Friday, March 15, 2019

The Daily {W}rite March 2019 wk o3

When I finished las weeks blog, posted on Facebook, I turned on the news only to be greeted by the story of brenton harrison tarrant (no, I'm not gonna cap the bitch-ass punk's name!), the murderous, racist asshole pictured above. I'll tell the story fast as I can but everybody needs to read it in full. So, asshole decided that the "white" race in New Zealand and everywhere else was being screwed over by all the non-white immigrants. "white power" was taking a licking, white supremacy was getting beat to hell in the newspapers, the Tv and social media. So, mister bad-ass decided to go out and kill a whole bunch of non-white immigrants. And he did. As I write, the dead count is 49 with a whole lot of other people critically wounded. Before going on his shooting spree, punk-ass wrote a 74 page manifesto that went on and on about white supremacy this, what supremacy that, and
what a good dude Trump was for supporting white supremacy . . . something like that. Then he packed up a shit load of guns and to a masque and open fire on every non-white body in front of him. Woman, children, old men . . . dirt-bag boy didn't give a shit. When he ran out of ammo, when back out to his truck, car, whatever he was driving, reloaded and went back to make sure he didn't miss anyone. I mean, I think that's the story. It's still   bit hazy. The local New Zealand cops are piecing it together. Oh, one thing I know he did? He video taped the whole dame thing with a mobile camera strapped to his forehead. He put it on social media. I didn't see it but my friend said it was really creepy. It looked something like a first person video game only this were real people and there was real blood being spilt.  So, I'm not gonna waste much more time on this fuck-ass motherfucker except to say . . . what a little bitch he is. Tough guy, bullshit. A punk with a gun. Yeah, yeah, yeah. He did kill a lot of innocent people for some racist bullshit nonsense . . . . but he's still a punk.

Saturday, March o6, 2o19
I've reached a philosophical conclusion about politics . . . I'm not discussing it anymore because like eating a hole pumpkin pie in one sitting . . . it doesn't agree with my digestive system. I may not be able to give up pumpkin pie all the way, but I can certainly not eat the whole damn thing in 10 minutes without making myself sick as a . . .  a pirate on a treadmill. Politics? Hmm. I do have political thoughts, people who I admire in politics and those that I really, REALLY hate. And there are those opinions posted on Facebook  by my "friends" that I just get raving lunatic crazy over, and I wind-up saying something nasty to that witless friend, or if what he/she says is really, REALLY suck-ass awful I might unfriend them. BUT I'm done with that. I'll read their nut-job, often uninformed posts on politics . . . but I will not answer back . . . not even with one of the standard Facebook emojis (like, love, ha-ha, wow, sad, angry). Nope. NO comment. But I will post my political point of views on my personal posts . . . and I might answer some of the comments my words provoke . . . sometimes. The blog? No more politics other than these last two in this third week of March.

Sunday, March 17, 2o19
Well, it's just a smidgen cold outside . . . just a smidge. I went out on the bicycle today, a vest, short sleeve shirt (my Team Jesus shirt), sweat pants and my "work-a-day" tennies and I was just fine! Finally, not freezin' my buttocks off! Riding on the bike, though? A bit of a chore. Breathing to rough to go for very long, but I did feel better, and I'm sure that if I keep riding every day, my lung capacity will improve.  Hey! We went to the art museum today! Haven't been there in a while. Lots to see! There was a mirror exhibit that was really interesting. Sort of played around with dimensions. There were holes in the mirrors where a person could look in . . . and it was freaking as hell to be IN the mirror room with someone who you couldn't see but for their eyes staring at you.

Sunbeams attack my right side, setting on fire the cotton blend, which radiates the sun's warmth at a disturbing Fahrenheit. Without a command from me, my hand reaches over, grabs the blind's strings and gives them a tug, and the blinds slam shut with a deafening THUNGH!

9:o7 am
A pounding sound. A thug against the inside wall of my brain housing group. My eyes close and open then close and open . . . as if the magic of their repetition  will somehow end the pain. It doesn't. If anything the pain doubles, triples . . . even stretching the tension entrapped within my neck does nothing to stop the constant banging going on behind my eye sockets. A perpetual frown invades my lips. My breath kicked to the curb . . . each in tack of breath accompanied by a mousy wheezy sound.  Not much can be down except bear the torture old age is inflecting on my beat down body. P.S. Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

Monday, March 18, 2o19
Always keep your mind as bright and clear as the vast sky, the highest peak, and the deepest ocean, empty of all liming thoughts. -From The Art of Peace by Morihei Ueshiba

I wander off my . . . path? My trail? Too often to enjoy my life journey through . . . through . . . this thing, this endless, breathing world. Thoughts, my thoughts, the thoughts of others waylay, hijack my existence . . . my journey . . . and for what? For some unexplainable need to control life. But I'm no virgin to this robbery . . . at the least, I'm a coconspirator to this theft. Because they can't force me to do anything without  . . . my permission . . . and I always give it, give in to their need to destroy . . . to cripple me so my journey can no longer be walked. 

