Stroke Out by Dale Barrigar Williams

(All images produced by DWB)

“It was just like a song being played on the radio in my mind.”

– Richard Brautigan

One of these pictures is the countdown: less than sixty minutes until STROKE time two years ago.

Another picture is a view from my hospital room in Chicago. Without access to the futuristically good health care services of the Second City, I would probably have ended up quite a bit worse off than I was and am.

Another pic’ is me contemplating my situation and reliving many memories, since I can see the University of Illinois Chicago from my window, the place where I taught for fifteen years and completed my PhD in English and Creative Writing. And I’m realizing again that I possess a certain fearlessness, and have always possessed a certain fearlessness.

Another pic’ is one of the verses that helps reinforce my so-called certain fearlessness, a fearlessness that is not without its failings and is not always as evident (to myself and even others) as I might want it 2 B.

But many people are afraid of me, especially on the street when they see me and the wolf I walk around with (and sometimes a second wolf and a pit bull).

Picture five is the REUNION: I had an incredibly vivid nightmare while in the hospital that he would forget me while I was gone. I was wrong.

At one point I said to/asked one of my doctors, “I had a MINOR stroke, right?”

His answer was (and I quote it directly): “There are no minor strokes.”

I was in the hospital for one week; one neck surgery; a million tests, pokings, and proddings; and tons of gratitude about being alive with zero paralysis or facial drooping or any of the other horrors that often come with a stroke.

(I also have Stage One Emphysema, which I can sometimes feel burning a little bit at the tops of my lungs. Quite an accomplishment for 59.)

The nurses and various attendants (and some of the doctors) who took care of me were like human angels.

One wonders why the ones seemingly working the hardest were also the ones being paid the least (or at least too little in comparison).

The same was true the last time I was in the hospital for a week twelve years ago (same hospital, different issue, what they sometimes euphemistically refer to as a “mental breakdown”). (I recovered quickly then too and ended up smarter than when I went in, both times.)

But this pay issue $, or lack of good pay issue, it’s like the so-called leader of the free world at the moment, who spends (obviously) the vast majority of his time golfing and re-posting total crap on the internet; or re-posting total crap on the internet while golfing; or telling endless lies about how he won the 2020 election and didn’t start an insurrection; or consuming vast quantities of Mickey D’s and diet Coke while viewing propaganda TV featuring none other than himself.

Hey people who like this guy! The free world really needs a president who’s willing to do a little real work around here once in a while.

The best you can say for him is that he both does, and does not, back down.

He makes Dick Nixon (Nixon the dick) look like Abraham Lincoln.

His actual presence in a room is overwhelming, especially to weak-minded sycophants.

He isn’t a racist in the sense that he values absolute loyalty over skin tone every time.

He hires some really good-looking women.

He’s married to one who appears to want to have zero to do with him (can’t say as I blame her).

He falls asleep in the meetings all day long because he stays up all night long posting crap on the internet and talking on the phone if he can find anyone who will answer.

He NEVER shuts up.

Him and his pals are the ravenous nihilists Dostoevsky predicted.

Sometimes he’s kinda funny and almost likable for some reason!

The uniform (or costume) he’s concocted for himself is hilarious.

I just wish all these other fools wouldn’t keep wearing the same thing.

If he invited me to the White House I would probably go and try to talk some sense into him, not that I would hold my breath about the results.

But I would never travel the country singing his praises like Kid Rock, who I used to think was a kind of genius. Same with Snoop Dog. Come to your senses y’all!

A hundred and forty-six years ago, the great Russian saint-and-sinner Dostoevsky wrote: “Above all, don’t lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself, and others. And having no respect, he ceases to love.”

Except for the love of money.

Solvitur Ambulando y Dr. Dale Williams Barrigar

(All images taken by DWB)

Solvitur ambulando: it is solved by walking.

Kierkegaard, the great Danish philosopher, Christian Existentialist before there was such a thing, and wild-hearted comedian bachelor, said: “Above all, do not lose your desire to walk. Every day I walk myself into a state of well-being and walk away from every illness; I have walked myself into my best thoughts; and I do not know of any thought so burdensome that one cannot walk away from it.”

