Dadda, Painter Need Surgery

I woke this morning and, after bidding my little boy 'good morning', was greeted with the same statement for which this post is titled. I stared for a moment. Did he mean the word 'sugary', as in wanting some sort of candy? Had I simply heard him wrong, or he'd gotten his words crossed?

"Dadda, Painter need surgery."
"Uh... wow, kid. Do you mean sugary? Candy?"
"Dadda, Painter surgery. Please."
"Surgery?"
"Yeah, sick. Painter need surgery. A doctor."

So that was that, he did, in fact, mean 'surgery'. No doubt this idea of his was spawned from my own surgery I had earlier in the month, though it wasn't something I'd ever explained to him. He just assumed I was 'sick'. That's the cutest thing I've ever heard of. I did go over the notion that he required no surgery, though he kept pointing at his stomach.

"Need surgery."

Creepy as hell, that was. I pictured him being a character in a Stephen King tale.

I think I mentioned something in a previous post about posting an image of my surgical aftermath, but I can't remember and I'm not going back to check right at this moment. Here you go-- My disgusting, abdomenal, post-operative self:

Most fun. And yes, I look ridiculously pot-bellied, and they shaved me. I don't know what I'm up to with posting this picture and the one in my last post, showing my disturbing, permanently injured, ever-bloodshot eye, but it's certainly not showing off my good looks (of which, by now you'll realize I have none).

And here's The Little Boy Who Wanted Surgery (I may use that as the title of one of my children's books, at some point, along with my previous big hit "The Little Boy with Ants in His Heart"):

Skep

Just a quick note on my new book, Skep, which is coming along well enough. I'm at about 24 poems in, and will continue until the vacinity of 80. A 'skep' is a sort of natural beehive, usually constructed out of hay. What does that have to do with a book of poetry? Enough for what I have in mind. Below are two pictures of my work in progress. Yes, this is a college-ruled pad and yes, my handwriting is fucking tiny (three handwritten lines fit within one college-ruled space qualifies the term 'fucking' in this statement). For no particular reason other than to give indication of what writing this small does to me, I've separated the two images with a picture of my right eye, which has been bloodshot since I was a kid. I actually have a permanently injured eye, so the bloodshot nature of it never goes away. My left eye is normal. Look in my author images (main page) and you can spot this bloodshot right eye in action here and there.




I should have it completed in a little less than a month. Yeah, I put some effects on the pictures. If interested in what these particular two poems are about, look through my Twitter posts (http://twitter.com/raysuccre), for the titles of the poems: Stingray, and In a Flock of Strange Things.

Appearance Links

I've had more than a few people lately explaining a difficulty they've been having with my main page (raysuccre.blogspot.com). The trouble seems to be that they're trying to locate some of my work online, for passive reads, but don't like navigating through the archives of online mags and the such. I use my main page for several purposes. The first and foremost is to post a bio, some author images, and a complete publication history / editing history, etc... The Twitter posts add a bit of me to the page, as well. The page is simple, and I post all on a single page, able to be scrolled through for long durations, or quick-linked from the sidebar, whatever your flavor is. The page is mostly designed for editors, who, after correspondence with me, via submissions, subscriptions, and other various queries, can take a look around if they'd like to get to know me on paper. This blog, raysuccre2.blogspot.com, is a much more personal page designed to allow a little access to me outside of publishing and the such. You know, what I'm up to, all that.


However, the people that have contacted me recently (and there have been mentions in the past, as well), feel my Publication History on the main page would be greatly enhanced by posting appearance links as well. They think it's great I link to all mags that have or are planning on printing my work, and that I link to the editors of these mags as well, but people don't want to wade through archives searching for my work. So, from here on out, I'll be adding appearance links to any online/electronic publications in my history, for anyone who'd like to read any of my published work.

I suppose anyone who follows one of those links and reads something of mine has an interest, and so anyone who does so is free to email me with any opinions or criticism they may have. I may not follow it, but I'd love to hear what people have to say. It's one thing to print in mags, and you know there are certainly readers somewhere that have gone through your poem, but it's another thing to actually get feedback from readers. It's a kind of proof, really, that yes, someone read what you wrote, which can offer a much-needed dose of momentum to someone like me.