Saturday, March 9, 2019

The Daily {W}rite March 2019 wk o2

Art Walk yesterday after I did a movie with the sister, Captain Marvel. Long story made very short by age, the day, yesterday just about did me and my 70 year old body in. No mas. Phew! Got home crawled up the stairs breathing like a coal train rolling up a steep mountain grade. Oh, brother. Finally got into the apartment and just collapsed like a wadded up paper bag.  Laid on the couch for about 40 minutes or so just trying to get my breathing back to normal.

Oh! The fun part? We ran into an old racist guy siting with his son-in-law, who was selling a book he wrote about the music of the '60s ("rock and roll," the old racist informed us just in case we didn't know it.) I hate it when young people write about the '60s. What the heck do they know about the '60s?

Anyway, David started talking to the old racist and somehow or other as it always is with racists the subject of racism came up. And I tuned out, watching the cute, old . . . er woman walking down the street . . .  most of them dressed in winter garb just it case the night got colder than they . . . "Well, back in the '60s that's just the way it was. I'm telling you the South had a better handle on how to deal with black people than the North ever did . . . " that's kind of what he said, and I laughed before the old racist could finish his friggin' racist remark. "Okay, well, good luck with the writing." David said to the young author selling his book. By the way, David bought one . . . of the guy's books. {huh?}

Sunday, March 1o, 2o19
Some mornings it's a hell of a lot harder to get out of bed than on  . . . other mornings. That's not true. Every DAY it's a chore to find my way out from underneath the covers, to open my eyes. But somehow I do. Today, is a productive, lazy day. I know. A bit contradictive, productive . . . lazy . . . but that's how I'm describing this cloud covered existence we here in Norman-town are experiencing on this "still-life" winter day. Yes, spring is coming. David commented yesterday that though it was still a "bit" chilly during Art Walk last Friday, it was sort of a "spring like" cold and not a winter cold. David should be one of them meteorologists on the TV news. {snicker, snicker}

I'm feeling better than usual these last few days. Even though on Friday I pretty much exhausted myself with not getting much sleep, a matinee showing of Captain Marvel (11:30am) and a vigorous Art Walk, I still feel pretty good. Maybe getting out and pushing myself a bit physically would be a good thing for my rapidly deteriorating health. The phrase use it or lose it is starting to make sense to me. David's been trying to get me to "workout" more at his gym. Maybe I should consider doing that. {smiles}

Monday, March 11, 2o19
I saw a murder of crows chase a hawk away from my neighborhood. Thrilling! What a sight, and the sounds? The hawk said nothing but the crows! They were screaming, yelling as they dive bombed the "helpless" hawk. I had to laugh. I just wonder what the crows would have done if they had actually squared off with the hawk. Well, I believe that the crows were very fortunate to have scared that hawk off with their screams. Brave crows, scaredy-cat hawk.

Tuesday, March 12, 2o19
Aging sky, my eyes watch the march of March across the muddy streets, the wetness of sparrows, the sorrow of majestic hawks degraded by the angry scream of killer crows. White on white on gray dreams, the sound of rain-soaked shoes against the pavement, steady, soldierly strides, a purpose to his movement. Maybe no more than a desire to get home as soon as possible, out of the cold, away from the graveyard day of this third month of this new beginning. Last year this time we talked with Alpacas outside the student union with nothing more on than a t-shirt and shorts and Walmart sandals on our tortured feet.

Wednesday, March 13, 2o19
Deja Vu
So, last night I went to see How to Train Your Dragon: The Hidden World with my friend Brendan. You may remember the story about me going to another movie a while back with Brendan AND there was someone in the backseat going with us to said movie BUT I didn't KNOW they were in the backseat until we got to the MOVIE! We had a good laugh about that. But this time BEFORE I got into the car I looked through the windows just to be sure . . . and there was no one there, no other person in the back, just the baby seat. Good! So, I got in the front seat, buckled in and off to the movies we went. As we drove along, we talked a lot about the new movie, Captain Marvel, which both Brendon and I had seen last weekend. Yea! was our consensus, and I was just going on and on about all the neat little twists and turns in the storyline. Especially interesting to me was finding out that the Krull were really . . . "Um, we probably shouldn't talk too much about details . . . " I had know idea why Brendan had said that . . . "Huh?" "Well,  Robin hasn't seen it yet." "What the hell difference does it make if Robin . . . " And with a cute little giggle behind it, I heard from the backseat Robin's fairytale voice sing . . . "Hi, Woodie." What the  . . . they did it to me again! Robin dressed totally in a black shroud of some kind was in the backseat all the time! DANG!

