Finding Solace in the Gutter

Finding Solace in the Gutter.

Here is a very arresting photograph by a fellow blogger. You might go and check out their work. I had to write something that seemed, to me at least, to fit the mood of the picture. Like someone who had to make a very tough decision with no clear “good” outcome, no matter what the choice was.

 

There. It’s done. I did it.

I don’t regret it, either.

Not one damn bit.

Honest.

 

 

What? Some Answers? Huh.

Went to the neurologist this afternoon. She looked over the MRIs and what not. Told me I have an arachnoid cyst on the right hemisphere. It could be the thing responsible for the weakness on the left side, the loss of ability to speak, and the general “things ain’t working right”-ieness I’ve been dealing with the last couple of years.

A cyst.

In my brain.

That none of the other MRIs caught, at all.

Um, what?

I don’t know what else to say, so here is a picture I took of a steel pan, a conga drum and a pineapple. Enjoy it.

 

words and pictures © Christopher Ward. All rights reserved.

Jimmy Cliff

Riding The Bus

Jimmy Cliff singing in my ears

Ruby with a gun in Brixton

Bus shaking as the driver grinds the gears

Every bus ride is a long one

Swinging

Swinging from the strap one handed

Keep looking for your stop and you’re

Freezing

Freezing so the rain don’t fog up the windows

Keep looking for your stop

Catch a glimpse of the gulf every day

Crossing that bridge at Edgewater

Take it all in ’til you get taken away

Riding through the streets of Clearwater

Swinging

Singing in your head little snatches of a song

Now you missed your stop

Ringing

Ringing the bell let me off right here

Cussin and fussin cuz damn I missed my stop

 

words and pictures © Christopher Ward. All rights reserved.

gow’h'hoh’hohoko

So, I was thinking the other day on my way to work, and I thought, “I know! I’ll make up a language!” Like you find yourself thinking from time to time.

This is a language that only uses one vowel sound; namely, “o” as in “boat” and “cope”. Just, you know, to be difficult. First, we start with numbers and letters, just like Sesame Street.

0 = ro

1 = o

2 = to

3 = ho

4 = fo

5 = yo

6 = so

7 = vo

8 = ko

9 = no

10 = oro

From this, we can construct numbers 11- 19 by using oro as a root and adding one of the other numbers like o, to, ho and so forth.

11 = oro o

12 = oro to

13 = oro ho

Et cetera. To create 20, 30, 40 and the like, we simply switch “o” at the beginning of oro for one of the other numbers.

20 = toro

30 = horo

40 = foro

Thusly. 44, as an example, would be foro fo; that is, four tens and four ones.

Once we pass noro no, or 99, we come to ororo, or one hundred. Numbers then proceed as one would expect, up to tororo, or 200. Five hundred ninety seven would be yororo noro vo. After nororo noro no, we come to this number: 1000. It is pronounced “orororo”. Rules for naming the next numerals up to ten thousand are consistent, such that “2013” is pronounced “torororo oro ho”. A change occurs at 10,000, for brevity’s sake: “o’obo”, “to’obo”, “ho’obo” would be “10,000”, “20,000” and “30,000” respectively.

That’s enough numbers for now. I will leave you to come up with “78, 946” on your own.

Parts of the body

go – hand

gog – finger

tlo – eye

odoko – head (also “top of ko” where “ko” = 8)

modoko – tail, bottom (“bottom of 8”)

cho – foot

chog – toe

Plurals are created by adding “w” to the end of a word; the w is only used to indicate plurals and is pronounced like the sound at the the beginning of “which”. So, gow – hands, gogw – eyes, etc.

ko – walk

koko – run

k’koko – run very fast (also “squirrel”)

hoh – mouth

hoh’hoh – talk

h’hoh’hohoko – language

gow’h'hoh’hohoko – the name of this language I’m making up. Essentially it means “language of the ones with hands”; i.e., people.

 

words and pictures © Christopher Ward. All rights reserved.

