Wednesday, April 1, 2020

The Daily {W}write April 2020 wk. o1


So, here it is, April and I plan to write a lot. One more month until my birthday. Well, a little more than a month. I love the month of April. Winter is now a memory. Even though it wasn't that bad of a winter. Went to Walmart today. Trump's stupid, idiotic news the other conference:  "You’re talking about 2.2 million deaths,Trump said, referring to an Imperial College study that identified 2.2 million people as the high end of how many Americans could die if no measures were taken to slow the spread of coronavirus. “So, if we can hold that down, as we’re saying, to 100,000, it’s a horrible number, maybe even less, but to 100,000, so we have between 100 [thousand] and 200,000, we altogether have done a very good job.” -Vox.  Really hit home with everybody. Lots of surgical masks floating through Walmart. Signs on the floor showing everybody how far six feet is. Even the counter at the pharmacy is blocked off so you have to lean over a little to pay the pharmacy bill. And walking around pushing that cart. Everybody frightened to even pass someone while going down a skinny aisle to get toilet paper or paper towels, AND both TP and PT are regulated. You can only buy so much at one time. It is an adventure. 

Thursday, April o2, 2o2o

I look out the window at the empty streets, the empty parking lots . . . where are the squirrels running from tree to tree? Where are the sparrows bathing in the pothole on the corner of Felgar and Trout, yes, the sparrow's swimming hole that always seems to be full of muddy waters? And crows and eagles the random Beechcraft Bonanza airplane heading for the local airport? I don't like this world where everything that makes the world the world has disappeared, gone, like magic . . . gone.

Wrote this last night. Before falling to sleep. Pretty much the whole world is COVID-19 focused these days. Can't help it, really. I mean, we all grew up on the zombie apocalypse movies and . . . this virus thing sure does feel like the same thing. All of us The Walking Dead. What? We are zombies?! No. Actually, the reference to The Walking Dead TV show relates to the human characters and not the flesh eaters. AND the origin of the name The Walking Dead refers to the 1/9 infantry division, USMC. During the Vietnam War, the 1/9 sustained the highest casualty rate in Marine Corps history.  

8:21 pm 
Lately, my attention has time-warped to my time in Vietnam. Maybe COVID-19 reminds me of those times. Not sure how they fit together . . . but as far as personal experience goes, they seem to be related in some way . . . at least, in my mind. Who knows. The only problem with being on house arrest? The ghosts keep showing up. The ghosts! For me, I've always thought that memories were the only ghosts that haunt me, all of us. But I have to be careful. Friends of mine are very much into the supernatural. ALL of my friends have seen . . . a ghost! I doubt it . . . but then again . . . how could I know? So, I came up with this little saying that lets me walk that tightrope between believing and not believing in the supernatural: I don't believe in ghosts/And hope that ghosts/Don't believe in me . . . 







Sunday, March 22, 2020

The Daily {W}rite March 2020 wk. o4

The world I can't change . . . much. This life boiling over . . . it's sludge seeping in through those tiny cracks that the doctors bore into my head on that day I dropped out of that warm, quiet place . . . smack dab into the middle of this existence.  The mind cripplers gearing up, enormous bills just for being born pouring out of their dirty mouths . . . Feed the rich; fuck the poor. They are the sores, not us. They are the plastic stable boys whipping at the ghosts . . . the ghosts created in their own image . . . fat ghosts shitting on the sidewalk and blaming it on the immigrant, whose hands are still bleeding from a forty-hour workday! No time to eat . . . It doesn't matter. There's no food anyway. No time to dream . . . again, it doesn't matter for all the dreams are white. The empty page. No longer blank, no longer meaningless . . . when black ink is added to its shapeless face.