So, my Facebook account is down. Hmm. Why am I having such a hard time with my account lately? Well, maybe it's for the best. I spend too much time on Facebook than I should . . . don't I? {snicker, snicker}

Thursday, March 14, 2o19
The sun goes down, which it really doesn't do. The night comes in an hour later than just a couple days ago . . . not really. We just set our clocks "ahead" one hour. That's our art. We express the world not necessarily the way the world really is . . . but how we wish to perceive it. Or we force upon it our own image, we create the Earth to our individual specifications,  our ways of life that we say are true, honest . . . but rarely are either. "Life is not always fair." Well, no . . . again. The world is always fair . . . it's we human thingies that are not fair. We create everything. We say the Earth is flat if saying it's flat is an advantage to us, gives us the  "upper hand." We are terrible creatures, we human beings. Even when we do the right thing, it's only because doing the right thing in this moment or that benefits us. As the dominant creatures on this planet, the ones with all the power to make life here a living heaven . . . we suck!

Last day of the week. Hope my typos aren't too bad.

Friday, March 1, 2019

The Daily {W}rite March 2019 wk o1

The first day of March and it's cold as hell outside . . . that can't be right, can it? "Cold as hell." A curious saying that I know for sure I must have picked-up on from my very verbal minded parents along with one of my father's favorite exclamations after drinking beer all night: "I gotta piss like a Russian race horse!" I understood that even though I never knew exactly what that  meant. I suppose all male kids heard their dads say that . . . okay, maybe not all kids . . . but I'm sure all male children understood the phrase without actually knowing the reference. Probably genetic knowledge passed on from father to son since human time began. Anyway . . . Oh, yeah! My original sentence concerned the simile "cold as hell." Yeah, how did cold as hell become a thing when the mythology is always hell is the hottest place . . . ever! I mean, you don't go barefoot in hell, right? Cold has always had a metaphorical relationship with hell. " . . . A snowballs chance in hell." "When hell freezes over!" Oh, and my personal favorite, "Check the weather station  because it's gonna be a cold day in hell . . .!" But probably the best answer is from Dante's Inferno. The Ninth Level of Hell has an icy lake where traitors are incased in ice! I don't know how many people know of Inferno, but that is probably where we got the idea . . . "cold as hell." {smiles}

Saturday, March o2, 2o19
Here's the poem I wrote the other night and pasted on Facebook.
Okay, this is the last poem I post on Facebook . . . ever. I write this shit, think I'm saying something about something and . . . nobody gets it. What do they get from it? "Oh, you're dissing Joni Mitchell!" "Joni Mitchell doesn't live in Canada, she lives in California." "Oh, Joni Mitchell didn't go to Woodstock because her manager wouldn't let her!" "I got every Joni Mitchell album!" What the fuck is wrong with you fucking brain dead fuckin' PhDs in whatever you fuckin' studied? I didn't write a poem about Joni fuckin' Mitchell. I didn't write about Wood-fuckin'-stock! I wrote a poem about what I thought about Mitchell, Woodstock and the way some people think about Woodstock/fuckin' Joni Mitchell from the perspective of being inside and/or outside the actual experience of WOOD-the fuck- STOCK. Fuck it. Me and my poetry are done with you fuckers. You'll never see another poem from me again . . . assholes. {no smiles for you}

Sunday, March o3, 2o19
I'm so glad to get all that mind shit out of my head . . . and body. No, it was making me "wanna throw-up" sick. Anyway, it's a new day and my thoughts are more gracious than they were . . . yesterday. Hmm. I'm thinking about the word . . . yesterday. Just like that. Not just the word yesterday but the cliché sentence: You know, I wasn't born yesterday! Which means, as I understand it, I'm not naïve, stupid, uneducated, etc. I've been around, you know? But if we take the sentence I wasn't born yesterday literally, then yeah, you were born yesterday. We were all born yesterday . . . get it. {smiles}

So, I'm watching The World of Dance and this duo, two geeky looking teenagers come on wearing these sweaters that say on the front . . . FUNKi! And that sparked my mind for some reason and I came up with: WTF = What The Funk. And I laughed thinking what a great name for a band. But that I made that phrase up was too good to be true. I Googled it and . . . yeah, it was already the name of a song. Damn it!

