11 March 2007
To My Friends 4
16 March 2007 : To
My Friends Collated
16th March 2007
Well here I am sitting in front of this wretched machine. I’m tired, nauseous, sore, constipated and very grumpy. Over the last week I’ve eaten practically nothing and am existing on supplementary drinks. I’ve been in Atrial fibrillation for 6 days and God be praised I slipped out of it again this morning on the back of a very big sweat which I hope heralded the end of a little infection which had me very shivery last night. I’m now on a small doses of morphine against my better judgment and it has reduced the pain a little. The upside is that I think that I must be having delusions since I spent half the night trying to write a poem in ‘atrial fibrillation and sinus rhythm’ about Taito Phillip Field (a New Zealand politician of dubious ethical standing). I couldn’t work out just what kind of rhythm atrial fibrillation was when it came to poetry.
Tomorrow is St Patrick’s Day and I’m determined to drink a pint of Guiness no matter that it takes all day. There are some things that just cannot be all allowed to pass unnoticed, some standards that must not be allowed to slip. So I shall dress in suitable garments and start early in the day. Mind you, I’m buggered if I can make out why I would want to drink Guiness. Its made with the water from the dirty old Liffy, the river on which Dublin stands.. The last time I was there it was as dirty at least as the Thames and you wouldn’t want to dip your big toe in that let alone drink it. It was filthy and with coke bottles and all others sorts of litter in it as well. Julie’s Nan, age 96, swears by the curative properties of Guiness and drinks a pint every Friday. She hasn’t yet discovered that the lovely dark color is caused by burning the malt and not by some magical ingredient and that advertising Guiness as having curative properties is forbidden by law. Nevertheless it’s a great drop.
Talking of water reminds me of something that is going on our own ‘clean green’ land. Permits and resource consents for the use of river water are allocated by local community Boards, many of whom we have recently discovered are stacked with developers and farm owners. For example on one local community Board 8 out of 12 members are developers. Anyway ou r local North Canterbury rivers are quite rapidly becoming unfishable and undrinkable. Two dairy farms in North Canterbury use more water per day than the whole of the city of Christchurch and of course it leeches the nitrogen’s from the soil in the normal way and returns them to the rivers. It’s a bloody disgrace.
These and many other facts about water in North Canterbury are detailed in a recently published book by Sam Mahon, an artist and son of the late Justice Peter Mahon, who became famous and vilified during the Erubus enquiry for stating that he had been forced to listen to “an orchestrated litany of lies” from the Airline and other officials. Anyway Sam wrote a book called “The Water Thieves” which details the goings on around the Community Boards and water. It’s a very interesting read and I think perhaps a prophetic warning. Anyway I was incensed. There’s nothing quite like this sort of chicanery to get me out of feeling miserable and into expressing myself in what for me is now the usual way in a poem So here it is.
They did not notice
He came
like a thief in the night
to take the water.
He gathered it into
his permits and
his resource consents,
he gathered it when
no-one was looking
they were too busy
with their new houses
and possessions
spending their spare time
seeking more things to buy
that they did not need.
trapped firmly
in the euphoric illusion
of eternal development
They did not notice him
gathering the water
they thought there was
an everlasting supply
but he gathered more and more.
Soon he had many
green fields and
a very big house,
its good to be rich
they said and
still they did not notice
they relied on others
and still he took the water
and still they did not notice;
they were traveling the world.
One day
a small boy
pointed to the river
why are there no fish
he asked and why does
the water taste funny?
They had no answer
and they were frightened
too late!
6th March 2007.
Enough for now I think. It’s a bit of a ramble really but it does take my mind off the misery. I have one last treatment on Monday. Then I just have to wait for a month, living pretty much as I am now. Hopefully by then I’ll be able to eat some proper food .again. Each day brings its own little challenges and demands. Its hard to describe.. One day its just the inability to clear phlegm which largely consists of blood and dead cells from my throat. Another day it may be just drinking this horrible stuff that I live on now or making the effort to go for a walk or do a little writing or answer emails etc. Its not that my body is too weak, just the mind and the overwhelming lethargy. The demands to have food, drink, mouthwashes, saltwater bathing of my skin, more pills, more fortisip and so on are relentless. I am lucky. I have so many friends who are so good to me. The group of trainers I have been working with brought me a T shit this week. It is black with my name on the front and ‘Social Atom Repairman’ on the back. So much kindness and love. Thank you all very much.
