COMPLEX-PARTIAL SEIZURE EIGHT

(HOW CAROLINE* DESCRIBED IT TO ME)

“First and foremost you were speaking animatedly,

coherently, charmingly....about something that interested you.

Stopped mid-sentence, leaned back with fixed

and staring eyes....there was no expression on your face....

all-seeing, yet not seeing....this lasted about thirty seconds.

Resumed talking....about something I cannot recall....rambling....

disjointed....not linked with the previous conversation....

you leaned forward towards me, looking half at me.

Your mouth was working strangely, especially the left side.

Haltingly, yet somehow in a bludgeoning fashion,

you said the word “kisses” six or seven times.

All this took about one minute, and was not interactive.

Back to your charming self, you recited a poem to me....

it had in it the word “kisses”....I think you had been visiting

this line earlier.... then you were back to where you were before.

You resumed conversation at an entirely different place....

not related to the first bit....were pale and distracted....

definitely post-ictal for between five to ten minutes.

We walked from the cafe to where my husband waited

in the car....is that helpful? Must meet again some time.”

*@CroPage on Twitter

It is very important to tell the person who has the seizure exactly what happened, so they can keep their GP and neurologist up-to-date with the condition.
Thank you Caroline x I showed the printout of your notes to my neurologist.

COMPLEX-PARTIAL SEIZURE NINE

Maria sits, listening to my repeated effing.

I have no sense of touch, but inquisitiveness,

and cognisance of space so small it surely

could not be limited by measurement.

Everything is made of odourless smoke.

I turn to watch my right shoulder detach,

vapourise, then morph back into its place.

Perspective explains: an elbow bend reforming

into what it was before experiential foolery.

Abdomen tricks the eyes until they try to track

a movement highlighted by cigarette blue

and shaded by hooker’s green. Entrance to cave,

curling inside out; no beginning or end; only middle.

These are the circumstances as I pace this prison,

constantly checking the time because I immediately

forget. Working hard until Maria leaves.

Then a door frame keeps me from falling as I hunch

to weep because I am desperate with confusion.

THINK OF A TITLE.

The dandelion is rooted between two kerbstones,
close to the swerve of tyres, the scrape of shoes.

Rising achenes traverse cols of purple shadow, before
accidentally colonising the first chimney to snag them.

Forty feet below, the progenitor has suddenly
been reduced to a smear of latex and chlorophyll.

At exactly the same moment flashes of sunshine reflected
off passing motor vehicles trigger a young man's seizure.

Unconscious he wanders into the path of a Jeep Compass,
where he dies. Fewer than 5% of epileptics are photosensitive.

THE SLIPPERY SLOPE TOWARDS

NORMALITY

I remedied the problems of being an eccentric

child by practising until perfect the knack

of acquiring a high-status layer of filth.

The best place to do this was at the brook

near the Methodist cricket pitch. From the boundary

there sloped the Rocky Mountains, the Alps,

and the Himalayas down to our sometime dam,

which we busted every time it was rebuilt.

This slope had no grass on it. There, after rain

an expert could slide upon backside until clay became

his second skin. The water below easily impregnated

any shoe and when dammed would wash over the top

of wellies, leaving small worms and a smell

which not only mothers could detect. Perfect.

READ ABOUT A DIFFERENT

COMPLEX-PARTIAL SEIZURE

FOR EACH DAY OF THE WEEK:

Go to Friday, 18 Jan 2013.

there you’ll find Monday’s surprise.

That will do for a start...........

SCULPTOR’S STATEMENT

doodles

whittlings by a campfire

bits and shavings and splinters

scratching sounds, tappings

enquiries by children

tactilicities and aromas

voyages in vision

meanderings of light

teasings, selfish satisfactions

insides manifested

caresses with intent

playfulness

no more

no less

CHILL WIND FACTORS

It overtakes me at speed, and goes trilby-ing

through a coach party of L.S.Lowry look-alikes.

I’d left home early, feeling warm. Now the chasing

air drills through the back of the woollen sweater

bought in preference to a windproof synthetic fleece.

Tears and snot fly when I return into the easterly.

Next time I’ll rise at midday to shower and brunch,

wear a coat and get a taxi to take me home. 

THE DRUM, THE DANCER,

THE AUDIENCE

Black bin liner, inside out,

filled with wind, anchored

at the rim of a cast iron bin.

Close your eyes.

It is a snare drum playing

polyrhythms to the morning.

Accents, flams, ruffs,

and silences that hold the sounds

together, keep them free.

Open your eyes.

The dancer takes the place

of your imagination. Clicking

fingers, intakes of breath

as each highlight flashing

momentarily denotes a change

in time signature, testing

the concentration, captivating.