A Very Short Post, Indeed.

Today, I learned something. I couldn’t go to work, because I could barely walk. I can’t get in to see a doctor til next Thursday. My room mate, “Constance” and I, took her son to pay off a fine he had. She uses a walker; I use a cane. In addition to her needing the walker for her situation, she also has a sprained ankle. So, here we are: guy with cane, chick with walker, both under fifty, barely creeping along through a parking lot. See it? Amusing. Neither of us expected to find ourselves in our forties looking like Ma and Pa Kettle, but there it is.

Anyway, I said I learned something. Last week, I went to work every day, left the cane behind the counter, and ran (figuratively) all over the shop. Grabbing saxophones down from the walls, moving the stand-up bass around, whatever. Carrying on like a regular person. A while back, Constance was feeling, as she put it, “cocky” and decided that her sprained ankle wasn’t that bad, and hopped all around on it.

She fell and re-injured her ankle.

I must’ve over-done it, and now can’t even lift my feet. I am walking like a shuffling zombie, a Scooby Doo monster.

We sat in the lobby of the DMV together, commiserating. I thought I should be getting better, not having days where things get worse. She felt the same way. What she said, however, was this:

“I don’t look at it any more as, ‘my ankle’s getting better’. I look at it like ‘today my ankle is doing good’ or ‘not so good’. We gotta learn to take the good days when we can get ‘em.”

Hope you are taking the good days when you can get ‘em, you lot.

This picture is called “Pretty Good Match” because I used a photo editing tool to blank out a weird looking dark blotch on it. I took it on one of the “good” days, so it’s appropriate.

 

 

 

words and pictures © Christopher Ward. All rights reserved.

Delicious

Reblogged from Behold The Image! :

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British Deli_cious in beautiful downtown Dunedin, FL. Allison and Garrett create a welcoming atmosphere in this cozy little place, playing great music and providing a taste of the U.K. to ex-pats and 'Muricans alike. Check it out if you're in the area.

words and pictures © Christopher Ward. All rights reserved.

Read more… 24 more words

From my other blog about pictures and stuff and things.

Jammin’ (kinda)!

The bus ride  seemed to stretch on for a cold, overly air conditioned eternity. It was crowded – everyone in Pinellas County seemed to be on this one bus. The seats are close together. This means that someone with long legs such as myself can find no comfortable way to sit in a bus seat. In short, it was your typical bus ride.

After I had seen a few more sunrises and sunsets, I finally arrived at my destination. A car ride here would have taken, maybe, 30 minutes tops. But, on the bus, it takes you sooo much longer. I hobbled off the bus and went into the office of the MRI device.

“We’ll need you to fill out this ream of paper work before we begin,” the nurse told me. “If your pen runs out of ink, just ask us for another one at the desk.” I am, now, officially tired of seeing my own name. I think I filled out less paperwork the last time I bought a car.

“Do you have claustrophobia, mister Ward? There’s not really much we can do about it if you do, we just I want to be able to say why when you start freaking out.” And with that I was loaded into a tube, with headphones placed on my ears and a plastic cage over my head. “What kind of music do you want to hear?” the technician asked me.

“Uh, reggae?”

Soon, Bob Marley begin singing about his 3 little birds in my ears. Only to be immediately drowned out by the sound of the world’s largest electric toothbrush committing unspeakable acts. This went on for the better part of half an hour. I closed my eyes, clenched my teeth, and thought of England. (Why are so many medical procedures reminiscent of the sort of things that you find in an S&M dungeon? Not saying it’s a bad thing; just wondering.)

It finally ended. “Shabba!” And just like that, I was extracted from the tube. I was dazed, I was confused, but I wasn’t happy about it.

“Your doctor will let you know about the results in a few days,” the tech said. I had noticed that he and the other techs were dancing in the little room that they check on the progress of the MRI. Glad someone could enjoy the music.

“Can I take a picture of that infernal machine?”

words and pictures © Christopher Ward. All rights reserved.