If you have faith as a grain of mustard seed, you will say to your mountain,”MOVE!” and it WILL move… and NOTHING will be impossible for YOU!- Matthew 17:20
I’m going to walk the dogs to get my dope. Bundy will pitch a fit while he is tied to the outside of the pharmacy, and I am scoring. He has a bad case of separation anxiety. He will cry, and scream until I get back. It makes it hard to take him anywhere.
Scout got busted for using her cell phone, to call me to bring her a homemade lunch while she was on her lunch break, at her high school, today. I would think that a teacher would have a better thing to do than take kids’ phones away in the cafeteria. If she had been talking on it during math. class, I could understand her loss of it.
I’m waiting for someone to come take my wheelchair from me. I changed insurance companies for a little while, and the wheelchair company can no longer collect a three hundred dollar a month rental fee, so they want it back. What is twelve times 300; that is one expensive wheel chair that I have thought that I owned for the last year. It sat, in my way, next to my bed, and in front of my book shelves for the past year. I only used it when I was in the hospital. I’m pretty sure that I was told that I owned it. I think that the company that rents them out is a little bit crooked.
I’m eating some oatmeal with peanut butter, a pinch of salt, and half a banana, and then I am going to take the dogs for a walk. There is a bit of a chill in the air, but the sun is brilliant out there. What a wonderful day.
I need to stay close to you, so I carry this laptop everywhere that I go. I seek out wi-fi hot spots to stay at. One day, I will have an I phone or a Droid. Help me out of poverty by putting money in The K Tip Jar. Right now, I am at a bookstore re-writing my book of poems, “Someday I Will Start The Revolution.” I miss you. I really do. These poems may change your life.
5 p.m. is not the time for me to walk my dogs. There are a lot of other people, probably just home from work, out there walking their dogs, and Henry, and Bundy are just not polite: barking loudly at every dog that they see, and pulling, pulling on their leashes making the walk unpleasant for me. What can you do, though, a 5 pm walk is how it turned out that our walk was to be, today, and we all survived it.
I either ate too much of my son’s 22nd birthday cake, last night, at his surprise birthday party, or I ate just the right amount. I am not sure how to measure such, except by dropping blood onto a test strip, and sticking the test strip into a glucose meter, which I am about to do, right now.
My reading was 109, which is good. It was influenced by the fact that I just spent most of the last hour walking my dogs.
K PICS BELOW: Top row left: My son, Graem K, taking a bite out of his surprise birthday cake that he received four days before his 22nd birthday on March 10. He has grown up way too fast, but I still love him. Graem is surrounded, in the pictures, by art that he has created over the years. Happy Birthday, Graem. I love you.
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K Poems
You aren’t in the picture
I have the camera.
I have the film,
but something is missing.
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And a cop who isn’t busting folks
A singer who is not singing
might not be a singer anymore.
A poet who is not writing
might as well get a job at the store.
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Strike Out
Bowling pins drop
but not all of them.
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There is no welcome mat on the front door where I live now.I left it at the last place that I lived before: the rented house where the crack head kicked in our back door, and walked with two laptops that belonged to my kids.
There were dogs inside that house, but the intruder scared the dogs, somehow. One of the dogs is skittish to this day, or maybe she was skittish all along, and I just didn’t notice it. There was a storm during the night, here, that brought branches to the ground from the big tree that sits in front of our house, near the street. There was one particularly big branch that was trying to bring down my cable wire, again.
I picked up the smaller branches, and dragged the larger branch off of the cable wire and onto the ground, cleaning up the mess like I owned the place.
The storm could have been a serial killer, out to slash my throat last night, and I wouldn’t have noticed it, fast asleep in my rented apartment.
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THE VERDICT IS IN: YOU SHOULD BY A COPY OF. “THE DELIVERY GUY,” Mikel K’s popular underground memoir about that period of his life where he went from an LSD soaked, alcohol laden music writer poet rock star wanna be to a sober father sitting in the Little League bleachers watching his son grow up as he ran the bases. This book will make you laugh. It will make you cry, and then it will make you laugh, again.
YOU CAN BUY THE BOOK, NOW, BY GOING TO THIS LINK: http://stores.lulu.com/mikelkpoet
“I found the book, “The Delivery Guy,” by Mikel K to be a refreshing and sometimes uncomfortably honest look into the life of a modern writer struggling to come to terms with a pre-fabricated and often superficial, turn of the century, American society. The battle is dynamic and comes to an uplifting spiritually evolved conclusion. I found it a fascinating read!!!”–James Lewis
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Help keep The Daily K a float by donating to The Daily K Tip Jar: http://www.mikelk.com/
Every donor will receive an E copy of Mikel K’s memoir, “The Delivery Guy.”