Better go soon. The commuters

are almost here, with their spoilsport

tactic of getting in the way,

not realising these dances-in-the-wind

will never, cannot ever be repeated.

WHAT’S IN A NAME?

Names variously engender style, charm,

wit, warmth, control, subtlety, flair,

passion, love, adventure, courage.

They come from every direction

you care to look. Some are still with us.

Many more are yet to appear below, to

join these writers who enrich the world.

Dante Alghieri (1265-1321)

Moliere (1622-1673)

Jonathan Swift (1667-1745)

Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832)

Lord Byron (1788-1824)

Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)

Edgar Allen Poe (1809-1849)

Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892)

Charles Dickens (1812-1870)

Edward Lear (1812-1888)

Gustave Flaubert (1821-1880)

Fyodor Dostoyevsky (1821-1881)

George Innes (1825-1894)

R.D.Blackmore (1825-1900)

Emily Dickenson (1830-1886)

Lewis Carroll (1832-1898)

Charles Altamont Doyle (1832-1893)

Bjornstjerne Bjornson  (1832-1910)

Ion Creanga (1837-1889)

Joachim Maria Machado de Assis (1839-1908)

Dmitri Sinodi-Popov (1855-1910)

Minakata Kumagusu (1867-1941)

Vachel Lindsay (1879-1931)

Dame Agatha Christie (1890-1976)

Grahame Greene (1904-1991)

Laurie Lee (1914-1997)

Kiffin Williams (1918-2006)

Anne Sexton (1928-1974)

Max Clifford (1943-    )

Karen Armstrong (1944-    )

Thom Jones (1945-    )

Stephen Knight (1951-1985)

DeBarra Mayo (1953-    )

Kathy Sierra (1957-    )
Caroline Page (1958-    )

Jago Eliot (1966-2006)

Can you name all the works they have written,

count the numbers of folks they have inspired?

Can you name the shared experience

that links the brains of these great writers?

Yes. The name of the brain condition is Epilepsy.

Note: a more interesting list can be found here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_people_with_epilepsy#Art_and_writing

ACROSS THE BRIDGE

AND BACK AGAIN

Steel and alloy running

through chunks of air

you can imagine to be anything

of your choice. Neural networks

in cerebrospinal fluid. Some combining

to provide endless surprises.

Personal space can insulate

or host cognitive adventure

on this ninety metre return journey,

the bridge’s structure unchanged

when one returns with incalculable

new connections in one’s brain.

Relish the insights made available

to you. Celebrate.

VOICES

Yesterday's waterfall was paradiddles on peat,

soggy backbeat.

Today is raining fit to flood. The moors are

storing enough to release another rhythm.

Perhaps tomorrow will play bossa nova.

That I would die for.

First published at http://alexandarshippocampus.blogspot.com, 2009

TO THE SUPERSTITIOUS

AND AFRAID

words fell

from out of your face

they

told me epilepsy was caused
by demonic possession

even mentioned the Salem witches

who were only victims

words fell

from out of your face

they

splattered me against the barrier

erected by society

then seemed to lose their potency

as I meditated

re-formed themselves into a vision

of a world without stigma

I

took possession of this possibility

committed to memory

it

will return to nullify your mythology

when actuality rules

TO COME....

I made thunderous the word whisper

by not muting it

Shhhh, listen as I tell you of an actuality

that’s on its way....

SECOND ATONIC SEIZURE

The bus journey

was a silver-green-brown-fudge

of passing images triggering me

into little blanks

Steps became spongy

downhill then uphill

seeking a destination

recently dis-remembered

I was pushing myself up from a gutter

Nothing was hurting

The dual-carriageway empty

except for two figures

heading my way. I swayed.

Frame of specs bent at the bridge

dirt on shoulder, knee, knitted beanie, no blood

Don’t try to get up, how you didn’t, how he didn’t,

dropped straight on his face, are you hurt?

Do you want an ambulance? Yes please

First a paramedic in a car, then an ambulance

We’ll take it from here

Are you sure you can walk? Yes

Arms extended like a zombie, staring at the ramp

A blank

The tentative shuffle entering A&E

Take your time
I have a medical ID card

scowl

please look at my ID

scowl

on the top of my A&E notes it has

LOOK AT THIS MAN’S MEDIC-ALERT

scowl

accepted the card

doctor told me to lie down

After some more silver-green-brown-fudge

the same man discharged me

I don’t remember anything else

LISTENING THROUGH

POLARISED LENSES

Uphill from river to road I become

the gathering place of sounds.

My polarised glasses clarify and classify,

each input intimate yet universal,

exchanges of meaning one vernacular

with another, stillness permeating all media.

We have common understanding.