1.  And she asked me, not unkindly,
"How long have you been bleeding?"
"
Not too long," I heard my mouth say.
"Just my whole fucking life." I was
surprised by her giggle that she tried
to hide behind her hand. And she answered, "That does explain a lot."
2.  A shallow pool, barely enough water in it to wade properly, and does it smell? Like all the dead just crawled out of their respective graves. That's my life in this year of COVID-19.
3.  I still remember the feel of her hair between my fingers, the scent of her hair. Her blond hair. Even after two weeks of not washing it, or perhaps because of not washing it, I could still smell home. And no matter how far away, my life took me from her . . . I could still find her by scent alone.
4.  Unfortunately, as bad as today has been, tomorrow looks to be even more horrible. And the next day and the day after . . . even more.

Monday, March 23, 2o2o
1.  Darkness is not caused by a lack of light but by a lack of imagination.
2.  Slow down. No need to be so frantic. You're already dead. Your ghost is tired. Let it rest inside its grave. If there is an afterlife, it will find you.
3.  I saw a comet once. It raced across the midnight like a bright white sparkler. It had a bushy tail like a squirrel's tail  . . . and I remember I was a child. A boy. When I grew up, looked up at the sky all I saw was night.

Tuesday, March 24, 2o2o
It's a Tull day. Thick as a Brick in both ears. But no worries. I got the cell phone right in front of me. If someone calls, I'll see the flashing screen. But back to Thick. Frigging great album, and one of the longest songs ever coming in at 43 minutes and 50 seconds. Dude, an extremely classic piece of rock that I can't find anywhere! No CD of it in any store. But I probably have to go online. to find it IF it exists anywhere.

The world is deadly to me. Yeah, the world is out to kill me. First, it fucks up my lungs with 60 years of smoking three or four packs since I was twelve . . . COPD, a fluttering in my heart that the doctors can't explain, leukemia, and as it turns out . . . the cure for my cancer is fucking destroying my immune system.
Dialogue from Catch 22They're trying to kill me," Yossarian told him calmly. "No one's trying to kill you," Clevinger cried."Then why are they shooting at me?" Yossarian asked. "They're shooting at everyone," Clevinger answered. "They're trying to kill everyone." "And what difference does that make?” 
. . . And that's exactly how I feel. Oh, forgot one other thing, I'm a male. Yes! The list of symptoms sent out by the health to explain who is most vulnerable to the COVID-19 and there were seven symptoms including age and  . . . I got six out of seven! Son of a bitch! Don't tell me that life is not out to kill me . . . it's a personal vendetta.

Wednesday, March 25, 2o2o
It's been a day of getting some practical tasks done.  Finally filled out (online) that pesky Census 2020 survey. Some weird shit happened. I put in my proper name, the name I use on all "legal/ business" documents: Robert R. Woods. But the census site made it: Robert Woods R Woods. What the hell is that? I tried to correct it but no way was the site going to do that. So, I guess from now on I am known by Robert Woods R Woods. So, I got to the end of the survey and it asked, What race are you? And so upset by the name thing they did to me I wanted to just get done with this so I put . . . white. But when I got to the bottom of the page the survey wanted to define the white race with an origin. You know, French, England, blah, blah, blah. Look I don't know any of that crap. So, I just put American. I mean, what the fuck, you know? I don't want to define myself as a race. Too much bullshit about race in this country. I refuse to play. I mean, why can't I just call myself "of the human species"? Yeah. I mean dogs aren't broken up into race. There's not a Chihuahua race, is there? 

So, emailed the company that makes my rescue inhaler to complain about the price for a month prescription that started out at $24.00 and within 6 months jumped up to $80.00! I didn't write an angry email. I just told them that it was too much money and would they please lower it to at least under $30.00. And I also called my doctor to see if he (since he prescribed the inhaler) could find one cheaper. And he did! I can pick it up at Walmart tomorrow. P.S. Never got an answer back from the company that makes the inhalers. Of course not. 


Online and on the news people are really freaking out for us old people because we are the most susceptible to COVID-19. Everybody's pushing the six feet distance rule. Yes, you can talk to other people but you need to not get too close to them, no more than 6 feet. And I got to thinking. Since David drives me everywhere, how do I stay 6 feet away from him when he's right next to me . . . driving? I don't know. I follow the rules but that one seems a bit more difficult to follow. I mean, we don't breathe on each other, we don't touch each other . . . we are aware of how close physically we are to each other. We are careful. But I admit that when David started losing his voice the other day and started coughing a bit too much . . . I sort of backed away from him. 

