some of this “saying goodbye” is killing me by not killing me

it’s three days and i’ll admit it hasn’t been totally agonizing except for occasional moments, but a loss such as this brings up a whole gang of things that wander around my head looking for comfort of some sort. i’m understanding that on this journey we spend a lot of our time saying hello and goodbye to things and people and somehow, someway hope we can leave a little something on this plane of existence before returning to the big math. i say returning because i believe we’re recycled ad infinitum. save the planet? yeahh ok, but you just might find yourself (or a little piece of you) a gilded lily peering out from a transponder on a junk freighter littering in the far side of alpha-biscotti-232, a half a million years in the past on astral plane necto-caspiron, level hex, dimension 14.
this place is big.
using the google, i found limitless planes of planes of existence. it’s almost as easy to travel these beliefs as it is to find a church you like. there sure are a lot of churches, but there’s a shitload more universes. if you need a universe or plane of existence, contact me here. i’ll rustle one up for you, pronto. then you can talk about it and develop a link and it can be your own vanity google link, just like i have.
for me, i guess, the answers regarding my own personal “plane of existence” centers on the eighth-electro-plasma ocean of the ninth dimension, and if you hit that link, you’ll see what i mean. it’s my vanity plane of existence, and for all i know, i’m as right as the pope, and you can’t be righter than the pope. they still got that infallibility thing going on, though they’ll try like hell to deny it and at the same time admit it. big rich, spiritual boys clubs can do that, i guess. that’s how massive power structures work.
you might look back a few blogs if you’re new here. actually, you might as well read this blog from the beginning –  there’s so much you’ll “huh?” about as you read.  background is everything.

i, for one, am looking to resurface somewhere around the eighth-electro-plasma ocean of the ninth dimension so i could see the view above what the grifting lizards from mars see. there’s that human one-upsmanship thing. i’d be ok if i were a fractal, as long as i’m there.
since my last conversation with that omar sharif/edouardo cianelli lizard guy who had his people-dentures out the last time i saw him, i’ve wanted to know what kind of ship they were spying on me and humanity with, as well as what they were taking from here and since they believe they’re being watched from members of the eighth-electro-plasma ocean of the ninth dimension, that’s good enough for me – i’ll take that view and info on my further, circular or eternal journey provided there is one, which is another whole conversation (or monologue). i don’t need to know all the answers, just the ones to trump the current top intergalactic dog.

which inexplicably leads me to the premier viewing of “the meaning of life” from the monty python troupe last night at the cordoba alligator garage theater. i’ll admit, it might have been a little bit cold, though there were a few warm areas near the heaters and the screen image was slightly askew, but the theater sound was excellent. I’m taking suggestions for next sunday’s screening. currently, Barton Fink sounds just about right, but if something comes along in the next few days, we can go with it…..
i’ll be working out the technical issues this week, surely to improve the visual experience. that’s the kind of people we are; striving for excellence, one roll of duct tape at-a-time.
but back to the bigger issue of this writing – i’ve been asked to turn in my ice cream gorging permit.
seventy-two hours (almost) and indeed, counting. it was one of those casual suggestions given to me by a healthcare provider. something about me, sugar and blood. i understood the “me” part (i’m always attentive to that), but i fazed in and out as he spoke about blood and sugar, which i think is an excellent name for a musical duo.
that’s where i went with that.

the last time i was given a casual “lean” from a medical professional, it was by a doctor who noticed a slight-but-persistent throat-clearing sound and occasional cough i had.
“nice cough.”
“why thank you. i do my best.”
“smoke?”
“yeah, some”
“you know, with a cough like that you can be breathing out of a bottle in…ten, fifteen years”
“aahhh,…ok – thanks for the warning”
“yeah” he said, “that’s emphysema. it just gets worse as you continue to smoke”
“oh. but it clears up if i quit…”
“no. it just doesn’t get worse as fast. it’s chronic.”
“uhh, huh” i said. i wanted to say “fuck you, you lying bastard” but i knew he wasn’t lying and i wasn’t able to muster the “who wants to life forever?” line.
i didn’t tell this guy that my mom just got her first oxygen canister six months ago. she smoked chesterfields in the ’50s, viceroy in the ’60s, marlboro lights in the ’70’s and i think merit in the 80’s and nineties till the cigs went out and the oxygen came in.
i can also recall in her later years that she would steal cigarettes when she could. in her final days she asked me for one and i would have given her one if i had, though i’m sure the nursing home would’ve had a problem with that.
looking for a chesterfields ad to post, i went on youtube, found an ad, saw “related” videos, clicked one of those and in five clicks, i was watching nine-eleven videos. loads of them…….hmmm. so i settled for an image. when i dwell on the 911 fix, i find myself falling down a pit of indescribable doom. not today, thank you.

but this has nothing to do with ice cream and how i have to let it go.  i have pictures in my mind of breyer’s ice cream in a half-gallon brick.

i even remember my angry italian grandmother putting green creme de menthe on it like it was bosco.
god, i liked that stuff. i distinctly remember requesting more. she said i was rambunctious.
the mere tone of her voice was dictionary-enough for this five year old, yet i sensed power in my ability to piss her off. this would manifest itself more in later childhood, culminating in the meatloaf square-off of 1961.
it’s the ice cream. old habits die hard. and that soy product does not cut it. it’s like smoking lettuce cigarettes. they been trying to get this into people lungs since i was a kid. almost as long as i been eating ice cream with creme de menthe.

About stephen trimboli

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2 Responses to some of this “saying goodbye” is killing me by not killing me

  1. Me says:

    Movie Suggestion box …..Beetlejuice…..you mentioned it a few blogs back and images started flooding my primative brain…. he reminded me of an old boyfriend …..the 2 had a lot in common….I’ll bring lots of popcorn with hot drippy real butter……as 4 ice cream……can’t live without it myself

  2. Pingback: Goodbye Blue Monday » Blog Archive » a nature of the nature of national park musings

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