This is bizarre…it took me over 15 or so years to fully reckon it; however…

…I feel as though poetry writing saved my mindset.

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3 thoughts on “This is bizarre…it took me over 15 or so years to fully reckon it; however…

  1. mattramzzz says:

    This is bizarre…it took me over 15 or so years to fully reckon it; however…I feel as though poetry writing saved my mindset. The reason why this is true is that, despite the fact that I was still alive and enabled to re-enroll in classes at the school I was attending when I sustained my final stroke, many things had changed; first off, I could tell that I was somewhat different, in the way I thought and processed information; even though I was the same person, physically, my coordination was way less keen; (for christ’s sake, in the hospital, at the University of Western Ontario, either right after my operation or right before: I’m almost sure it must have been before my operation, like an idiot, I tried to get up and make it to the bathroom located in my room at like 3 or 4 in the morning, on my own; and, due to my weakened physical nature, I fell in a heap and made a smelly mess that a night nurse was forced to clean up: after cleaning me and the other part of the mess that escaped my hospital gown; anyway, what I remember being one of the last things that I really cared about, prior to sustaining the stroke, other than the particular group of friends I was hanging out with and the girlfriend I had, was the creative writing class I was involved in, at the time of my big one.

    Apparently, in creative writing, we had come to a point in the curriculum in which we focused upon T.S. Eliot’s, “objective correlative”. Sometime very soon after this was when I sustained the nearly-fatal event; other than the fact that I was really enthralled with poetic communication, there was, from what I remember, not much of anything else to be really interested in at school.

    I remember that I was in the school band, playing drums; however, I was also taking private drum lessons that were far superior; in that, the teacher of the private lessons focused on percussion and drumming techniques; as opposed to the high school music teachers, who, for some reason, gave a crap about all the musical instruments…(wink-wink); the real reason why I preferred private lessons was that I was able, primarily, to focus on playing and learning to play the drumset, not just the snare, the bass drum, the cymbals, the triangle or…the claves…I always felt like Tracy Partridge when I was called upon to play the triangle or the claves (pronounced: KLAH-VAYS). Do not ask me why…my drum teacher had gone to a specialized music school in Massachusettes: The Berklee College of Music…he really knew his stuff…and still does.

    The creative writing teacher had a similar bent to teaching writing; he focused on poetry; I remember him saying that had tried writing prose and failed miserably and, as far as I can remember, that was reason why he didn’t try to teach students to write effective creative prose fiction. The logic, to me, seems bulletproof. His one mention of the concept of “objective correlative poetry, both led me down a weird sort of rabbithole that was able to provide me my ability to thrive and succeed as a writer and thinker, even when my stroke-affected memory deficit was at its most profound. To let you know, I attribute much of my ability to recall to my use of voice recognition software.

    1. mattramzzz says:

      Well, I was in the rabbithole for quite awhile, frequently poking my head out, from time to time; the first time I remember poking out was the winter after the summer my life was saved in Canada was that Winter, when I had a fourth brain surgery to replace the ventricular shunt had been installed, the previous May, at Johns Hopkins University Hospital; I like to think the surgeons, there, were thinking that I really didn’t have a two-legged dog’s chance in heavy traffic of surviving to see my seventeenth birthday and that this explained their failure to leave enough slack in the tubing of the shunt they installed in my brain to allow for me not outgrow the damn thing, if I actually hit my growth spurt.

      At the time, I was five feet tall and 15 years old. Neither of my parents is under 5 foot 4 and one of them is 5 foot 6 or 7; therefore, I damn well blame Johns Hopkins University Hospital for the need for me to undergo the knife (or laser) again in ’88.

      1. mattramzzz says:

        I say “or laser” because of the fact that I don’t know whether they used a scalpel or laser at JHU; the second and third surgeries I had at the University of Western Ontario’s University Hospital, I am almost certain were accomplished with a knife or scalple; although, when I was wheeled into the pre-operative procedure room, I don’t recall having heard any bone saw. What I remember is a “Dr. Fox” having performed an embolyzation process on my brain: this entailed him filling in different parts of my brain with latex, as a means to eliminate as much bleeding as possible during my “big” operation that was to take place the following day.

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