Thursday, March 26, 2o2o
Depressing. Scary. That's life this morning. MSNBC paints this horrifying picture of crowed hospitals filled with COVID-19 patients. One nurse put it like: we need respirators. Right now we only get a respirator when a patient dies. 

Last night wasn't as bad as today. I mean, I was still under the illusion that this might pass by us without more damage. But still, last night was horrifying. Wrote a poem about last night's feelings. Not sure it's going over well with my Facebook friends. 

Friday, March 27, 2o2o
Hell of a day . . . yesterday. I won't spend too long bitching about it. I went to get my prescriptions yesterday at Walmart Pharmacy and the price for one of them was not the price I was quoted over the phone. It was $13.38 more. I complained about it, and the girl at the counter just shrugged me off. I even talked to my sister who works at Walmart and she did basically the same thing. She did give me some advice about contacting my doctor and seeing if he could get the price down. Hell, she even offered to reimburse me the $13.38 which was sweet of her . . . but she missed the point. I should not be told by the pharmacy over the phone that the product will cost $24.62 and then when I get there it turns out to be $38.00. What's wrong with people? Price gouging should be against the law.


So, I'm spending the day writing on the blog. Probably not going out of the house today. Okay, maybe a short walk to the mailbox and a bit of journey to take the trash out to the dumpster. But other than that? I did walk a bit with David on campus yesterday . . . but I couldn't walk too far. Shortness of breath. And I had just got platelets and a blood transfusion Monday. It looks like the treatments are not taking. Fuck.

11:13 pm
Less than an hour and I can post the poem for Saturday.  No, not gonna post it here. You'll have to see it, read it on Facebook. Of course, you probably read this blog (if you read it) on Facebook anyway.

It's dark out . . . here on Trout Avenue. On a Friday night too. Scary world we live in these days. Scarier than I've ever witnessed. Yeah, there were always a few scary moments in my life. Vietnam war was scary even if I was a cook in the Marine Corps, Simper Fi, Stir and Fry. The drunken stepfather shoving the barrel of a loaded shogun in my guts when I was eighteen . . . a bit on the hairy side . . . for sure. And then there was me on a motorcycle, drunk on my ass, early morning, doing a hundred and ten miles an hour on the 405 without a helmet. Not scary when I was doing it. When I woke up and realized what I had done? Horrifying. But this, this COVID-19? This is a whole new layer of horror for me. So many dead and more to come and all of it the fault of an egotistical maniac in the White House.

Sunday, March 29, 2o2o
Lat night was something rather homegrown wonderful. I wrote a poem about it:

COVID-19 (part 10) Norman Regional Hospital

The parking lot . . . crowded. Cars, trucks . . . I think I saw
a motorcycle or two. Warning lights flashing, car horns
bellowing like fighting bulls . . . and people. People inside
their cars, outside their cars, young and old and most
of them wearing surgical masks. Some high school kids
standing in the bed of a GMC truck waving homemade
signs, "WE LOVE YOU!" It felt like Woodstock . . . but no
rockers . . . then out of the hospital onto a grassy mound
so everyone in the parking lot could see . . . Nurses,
technical people, also wearing surgical masks and blue,
green, and pink scrubs . . . the crowd went crazy! Yelling,
screaming as if it if were The Rolling Stones, Joe Cocker,
Santana, or Jefferson Airplane standing in front of them. 
And then these medical rock stars waved at the crowd
and the car horns got louder, the cheering even louder,
and the hospital groupies waved back, their arms swaying 
in the air and love, and respect filled the parking lot.
Woodie o3-29-2o 

2:21 pm
The pic on the right is from a B-day card that my friend, Kimm, sent to me some years ago. Sometimes I forget how important friends are to this life. Relatives also. But last night, when a whole bunch of Normanites jumped in their cars and drove over to show their appreciation for the first responders who are on the front line of this COVID-19 epidemic, that really gave me some perspective about existence and friends.