Well here I am sitting in front of this wretched machine. I’m tired, nauseous, sore, constipated and very grumpy. Over the last week I’ve eaten practically nothing and am existing on supplementary drinks. I’ve been in Atrial fibrillation for 6 days and God be praised I slipped out of it again this morning on the back of a very big sweat which I hope heralded the end of a little infection which had me very shivery last night. I’m now on a small doses of morphine against my better judgment and it has reduced the pain a little. The upside is that I think that I must be having delusions since I spent half the night trying to write a poem in ‘atrial fibrillation and sinus rhythm’ about Taito Phillip Field (a New Zealand politician of dubious ethical standing). I couldn’t work out just what kind of rhythm atrial fibrillation was when it came to poetry.
Tomorrow is St Patrick’s Day and I’m determined to drink a pint of Guiness no matter that it takes all day. There are some things that just cannot be all allowed to pass unnoticed, some standards that must not be allowed to slip. So I shall dress in suitable garments and start early in the day. Mind you, I’m buggered if I can make out why I would want to drink Guiness. Its made with the water from the dirty old Liffy, the river on which Dublin stands.. The last time I was there it was as dirty at least as the Thames and you wouldn’t want to dip your big toe in that let alone drink it. It was filthy and with coke bottles and all others sorts of litter in it as well. Julie’s Nan, age 96, swears by the curative properties of Guiness and drinks a pint every Friday. She hasn’t yet discovered that the lovely dark color is caused by burning the malt and not by some magical ingredient and that advertising Guiness as having curative properties is forbidden by law. Nevertheless it’s a great drop.
Talking of water reminds me of something that is going on our own ‘clean green’ land. Permits and resource consents for the use of river water are allocated by local community Boards, many of whom we have recently discovered are stacked with developers and farm owners. For example on one local community Board 8 out of 12 members are developers. Anyway ou r local North Canterbury rivers are quite rapidly becoming unfishable and undrinkable. Two dairy farms in North Canterbury use more water per day than the whole of the city of Christchurch and of course it leeches the nitrogen’s from the soil in the normal way and returns them to the rivers. It’s a bloody disgrace.
These and many other facts about water in North Canterbury are detailed in a recently published book by Sam Mahon, an artist and son of the late Justice Peter Mahon, who became famous and vilified during the Erubus enquiry for stating that he had been forced to listen to “an orchestrated litany of lies” from the Airline and other officials. Anyway Sam wrote a book called “The Water Thieves” which details the goings on around the Community Boards and water. It’s a very interesting read and I think perhaps a prophetic warning. Anyway I was incensed. There’s nothing quite like this sort of chicanery to get me out of feeling miserable and into expressing myself in what for me is now the usual way in a poem So here it is.
They did not notice
He came
like a thief in the night
to take the water.
He gathered it into
his permits and
his resource consents,
he gathered it when
no-one was looking
they were too busy
with their new houses
and possessions
spending their spare time
seeking more things to buy
that they did not need.
trapped firmly
in the euphoric illusion
of eternal development
They did not notice him
gathering the water
they thought there was
an everlasting supply
but he gathered more and more.
Soon he had many
green fields and
a very big house,
its good to be rich
they said and
still they did not notice
they relied on others
and still he took the water
and still they did not notice;
they were traveling the world.
One day
a small boy
pointed to the river
why are there no fish
he asked and why does
the water taste funny?
They had no answer
and they were frightened
too late!
6th March 2007.
Enough for now I think. It’s a bit of a ramble really but it does take my mind off the misery. I have one last treatment on Monday. Then I just have to wait for a month, living pretty much as I am now. Hopefully by then I’ll be able to eat some proper food .again. Each day brings its own little challenges and demands. Its hard to describe.. One day its just the inability to clear phlegm which largely consists of blood and dead cells from my throat. Another day it may be just drinking this horrible stuff that I live on now or making the effort to go for a walk or do a little writing or answer emails etc. Its not that my body is too weak, just the mind and the overwhelming lethargy. The demands to have food, drink, mouthwashes, saltwater bathing of my skin, more pills, more fortisip and so on are relentless. I am lucky. I have so many friends who are so good to me. The group of trainers I have been working with brought me a T shit this week. It is black with my name on the front and ‘Social Atom Repairman’ on the back. So much kindness and love. Thank you all very much.
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