The Bone Loves Anesthesia!

The Bone has been absent recently! Sorry about that.

You know what The Bone loves? Doctors and nurses. I love me some hospital, that's for sure. When I was getting injections into my neck for a slipped disc, I got to know the folks so well they would shoot me up only halfway with the Propofol and let me zone out for a few minutes before giving me the rest. I sure enjoyed those three or four minutes of bliss.

So, I've always been interested in medical things, and I love the attention I get in the hospital. But there's a dark side as well. Once I caught my doctor (my regular, go-to doc) checking the internet for information about some symptoms I had. The internet! The same place you get your free Boning!

Also, due to an incident in my formative years, I'm a bit interested in getting dosed. The idea of ingesting something and going on an unplanned adventure is appealing, even though the genesis of my screwed up wants was terrible indeed. And just how much blood does a baby hold? 270ml, according to the internet. That's about 9 shots of tequila if the person pouring is a bit heavy. So, if you can handle 9.2 shots of tequila, you could technically vampire to death an innocent little baby. Congrats!

Anywho, here's a free poem. This will hurt me more than it will hurt you:

Oh, yeah! I just remembered this is an ekphrastic poem, from Vic Reynolds' "Becoming Light" artwork. His website is down, but he was an art teacher at Wayne State College and one of my favorite profs, even though I never took a class with him.

Becoming Light

Your doctor wants to do something

to you.

He wants to see just

         how

            much

    blood

your baby has inside her.

He has the most savage of ideas.

None more noble than

tinkering with your

synapses.

He wants to see if you can become

                     meat.

He’s keeping a chart on you beside your bed.

He claps his hands when you react

a certain way

         from

    the medicine

he gives you.

He has vials of it,

some smoking, all colored in bright steaming

rainbows.

He says they will

deliver you.

When the needle goes in and you are startled,

he scribbles in notebooks and binders.

He would like you to become what he

              interprets

              as stable.

He wants you to know that although you are nervous,

it was never

your

fault.  He can make it

go away

if you let him.  And you have to,

because

He’s a doctor.

And he’s becoming,

he’s becoming immortal –

he’s becoming giddy;

and he’s becoming light

as you are becoming

nothing

but  whispers

and

vapor.

What I Remember About Circumcision!

I can remember quite a lot of my early childhood. Our family had many, many good times. But what I wanna talk about is circumcision. Ouch!

Now, I don't "think" I remember being circumcised. And, that's probably a good thing. But, I did dream about it (kinda). This would have been when I was quite young, because I remember my brother and I still shared a bedroom. Anyway...

In my dream, I was an infant, and I was being carried into some sort of tent. Like a tepee, I suppose. I remember feeling this place was very, very old. I want to say "ancient", but am not sure if I knew that word at the time.

So anywho, I'm carried into this tent, and it is night, and there are small fires all around. I can see the fires, but not the tents, but they had to be there. And I'm brought inside, naked, and there are women sitting around a fire. I got the sense that these women were generations of relatives, somehow "more important" than my mom and dad. I got the feeling that these women were important to everybody.

So I was handed to one of the women, I can't remember if she was black or white or whatever, as that would be fascinating, and she cradled me in her arms. Another woman took a knife (yes, the kind you are imagining, bone handle, the works), and placed it in the fire. There was no fear, by the way. When it was glowing hot, she brought it to the woman holding me and she circumcised me. I don't remember any blood or anything. So was this dream influenced by my body remembering? Wild!

So, I wrote a poem about it. It's free! It's... It's The Bone!

And They Carried It Through the Streets

My mother held me in a blanket.

Held me in a fever on grandmother’s bed.

I remember the heat – it was intense

and personal as any castration myth.

The fevered dream I had was of scissors,

hot stones and people who smoked herbs

in warm circles. A woman in colored hides and face paint

held a knife to the altar of my brown foreskin.

Another dream, in third grade – the teacher

diced my penis and threw it to me. I caught it,

but not before tiny cubes of flesh

fell through my fingers to the floor. I still wake

bloody sometimes. I cup my crotch

and sweating, spilling seed, wish

for a different interpretation

of Ouranos or the Holy Bible.