The fact that he also, quite literally, collapsed into the gutter and died while walking at the age of 42 in 1855 has nothing to do with it. He died while he was out doing what he loved. What better way can there be to expire!?

He was writing to his sick sister-in-law who was having trouble getting out of bed because of clinical depression. He was throwing down the gauntlet in an effort to try and get her to do something to save herself.

His most famous quote comes from a private letter.

Because that’s the kind of writer he was.

All dogs in all times and all places and of all sizes and all kinds, obviously agree very heartily with these sentiments, at all levels.

Dogs literally possess the wisdom of philosophers (maybe without knowing it but don’t be so sure).

It is said (and I have seen it) that they can also accept their own bodily deaths with perfect equanimity; because they know that this too is only part of the world; and they love the world – but not too much.

End Note: Thanks to the great Michigan poet Jim Harrison from whom I first heard this quote some time in the 1990s.

And, of course, co-starring, the one and only Boo!

Dr. Dale Barrigar Williams

F ICE by Dr. Dale Williams Barrigar

I deeply respect law enforcement because I deeply know that when the shit really hits the fan, it’s them who you have to call for assistance.

But when it’s them you have to start barring and blockading your door against, worrying that they’re going to barge in for no real reason in the middle of the night, times have changed around here for some of us.

Such things have happened in my neighborhood too recently – and there are many who say such things will start happening again soon, in earnest.

The world has never been a safe place for anyone – just ask all those folks who used to have to spend so much of their time keeping their eyes peeled for saber-toothed tigers around every bush, tree, rock, and boulder.

It was so hard to spend time scrolling on your phone when the big cats were out to get ya.

No wonder we find cats’ eyes to be so weird and eerie (as well as cute and cuddly).

Even now, too much comfort and complacency is a great killer in the good ol’ USA.

FUCK ICE indeed – especially if you have a heart of ice – no matter which side you’re on.

END NOTE/S:

I was born in Dearborn, Michigan, USA, which is the town where Henry Ford invented that thing we now call “the car.” In my birth town currently, over fifty percent of the population reports Middle Eastern or North African ancestry, which means it has one of the highest percentages of that type of population in the entire country. I very much embrace such diversity, even though I also know it can cause problems, especially for the ones who get kicked out of the place/s they used to live, which happens here in the USA, just like anywhere.

Regarding ICE barging into my apartment in the middle of the night, mostly I’m worried that if they did so, my Siberian would attack them and they’d shoot him dead.

That is why I bar and blockade the door/s in the middle of the night, so I can hear ’em coming, if they want to come, even though I’m very much an American citizen, born and bred, and hardly ever left to go anywhere else but here.

Because my Sibe and I would die for each other without thinking twice, if that’s what it took.

Dr. Dale Williams Barrigar

Mona Lisa Street Scene by Dr. Dale Williams Barrigar

“Mona Lisa musta had the highway blues, you can tell by the way she smiles.” – Dylan

The Mona Lisa Street Scene series arose on the West Side of Chicago, along Madison Street.

Sketchy people were wafting about there and here, buses were pulling in and out of the hulking garages, the El tracks were shaking with trains, cars going by, seagulls soaring above all in from the lake looking for chicken bones in the gutters, grass blowing in the vacant lots, garbage rotting in the alleyways, food smells floating from nearby hot dog stands (Chicago has more hot dog stands than McDonald’s, Wendy’s, and Burger King combined, even though McDonald’s was invented here and has its world headquarters here), leaves fluttering on the trees, weeds coming up from the cracks in the sidewalks, cats climbing on stairways, buildings groaning with ghosts, rats baring their fangs and claws, doves cooing and gently moving their wings without flying, but dreaming of flying, which is, after all, only – another kind of flying.

Because I’m feeling silly and I like to celebrate my city, these are the names of eleven comedians who are from Chicagoland, i.e., Chicago and environs: John Belushi, Jim Belushi, Bill Murray, Harold Ramis, Betty White, Steve Allen, Jack Benny, Chris Farley, Robin Williams, Redd Foxx, Bob Newhart.