Monday, March o4, 2o19
So, got up early and drove over to the Warren Theater in Moore to see Happy Death Day 2U. It was a slow starter. First ten minutes had me squirming in my seat because it was basically a rehash . . .  no, strike that . . . an awkward rehash of the opening scene of the first movie. BUT we sat through it long enough for it to change gears into something unique and extremely funny, AND better than the original! Well, at least as good as the original.

Wednesday, March o6, 2o19 1:47am
I've got something on my mind, no. I got something drilling tiny holes in my mind. Donald Trump and his supporters. I know you're not shocked by my emotional expression I may convey when I say . . . Donald Trump is the worst POTUS, the worst human being that ever called himself an American and . . . his followers are just as bad with their anti-American sentiments that they try to gussy-up in the American flag . . . conservative patriotism is not patriotism at all. It is at best a tasteless joke. They and their counterfeit president need to stop or be stopped by the true patriots, the real believers in the Constitution of the United States and the Bill of Rights. Did you see what Trump did at the CPAC convention this year? I came out with that shit eating grin of his that he calls a smile and HUGGED the American flag! Hugged it. That is so damn disrespectful. The flag is a holy symbol to true patriots, true believers in that symbol . . . and this dolt, this scum with legs dares to treat it like that? Shame on him and his disrespectful followers who HATE, HATE everything that is America. I can't take much more of this guy. We have to get him out of the White House. This punk doesn't belong there.

I'm feeling an extreme tiredness today. I woke up an hour ago, I did breathing exercises and drank a couple cups of coffee . . . and yet I'm only barely awake. I feel like I'm reality dreaming, floating through consciousness while all the while feeling as if I'm asleep. Screw it. I'm going back to bed.

Thursday, March o7, 2o19
People say they like you. Well, not all the time. Actually, it's rather rare for me to hear someone just say for no reason at all, with no coaxing, for anyone to say to me, "I like you." But even if someone does come out of nowhere with an I like you, I hesitate to believe it. I mean, If karma is a real thing, if you get back two fold what you send out  into the universe, then more than likely who ever says "I like you" is probably lying because I don't particularly "like" anybody. Now, don't get me wrong. I do have "a" non-relative  and "a" relative who I consider my friends. I'm not an emotional Scrooge. I like people . . . medium rare . . . come on!That's just a joke. Let's put it this way, I "get along" with people alright as acquaintances, as those not too familiar other beings who also populate this Earth . . . like the girl at Stella Nova who always has a wonderful teenage smile on her face as she listens to my absurd coffee order (Could you not fill it up too high . . . oh, would it be a bother to put maybe four large ice cubes in it? The coffee here is just too hot for my old lips.) and never once does she frown or look at me with the dark tyranny that youth often radiates. Yes, people are okay . . . from an physical and emotional distance. But once you get close, they start seeing the faults in your existence . . . those physical (Oh, he's gain so much weight, why does he wear the sides of his hair so long when the top is so . . . not there?), those artistic (I'm sorry, but your poetry sucks!) and those deeper cuts below the ego-line (You're a rather terrible person, no personality at all). Yes, those friends I can do without . . . forever. My favorite line, which I may or may not have made up: It's nice to be wanted even if it is in three different states. {smiles}

Friday, February 15, 2019

The Daily {W}rite February 15, 2019 wk o3

Well, I did get out on the bicycle yesterday and rode it down to the Speeding Bullitt Comics store, a 1.6 mi trip  . . . one way! Yes, a did a total of slightly over 2 mi. AND I felt pretty good afterwards. The small trip was tough on my lungs though, but it wasn't as bad as it was the day before when I went just 2 blocks away from my apartment before I my lungs started hurting.

So, seventy degrees outside yesterday when I did my "ride"  and setting at thirty degrees right now at 3:31pm this afternoon! Which means I am stuck in the house for at least today. Damn it. The longer I wait to get an exercise routine set up, the longer I'll be  . . . sick? At least that's what I'm hoping.  So maybe today I'll write a few more lines on this entry. Would you like that?

Saturday, February 16, 2o19
Had a rough night last night. My body just wouldn't relax enough for me to go to sleep. Aches and pains, RLS (Restless Limb Syndrome), itchy skin . . . and memories. Yeah, lots of those memories floating about in my head late at night when I'm trying to sleep. Too much of that.

