2004 - Vol. 1, Issue 5

Today, I feel less worse:
the pain that suddenly appeared
so like an enemy's curse
or an army's attack of spears
retreated from excruciating hurt
to merely very severe.

Somewhere in America an endless, deserted road is disappearing into indefinite fog.
I am driving into the infinite, misty gray.
The thick sky is diffusing the rays of the rising sun
or the setting sun
into a luminous blur,
burning white spots into my field of vision.

Day is whirling into night.
Night is crashing into morning.
One of these statements is true.

Recently I was very ill for several months. I have a chronic illness, so in itself that's not too shocking. However, the devastating level of sickness I experienced of late is like when I was first felled by disability and could only lie still for days on end, coming to grips with the challenge of not doing a thing, but simply being. Letting thoughts sift through my mind, my body so demonstrably fragile, led me to think about death — to feel its closeness. Following in the wake of this physical struggle came an emotional one, where I sometimes felt death would be a release from my seemingly endless suffering. And the more I thought about death, the more I came to the obvious conclusion: there's a humor column in here.

Some people might find it odd to choose the ultimate "See ya!" as a topic for mirth. But since I have a business called "Sick Humor" it can hardly be a surprise that I have a morbid streak.