Blue or Blue Bucket by Dale Williams Barrigar

(Note–We begin a new week of fresh looks at life by our own DWB with a study in blue–LA)

This little photo series attempts to illustrate William Blake’s justly famous phrase “to see a world in a grand of sand.”

It is like when Horton hears a Who!

Inside a clover.

Thank you Dr. Seuss!

With Picasso and Dali, you make a third as the greatest artist of the Western World in the twentieth century (say I, or says me).

It takes decades of patient and periodic study (including years away) in order to tell who’s better and one still doesn’t know: and will never know; but will never stop returning to the question (for a million different reasons)…

I do not have a favorite color because I heart all colors, but whenever someone has forced me to choose (yes, these are the things we used to discuss) my immediate answer has always been BLUE.

That answer has sprang (or sprung) so often to my lips that I think it must be coming from the depths of my being, a place so mysterious to me that I consider it more mysterious than the rest of the universe.

By far.

I don’t have much (including my pride) any more but that is mine.

I associate Blue with water, the sky, baptism, the word dale and all it implies, Dali, Picasso, Van Gogh, Rimbaud, Easter (the crucifixion), melancholy, sex (blue movies), and my (if forced to choose) favorite music: The Blues.

(Weirdly, some of us avoid sex for a decade or more because the aftereffects are always a drained melancholy; and we are too busy putting our energy into something else, like art; God knows why!)

I live not far away from the graves of both Muddy Waters and Howlin’ Wolf.

McKinley Morganfield and Chester Arthur Burnett.

RIP.

And: in my mind, you are still alive.

I do not know all the reasons why that fact is so comforting (quite) to me.

This picture series has three (3) titles, which is key: Blue; Blue Bucket; and Blue or Blue Bucket.

Signed,

The Photographer Because Everyone Does

DWB

Why I Heart Eminem by The Drifter

(Images by The Drifter)

“But don’t you place the blame on me / As you pour yourself another drink, yeah.”

– Eminem

I heart Ems because he talks about, explores, and explains what it’s like to be from Michigan, which means, of course, what it’s like to be from the American Midwest: “flyover country.”

It’s kind of like America’s greatest rock critic (by far), Lester Bangs, who always loved to wear his “Detroit Sucks” T-shirt while living in, and loving living in, the Detroit area, which is known as both Motown and Rock City among other monikers. I can’t believe he was only three miles down the road co-creating Creem Magazine while I was living there as a rebellious little kid. And yet, such is (weirdly for me as a person) true.

There is a simple four-part formula for understanding the essence of Eminem as an American artist, I say!

I speak here of his best, most mature, and most fully developed work, not every single thing he’s ever done. He is a very profuse, honest, sometimes dark, and prolific artist, and if I wanted to slam him, I could choose lots of things to slam. He’s also a very self-aware and self-critical artist – anything anyone can say about him, he’s already said about himself a million times before (much like the poet Charles Bukowski).

The four-part formula goes like this.

One: What it’s like to be from the state of Michigan.

Two: What it’s like to be from the American Midwest (“flyover country”).

Three: What it’s like to be an OUTSIDER.

Four: How the figure of The Outsider, in his work, becomes a symbol of the modern Human in general, plain and simple, and also not simple at all.

Someone once asked him if he believes in God; he said, “I don’t go to church, but I do pray.”

Such an answer shows how he is a kind of modern-day Everyman who modern-day Everywomen can also relate to.

Every place in America, and I mean every place in America, has great heroes and heroines who lived there in the past or are living there right now. By “heroine” and “hero,” I simply mean someone who can be looked up to in some kind of way; someone who proves that humans are, somehow, worth it; and can act as a representative figure somehow (which is also much more of a burden than it might sound like at first blush).

Because if we don’t question the fact of human nobility sometimes, we are blind and mad. And if we don’t ultimately believe that humans have that noble strain within them, we become someone like the current president of the USA, who believes that everything, and that means everything, comes down to nothing more than a monetary transaction, one way or another. Think well of other people – without being blind – and eventually you start to think well of yourself, too.

Eminem’s gated KMart mansion is fifteen miles away from where I lived for the first ten years of my life.

My parents were young and our neighborhood was modest and I often find myself back there in my dreams or in the smell of rain or snow or grass or in the warmth of the sunshine, all of which I learned there first.