But finally got some sleep. At least just enough for the alarm clock on my phone (yeah, my phone has a clock in it, which is no big deal these days, all the cellphones have clocks and lots, lots more!) to wake me up at 11am. And I felt pretty good even though I had only gotten 2-3 hours sleep. Called David at noon, and then got dressed, brushed my toothess (yeah, I know it's actually teeth), get the nebulizer out and breathed for 10 minutes, and just as I finished getting my shoes on the phone rang:
Woodie: What?
David: I'm ready to go . . .
Woodie: That was fast!
David: Yeah, I showered last night . . .
Woodie: Well, I'm ready to go . . .

Even though we were both layered up, (T-shirt, sweat shirt, the black down jacket and my new Batman stocking cap for me.) it was still cold as hell. The wind just sliced through everything! But we got into the Stella Nova and the coffee was warm . . . hot, actually. I had them put some ice in my "Americano" so I could drank it without burning my lips off! And then . . . off to the store to get supplies, food and such because David is leaving for L.A. on Wednesday and wanted to make sure I had enough food. Sometimes, David seems to be a better friend to me than I am to him {smiles}

Monday, February 18, 2o19
Hey, where in the hell have you BEEN! No Sunday blog entry? What the hell, man! Sorry, but I was sick yesterday. "Yeah sure!" No, seriously I was deadly ill. A cold of some kind. It just laid me out! I did nothing but sleep, wake up and watch TV a bit. Horrible. But I'm back . . . I hope. Still congested, but much better today.

Tuesday, Feb. 26, 2o19

Friday, February 8, 2019

The Daily {W}rite February 2019 wko2

I try to like people. I try to accept them as they are with all their faults and all their goodwill or bad will or what you will think of . . .  that makes them the individual that each and everyone of them are allowed to be, should be, honey bees or by your leave. But at times, many times when dealing with "people" individually or as a group . . . it becomes difficult to maintain a positive stance when face to face with them. I try to be "tolerable" but I fail almost every day to not just shun a whole shit load of people. My primary problem with "people" is their dislike and disrespect for me. I mean, no matter what I say there's always someone there to tell me I'm wrong, to belittle me, laugh at me, prove to me that they are my superior . . . and I hate them for it. I refuse to talk to them, ever. No "hi how are ya" not if a nod of my head to confirm that they exist.

Saturday, February o9, 2o19
So, we got home from the movie, Cold Pursuit, around 5pm. The movie was really great. Wonderful script about an ordinary guy who seeks to revenge the death of his son by drug dealing mobsters. Yeah, I know, so what the hell is new about that storyline? Well, they keep saying that all the stories have been told long before any of us were born . . . so, the difference is not in the storyline but in how you tell the story, and man, Cold Pursuit tells a poignant, hilarious black comedy, crime thriller . . . it's really fun to watch.

When I got home finally, out of the nasty cold weather that just beats me into the ground these days, I had lunch that I bought from Wendy's (I know, I know! I gotta cut out the fat creating foods!), eat it and just collapsed. Really, tired, you know? This winter-blunder-land is bullshit! Two things that kill old . . .er people off the fastest . . . really cold weather AND really hot weather! Not a fan of either one, thank you very much. And it's sad, really. When I was younger I loved the Oklahoma heat. Nothing better than getting out on the bike, riding four or more miles and sweating like a pork loin in a BBQ oven! But winter cold, I mean COLD! No, no, no, sir! Not interested in that at all.

Sunday, February 1o, 2o19 
Not that big on blogging about politics. I always like to keep this as my personal journal that I share to all those who want to take the time to read it. But today . . . boy, I was awaken by the TV that I had left on all night. It was tuned to the news and I just listened, half in a dream, half out of a dream . . . the news became a part of sleep . . . and it just pissed me off. I mean, I don't want to go into it too much . . . but the garbage everybody is spewing about this country, both the right and the left, just saddens me to such a despair. Yeah, I get angry about it, too angry about it at times . . . but mostly I just weep for the state my America is in.

Wednesday, February 13, 2o19
Well, I didn't write on this blog yesterday because I was too busy finally finishing up my top ten movie list for 2o18. It was really a chore. I put off writing it for the longest time primarily because I had to write from scratch nine reviews, and a lot of the movies I reviewed happened so long  ago I couldn't remember the details of the movies, why I liked them. That's crazy, right? I mean, if I really loved a film and wanted on my top ten list . . . then I should remember it in detail, right? Yeah, right. But whether I should have remembered details of a movie I watched six or seven months ago or not, I still needed to research some of them for plot, storyline and character names.

