of a million million voices out there trying to be heard. The Net: upside, truly democratic; downside, all the competition.


-- One positive note: No worry re: about being abducted by gray aliens. If they can’t tell how sick I am, they’ll find out when I projectile vomit all over their stupid bulbous noggins.