We lived in the area where Eminem’s film 8 Mile is set.

Five of Eminem’s greatest songs are from his 2013 album The Marshall Mathers LP 2.

When this album came out, I was separated from my wife and broken up with my truly-beloved, soul-mate girlfriend (who I took up with only after my wife kicked me out and I also kicked myself out even more, which she tended to forget (about the girlfriend) a little too often, since we never lost regular contact while taking care of the kids, in front of whom we always retained a friendly family demeanor in between the poison barbs we regularly aimed at each other; see the quote from Eminem himself at the top of this essay for an example). Two people I deeply love were battling cancer (they got over it, but I didn’t know if they would, at the time; and one of them was her). And my mother had recently passed on. And I was losing my job, a process that took, on and off, two years. Unlike the cancer/s, I knew how this one would pan out from the start, but I never stopped fighting (even though lost in a fog-of-war confusion most of the time, at the time) until it was over (when I immediately plunged into a periodic three-year depression that almost killed me lots of different and exciting ways).

The Marshall Mathers LP 2, and especially the five songs I’m about to list, provided me with great, deep consolation, comfort, and inspiration at the time. For some reason, the album cover has one of my favorite numbers hidden in plain sight upon it: 946.

My two kids, who are forty years younger than me almost to the day, also love/d these songs, then and now, as do most of their friends.

This album was/is one of the rare times when great art and the American mainstream actually come together these days. Lana Del Rey, at her best, is another example of this; as is Taylor Swift (at her best); as is Lady Gaga – at her best.

“The Monster” (co-vocals by Rihanna). ALSO SEE THE MUSIC VIDEO WHERE RIHANNA WEARS BLACK LIPSTICK AND EXTRA-LONG FINGERNAILS!

“Legacy” (co-vocals by Polina).

“Headlights” (co-vocals by Nate Ruess).

“Stronger Than I Was.”

“Bad Guy” (the sequel to Ems’ great song “Stan”).

Remember the spirit of the 1960s (even if you weren’t alive at the time) and play it loud!

These songs are not really rap or hip hop per se; they are more like rap rock, like when he sampled Black Sabbath or Nick Cave on earlier songs; and even more like something one-of-a-kind in a genre of their own, a genre of Eminem’s own invention. Like all great art (including all great essays), these songs don’t really fit into any pre-conceived categories: at all.

But these five songs are so great, they can, very rightly, be compared to the best of The Beatles; Bob Dylan; Nina Simone; The Clash (London Calling); Nirvana. Yes, it’s true: Eminem, at his best, is that good.

Another thing many folks don’t know about Eminem: he took better care of his little brother than their parents did; and he took better care of his three daughters than their mother/s did (two are adopted, from his ex-wife with another man and from his ex-sister-in-law).

Unlike everyone else, he stuck around.

Exciting End Note/s:

I can also recommend Eminem’s powerful 2010 album RECOVERY.

Especially these songs: “Cold Wind Blows,” “Love the Way You Lie,” “Not Afraid,” “Going Through Changes” (one of the songs where he samples Black Sabbath, brilliantly), “Space Bound.”

This essay was written in a single burst while sitting in the car outside Frank Lloyd Wright’s Home and Studio in Oak Park, Illinois, USA, on May 12, 2026, which is right around the corner from Ernest Hemingway’s boyhood home. I do not use, and have never used, and will never use either grammar or spell check, believing my brain should be the one to do the work instead of any sort of a computer for a multitude of reasons some of which I can’t even explain. I believe that any typos or mistakes (if there are any) are deliberately made by something else. Therefore I let them stand if I catch them after a certain point (after my brain says “Finished”).

SEE THE QUILLEMENDER OF MY CO-EDITOR LEILA ALLISON!

(Borges rightly says that the real writer is never afraid to write a bad page.)

I saw seven GIGANTIC wild rabbits in Wright’s yard while writing this!

They were running around chasing each other because they know that it’s SPRING.

We Are Little Children, Forever by Jordan Eve Morrall

(Jordan Eve Morrall returns today with a combination of insight and perhaps even advice–The Eds.)

