Eve Rounds

365 days past…

one year ago today, i began shooting 22 shots.

with snow behind the camera, yet always at my side, “control” started it all. and with the help of SO MANY talented generous artists, every single shot had a life a personality a meaning all its own.

i had hoped to write something profound on this odd one year anniversary, but i seem to be paralyzed by the disbelief that 22 shots ever really happened…

i’ve since gone off the brutal injections witnessed by all of you. for six months my body responded well to an unassuming oral drug taken twice a day.

until an MRI revealed a new lesion in my brain stem. the horror returned. i’m now on another oral regimen, effectiveness yet to be determined. more horror.

the horror always rests in the unknown because the only way to truly know if a treatment isn’tworking, is if i end up with more brain damage while on it. and if my brain stays stable, who’s to say that the drug is doing its job or my immune system randomly decided it didn’t feel like harming my lobes again…just yet.  is isn’t what the fuck. 

until then, i wake i run i laugh i ride i love i give i eat.

until then, i’m happy.

control.

beanblog

***Note, this was originally written on MAY 21 2014, the official anniversary.

but ok but

write some poems that i can give him ok (but they’ll all be about the hims) good idea bad idea no good twinning and losing

a 5 7 5 for e

peering through thick glass your back to me is waiting any news at all? running down broad steps into your brotherly arms crying without breath!

incircles

is it the ticking of the third hand or the faucet dripping onto discount bulk blueberries both measuring time “going in circles” as he would

a poem about you for you (and you)

you are your own though your temperament reminds me of him your head is more ripe mango while his was more soft plum my love

i don’t even know

how long it’s been. haven’t been counting days haven’t counted backwards on the calendar. haven’t bothered to reread my own words. haven’t been missing you

the five senses

your blue eyes and crooked lippy smile which i inherited that tiny soft bristle brush for your basically bald head the white corvette a campfire cards