I went out on the bike a bit.  Wasn't quite as warm as I would've liked it, but a long sleeve shirt, jeans, T-shoes and a down hunting vest was enough to keep me freezing . . . but still a bit cold. I couldn't ride far. I  stopped for lunch at the Greek House. They have great Gyro sandwiches. After that, I decided to try a bit of a ride . . .no dice. About a block and I start huffing and puffing. Did have enough lung power to get myself back home, 3 blocks away from where I tired out. Then it was pushing the bike up the stairs to my apartment. Damn. That was hard. Guess I need to go to the doctor and see what's up. Hope I got more lung power  in me so I can at least ride my bike around town.

Valentine's Day
Thursday, 14, 2o19
Okay, I don't celebrate VD day but I can't say I don't enjoy it a bit . . . from a distance. Yes, I print up some original meme's for it, some funny and some not. I did make a "funny" one, based on the Saint Valentine's Day Massacre. But I woke up this morning, turned on the news and realized February 14th is also Parkland's Day of Remembrance for the 17 lives lost during the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High school shooting back in 2o18. So, I deleted the "funny" Valentine's Day meme and replaced it with this meme.
I chastised myself for forgetting. I hope no one saw the other meme, the one that when I think about it is not funny at all.

Friday, February 1, 2019

The Daily {W}rite February 2019 wk o1

The first day in February kicks off Black History Month. I always like to post poetry, biographies, art work, and writings of African-American artists on my Facebook page. It's a way for me to connect (and possibly help others connect) with artists that they may not have heard of. I also like to concentrate on historical artists mostly but I like to included local artists and artists who are living now but may not be high profile artists. I do include a few Nationally known artists like Maya Angelou who I featured on my Facebook page on this first day of BHM. For the blog, I've decided to introduce you to a local musician, Jahruba Lambeth. Jahruba has been kicking around Norman-town since way back when. Well known in the area as a percussionist and singer. He plays a lot on Main St. during our monthly Art Walks. He also teams up with a local guitarist, Chris Christo. If you live close to Norman or in Norman but never got out to Art Walk, come on down next Friday (February 8) and checkout all the local artists. Jahruba may be there.

Saturday, February o2, 2o19
I believe God has stolen the beautiful hair that once nested on the top of my head for purposes that are truly beneath His rather glorious position in my life. Yes, He's taken my hair and from it has fashioned a voodoo doll of my likeness, and He has since I turned 70 years older stabbed at that likeness of myself with a long, thin holy sewing needle. He doesn't just hit, poke at one spot, but multiple  spots on the inside and outside of my body. God can, at times, be not only cruel but extremely vindictive.   Yesterday, as I sipped a Smoothie and ate a sandwich at one of our more expensive restaurants in Norman-town, I had a sudden headache, a piecing headache right in the middle of my frontal lobe. It burned and just kept aching for at least five minutes  . . . and then it was gone as if it had never been there in my brain at all.  However, the memory of that stabbing pain remains inside my memory closet. And that brutal memory scratches at the door. It wants out so it may torture me some more.

And then today, I just felt little punches in areas of my body where I never thought I could ever feel pain. Organs  here and there in little hideaway places inside my flesh took turns cramping and twisting themselves into invisible, horrible pain monsters. It appears that God not only likes a sharp stabbing motion to inflect his physical abuse on me . . . I'm sure He has a pair of weighted gloves that He loves to wear as His giant fists punch every part of me that can be punched.

Sunday, February o3, 2o19
A slow day. Me moving in slow motion. The air from the air conditioner- yes, it was warm enough today to turn the AC on- drifted like invisible smoke, like a transparent ghost haunting the living room with its cold breath. The day is drained of whatever colors might find there way through the winter's gray mood. My life? Black and white, a negative stain that no amount of scrubbing can wipe out. I hear Lady Macbeth had some the same kind of problem. But my sadness, my insanity always finds a way to cure itself . . . unlike Lady M., I have a silly sense of hope that somehow it well all turn out just right. Just right. TGS . . . The Goldilocks Syndrome.

Monday, February o4, 2o19
I'm out of the shower. Hair still wet. Body clean . . . hope some of it rubs off onto my inner-self, the constant light that flickers inside keeps the pilot light lit . . . A spark of life. Water at the right temperature and the just right ratio of hot and cold can change a person . . . if not forever, for a while. Peace, rest, a shy smile on my battered face. . . for a while.