Everyone is living life for the first time. I’ve written about it. I truly believe that, throughout their entire lives, people have no idea what they are doing. While they may have goals and feign being put together, the majority base their entire lives around social norms with no thought of individuality. Yet, we let our fear of judgement from these same people hold us back.

Now, here’s another thought: in relation to the age of the earth and all the centuries of civilization that has come before, everyone is–essentially–a child.

The idea is twofold.

First: why should we model our lives after other children who are still learning how to live contentedly and will still be figuring it out, even when they come to die? Just do your own thing. (This concept ties in with everyone living their lives for the first time and has already been covered.)

Second: why shouldn’t we feel compassion for these people, these children, in their confusion and naivety? They–like us–are lost in a world they will never understand. It’s a scary life with so many challenges, choices, and changes. We must try to be empathetic towards everyone around us, everyone in the whole world. How could you hate anyone who is wandering, lost and alone? By default, if someone is rude to you, they themselves are hurt or scared. If someone is lazy and unhelpful, they are overwhelmed by the demands placed on them; they don’t feel they are capable. They are children.

Scenario: a 40-year-old man insults you. So what? He is a literal child. Compared to the length of time people have been being born, going to war, inventing all manner of things, and dying, he is an infant who knows nothing. You can’t take his words personally or as truth.

We must love one another and work together. We must encourage one another and never lash out. If a child does something wrong, yelling never does any good. Gentle guidance does.

We are all children looking for a loving friend. Please be that friend.

Jordan Eve Morrall

Poetry Is by Frederick K Foote

Sometimes

Poetry

Seems

To be:

A hammer, a stiletto

Pretentious, modest

A mummer, a scream

Propaganda, the gospel

Fucking and sucking

Gorging and fasting

Ducking and dogging

Slick and slimy

Profound, profane

Soulful, senseless

Ass kicking, ass kissing

Soft days, sick nights

Hallow ground, wasteland

Nigger ways, White rights

Blind insight

Wasted words

Tidy turds

Null, void

Dead

and

risen

again

Frederick K Foote

(The image is Mr. Foote)

Two Poems by Frederick K Foote

She Is by Frederick K Foote

She is

square blocks

of white

marble

Substantial

in every way

Riding a

prancing pony

of pride

Hiding

a dark

nag of

doubt

Love in a Modern Time by Frederick K Foote

It sneaks ashore like light leaking under a doorway

It has the magical mischief of effortlessly joining the family

with a handshake, a hug, a kiss, a fist bump, a cough, or a sneeze

It loves the lonely, the incarcerated, the institutionalized,

the suffering, its love consumes them, banishes them, and It

is restless even in Its domination and seeks authority over nations

It humbles science, the military, politicians, and commerce

the world dances to its tune of isolationist separation

It alienates our affections and laughs at our insurrections

It will not accept our peace terms or unconditional surrender

It will love us where it finds us until it finds us no more

Frederick K Foote

(The image is of our friend, Mr. Foote)

Two Poems by Frederick K Foote

(Ed note–We are extremely pleased to present the first five poems submitted to us by Frederick K. Foote. Fred is an esteemed writer, poet and social critic. He has published over a hundred short stories on Literally Stories in the past ten years alone, which is but a small portion of his literary canon. He is a many times honored author and we are pleased to run his poetry: two today, two tomorrow and a single one to conclude this what we hope will be the first of many runs to come on Saragun Springs–The Eds.)

Lusty Religion

Cedar-wood skin
Sinful full lips
Halo round ass
Full paradise thighs
Bible bright eyes
Gospel singing hips

Revelation to disrobe
salvation to explore
Damnation to lose
no resurrection
in sight

Terminal Romance by Frederick K. Foote

My heart skipped a beat when you appeared
arrhythmia, with rare ventricular couplets

My eyes respond when you are around
glaucoma abounds, the pressure astounds

The sound of your voice is music to my ears
tinnitus echoes a siren’s timpani song

The sight of you snatches my breath away
emphysema squeezes my air to a trickle

The touch of your hand is more than I can bear
your shingles spread to my face, hands, and hair

You are my everything, always and forever
my affectionate end-stage affliction of choice

Frederick K Foote

(The image is that of Mr. Foote)