So there.

Recuperation is Swift but Shaky

Having undergone my vibrant and unruly surgical procedure, and had my junk laparoscopically and systematically 'improved', I have been spending some time at home recovering. With the exception of the tightness that has overwhelmed my entire abdomenal region, I'm doing well with it all. I tend to heal rather quickly, so I wasn't entirely worried about it. Mostly, my worry was in dealing with the surgeon, who, despite any argument I could muster, would still end our relationship by slicing into me with a scalpel. There was no avoiding it. My doctor/surgeon was a talented young buck, but the ways of medicine still frighten and elude me.



Still, I'm recuperating and feel around 80%, and by this time Saturday, I should be back into my normal frame of juggling regiment with whimsical sloth. This is how I expect to be feeling by then:


To anyone out there debating whether they'd like to have an inguinal hernia or not, go ahead and weigh your options, but my ten cents is that you should avoid the situation. Sure, you get to meed new people, network with the rising stars of American McMedicine, and they get you wasted at certain, crucial points on difficult to pronounce drugs, but the overall testicular shrieking and the folding of your gut like origami just ruins the party.

My Literary Life and My Crotch are Spread Too Thin

To the Grand Republic of Blog Purveyors,


This is a quick update on various happenings that have occurred and are slated to occur, as well as a touching commentary on the nature of my busted crotch, for which I am to undergo a magnificent and vivid surgery.

First off, a great thing has happened in that some of my spoken word is going to get some radio play in Scotland, on SHMU, November 4th, 2-4 p.m. GMT. The time zone difference equates to the following in the U.S.: 5-7 a.m., Sunday the 4th. This has been set up by the excellent Michael William Molden, of Cauliay Publishing, who has graciously invited my work onto his broadcast, as well as showcased some of it on his site. The link, for those of you wishing to experience this joyous occasion, is http://www.shmu.org.uk/radio/radofrm.shtml. You can tune in live for the broadcast, and I'm fairly certain you could access it later, if you're the sort that likes to sleep in the wee hours of the night/morning. The show goes out to around 200,000 listeners.

I'd like to thank Mr. Molden, the academy, the little people, and everyone in Aberdeen, Scotland. I shant forget you.

Blood and Ink, the collaborative effort disseminating all sorts of how-it-works information on the arts, and of which I am a contributor, has moved to a new home with wordpress, and can now be found at http://elijahbrubaker.com/bloodandink. It appears in connection to the site of the illustrious Elijah J. Brubaker, illustrator extraordinaire and all-around great guy you should love and buy things from. Go. Right now.

I've begun a new book of poetry, and have managed to gain some print in quite a few lovely mags in the last few months, for which I owe much. You can find any of these magazines and publications listed on my main page, http://www.raysuccre.blogspot.com, under 'Publication History'.

Now, on to the crotch. Everything always ends there, doesn't it?

I was recently diagnosed with an inguenal hernia, after a bout in the E.R., where I was seen clutching myself and shivering. For those without knowledge of things inguenal, or who haven't studied up on this sort of hernia, it works like this:
Yes, that's what happened to me. In fact, this is an actual photograph of me, except they got some of the 'dimensions' wrong. Anyway, the randomnity of the pain is horrid, and I've now had two different doctors wring out my junk like a dishrag.

Though I was seen in the E.R., and diagnosed but 5 days ago, the repair of this problem is slated to take place this Monday, the 5th of November. They're going in through my stomach area with wriggling little night-vision cameras to fumble around in my guts, and build some things in my groin from the inside. This pelvic strike is to take place with me unconscious, anesthetized, and most likely, drooling into nightmare. I have enclosed several images that, in an abstract way, symbolise the way I feel about this entire situation.












And here is the hospital wherein the adventuresome surgery will take place:



That's all for now. Wait, no... we took Paint-paint out for Halloween last night in his spankin' cool costume, which was a blast, even though I had to limp the entire way.




Awwwwww...