Tuesday, o5,2o19
Wake up call for David at 11am. No answer.  Left a taunting message on his answering machine. Hung and called again. He answers the phone . . . but says nothing. "Hello?" I said. "Mageratgredogagadot!" was the answer from the other end of the conversation. I shouldn't have called the second time. I knew from the sound of his voice that we weren't going to go anywhere today. "Call . . . back . . . in  . . . an . . .hour." Yeah, sure. That's what I did. He didn't even bother to answer the phone at when I called at 1pm. Wrote this around 11am today:

Tuesday, February o5, 2o19

I wake up depressed.
I wake up happy.
I wake up. I wonder.
I dream, I know I dream.
I feel. I feel those dreams,
they run through my thoughts
on ghost legs . . . disappearing
behind that thick wall of fog
now standing guard outside
my apartment's west window.
I know I dream. I know not
what I've dreamt. I know I dream.
The news reminds me:
Today is Trayvon's birthday.
He would've been 24 years old.
I wake. I wake up. I . . . wake.

Wednesday, February o6, 2o19
A nice day. Started off with a foggy morning. So thick the energy building (with it's 25 or more stories) couldn't be seen. Really cool! A gentle morning and day. My mind not filled with a lot of the depression junk I consume while watching the news. Particularly depressing was Watching Trump's State of the Union speech. But NO! I'm not getting into that. I don't want to feed the demons thrashing about inside my thought processor.

David did get out and about today. We went for coffee at the Stella Nova where Aquaman is a Barista! No, I'm not joking! Yeah, I am. He's a young bearded hipster kid with long hair . . .  he's always smiling, which is a bit annoying.

So, me and David, we just sort of hung out for a bit and then . . . home we went. It remand foggy all day and slowly it got colder and colder. I was so glad to be in my apartment where it's nice and snuggly warm.

Thur., Feb. o7, 2o19
Cold today. that windy coldness . . . slices through the flesh. Was okay out in it a bit, just a bit, from David's car to the Stella Nova. A nice gourmet cinnamon role . . . very tasty. Ice tea instead of coffee. Why? who knows. Got home about two hours after we left. David wanted me to go see this musician I really like . . . whose name I can never remember. Anyway, I decided not to go because it was so cold and the sun was still out and if the sun was still out and it was cold . . . well, I didn't want to think how cold it would be at night. So, I said I didn't want to go, got in the house and . . . I just got sick, so sick. I don't know what was wrong with me . . . But I was so glad I didn't go out.

So, here's the end of the first week of Feb. and I wrote a lot in this blog. I'm not sure it's worth reading but here it is anyway. {smiles}

Thursday, January 24, 2019

The Daily {W}rite January 2019 wk o4

I'm sorry that I didn't get right onto the this last week in January blog entry. A couple reasons for the delay. First off, I always wind-up with a shit load more days to write about in the last week of a month. For example, this wk. o4 of January had 10 days in it! Yes! Now that I've bypassed a couple of days, this week's blog will cover only the last 7 days of the week. Yeaaaaaa!
The second reason for the delay . . . well, if you know me, you already know. I was hit pile driver hard with a bout of manic depression. I know, we call it bipolar  . . . something . . . but I prefer Hendrix's phraseology. Anyway, I'm still buzzing from it, shaken from it, still reeling a bit from all the negative energy zapping my brain. I know, breathe in, breathe out. Breath in, breath out.

And there was also the Rally to End Racism on the OU campus. Was suppose to be outside but the weather forced the speakers and the audience into a very cramped ballroom. I had a difficult time taking pics because of the low light. So, I shot in monochrome, which works better in low light than color. It was a good rally, but more of the same rhetoric about how awful racism is, and it is but that's about all anyone said about it that I heard. No one has any real plan to attack and end racism. And I understand that. But how long do we say the same old things and march the same old march carrying the same old signs chanting the same old chants. Need to find another way to get through to people.

I don't want to spend too much blog time talking about racism. Not that I don't think it is an important topic . . . it definitely is. However, all we do is talk about it and in the same way we talk about mass shootings. Yeah, we don't like it when it happens and we want it to stop . . . but we really have no idea of how to do that. How do we change an attitude towards each other based on skin color that has been a part of America even before there was a United States of America? Personally, I don't think it's that tough to be not a racist. I mean, just don't be one. Don't say, do, or even think racist. Treat all American citizens should be treated . . . equals with the same Constitution rights as myself. Easy, right? Like the Bible says, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." Easy way to live. Always remember that it is: "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." and that it's not: Do unto others  . . . and then split."

Friday, January 25, 2o19
A cop of coffee. The TV . . . off. Just the sound of the space heater's air system rumbling, a steady hum pushing warm air the stove top creates into the living room. Believe it or not, the anxiety I've been feeling all week has dissipated. Good. My body, my mind at peace with each other. Drifting through the universe right now. Mmm. Tacos. I wish the universe, all the physical and metaphysical worlds were made of Taco Bell tacos. Mmm.

So, I'm on Facebook and there's this flash on the left side of the laptop screen . . . OH! An IM. Ong sent me and IM:
ONG: Where you live.
WOODIE: Trout Ave.
ONG: Where the hell is that? So, I gave him "perfect" direction and thirty minutes later I see him getting out of the car. I go down and we yack a while . . . about 30 min. or so and all I got on my feet are my house slippers so I'm getting a bit fidgety, moving my feet around so I can keep the circulation going . . . "Oh, here," Ong says, "this is our newest album. One for you and one for David." That was so cool. Tony Ong is a great rocker. Name of his group is ONG. Look him up on YouTube.

Saturday, January 26, 2o19
My main problem seems to be is I can't take all the bullsh** in without getting just ass-kickin' angry about it. Bill Maher. Bill "WTF" Maher did a rant on his HBO show about Stan Lee, and how people who are adults and still like Marvel comics and all the Marvel superhero movies are morons and should die . . . . ! Okay, there's Achilles heels. One of my friends on Facebook showed Bill's rant on Stan Lee and I just can't handle it without getting all red face pissed off about it. And that's not good. Not good for me or the people I  lash out at when I'm this friggin' angry! Aaaaaaaaugh!

Sunday, January 27, 2o19
Hey! Guess what? I got a hold of David early enough for us to go to a movie! Yep! We saw the movie Stan & Ollie, which is a decent enough movie. Really great work on the part of all the actors. THEN, after the movie, David talked me into going to the gym! Yes, I haven't been to the gym in at least two years! And boy, working on my biceps with 10 lb. weights, looking in the big mirror in front of me . . . MAN! Am I ever over weight! I mean, I'm more than Hitchcock FAT! But the workout went good although all I could with two sets, ten reps, of five upper body exercises (arms and chest).
Yeah, that's how out of shape I am. BUT it felt good! No, seriously, I think my body has been wanting me to do something "athletic" for it and it is now extremely thankful to me.

You may think that this day's blog entry has a lot different tone/mood than the one yesterday and . . . you'd be right. But no magical cure has made me happy, maybe the working out helped a bit but . . . I'm just on the up swing of my disease.

Monday, January 28, 2o19
My friend Brandon posted his top ten movie list for 2018. Damn it!  So, now I gotta work extra hard and get mine out tonight. Damn it!

I've got spend more time communing with myself, less time right now trying to fix all the broken people I run into on Facebook and real life. Yeah, more exploration of self, and less judging others, mocking, others.

Well, not going to finish the top ten tonight. BUT I swear . . . tomorrow.

"Words, words, words!"
I forgot who said that.
But I vaguely remember
He was bummed out
at the time he said it. 

Tuesday, January 29, 2o19
As is usual . . . sleep dragged itself out of me and hid itself away somewhere in this my apartment. I should hunt it down that sleep of mine. I should hunt it down force it to crawl into my ears and find its way back into the gray matter that houses all that is me. All that is me. That one part, that runaway looking for a new home . . . perhaps more stray dog than rebel. Yes, I deranged, stray dog roaming the streets the dark alleyways, searching for a scent that will send it toward home. I should stand out on the front porch, call it's name. "Here boy! Here boy."

By the standards my mind and body dictate, this hasn't been a BAD day. An okay day. I couldn't get David out of his house until 2pm. Problems with his bank. Some guy bought a pizza on hos card . . . in Frisco. I asked him what kind of pizza the guy bought. He didn't know. I asked the girl at the bank . . . okay, I shouldn't say girl cause she isn't a "girl" but a relatively higher up mucky-muck so . . . she didn't know either. She is from Alaska. So, I quietly asked her . .  .
Woodie: (whispers) you know the 30 Days of Night/
Mucky-Muck: (whispers) yes.
Woodie: So, it's true. There are vampires in Alaska?
Mucky-Muck: Yeah, but they are way up north. (Woodie smiles. He likes her.)

Thursday, January 31, 2o19
So, I skip a day of writing on the diary blog. I've been feeling  . . . unwell for most of this week. Headaches, body aches and the inevitable mind aches have chewed me up and, not liking the taste, spit me out on the carpet. But no worries . . . I'm just one stain on the carpet amongst a multitude of stains.

But, again, no worries. The brain housing group is working a bit over time correcting all the metaphysical glitches (I don't believe in ghosts, and hope that ghosts don't believe in me) that seem to be automatically popping into my consciousness anytime Life (the lives of others) starts picking on me like we were both back in the 2nd grade. I won't stand for it! You want some coffee? {smiles}See you next month.