5:55 pm
1.  I feel fine. Just a bit sleepy after I eat. Hmm. I wonder if vampires get sleepy after sucking the blood out of a person? Well, food for thought . . . HA!
2.  I had a dream  . . . somewhere . . . at some time . . . in this existence. Please, don't ask me what it was about. I have no memory of it but I am told that I always dream, all the time and might not remember because of . . . my age. Well, that's a waste. Why have dreams if you can't remember them?
3.  I keep getting the internet's version of junk mail . . . spam. Why do new things have to always replace old things when the new things take over?
4.  It's always good to keep a pair of traveling shoes on (even when asleep) just in case you fall into a black hole or something. The multiverse may not have your exact shoe size. And then where would you be?
5.  Sometimes . . . too often . . . I feel like life's penyata. And when they break me open . . . they are surprised to find that there aren't any goodies inside me.
6.  Will I remember tomorrow when I wake up in yesterday?

Tuesday, March 31, 2o2o
Missed writing on this Daily {W}rite yesterday. But that's usual for me when I go to chemotherapy on a Monday. I Lose sleep the night before therapy. Usually, I don't get more than 45 minutes the night before. And Sunday night? Even more restless than any other night before chemo. I was really dreading the chemo for the first time. It just started to hurt more after, what? 6 sessions? Anyway, Got there and they wouldn't let David into the hospital because he didn't have an appointment. So, I got there and had blood taken to see where I was chemotherapy wise. After that, I saw the doctor and . . . "Well, Robert, afraid that the treatment is not working on your body. It happens. You know we talked about going to OKC, OU medical hospital for other options to control your cancer. But the big one we talked about, the bone marrow surgery that you probably wouldn't survive because of your age? Yeah, they are not doing any surgeries up there because of the COVID-19. So, I got one more thing we can try here. We stop your chemo and let you develop leukemia, not borderline leukemia like you have now. This I can treat."

I listened to all this with a deadpan look down at the floor. So, the only hope I have is that they make me sicker so they can treat my cancer. So, I told her, yeah, let's do that. So, the battle of life or death is still going on within me. I wonder . . . who will win?












Friday, March 13, 2020

The Daily {W}rite March 2020 wk. o3

Yes, I do know. I haven't written in a bit . . . more than a bit . . . two WEEKS worth of bits. The cancer thing, you know? Not feeling well . . . and then feeling well and then . . . not feeling well . . . and then . . . this last week my blood count is up to 14! That's a lot! Platelets were down and the hemoglobin down too . . . but the 14 count is  . . . hopeful that I might be getting better . . . as better as I can get. The doctor hasn't said anything yet. So, not wanting to be too hopeful.

Yes, and it's Friday the 13th! Not really a holiday but is in a . . . way. I did a little research on Friday the 13th:  Friday the 13th is considered an unlucky day in Western superstition. It occurs when the 13th day of the month in the Gregorian calendar falls on a Friday, which happens at least once every year but can occur up to three times in the same year—for example, in 2015, Friday the 13th occurred in February, March, and November. 2017 through 2020 will all have two Friday the 13ths each, and the years 2021 and 2022 will both have just one occurrence each. Friday the 13th occurs in any month that begins on a Sunday.” -Wikipedia

So, back to writing. What should I write about? My life . . . have I ever wrote about anything else? 

Politics are really getting to me as usual. I can't stand all the sniping going on all the fake news that democrats are throwing at each other. I try not to do it myself. However, I can't NOT say something when someone else talks nonsense, lies. I try not to get angry . . . but I do. 

1.  It's still raining a bit outside . . . almost inside my apartment. the kitchen window fell out of its frame and smashed itself all to hell on the rooftop. . . Police believe it was suicide. But I don't know. Right after the crash, I saw two juvenile squirrels jumping from the roof and scurrying up a wooden lamp post. 
2.  I got a poem I wanna share on here even though I've already shared it on Facebook in 2o19:


I Heard Annie Singing Little Bird

There's a cloud, a single cloud, a little cloud
sitting on a rainbow. Crows, I watch the crows,
the old black crows floating through the rain.
I wonder why they try to swim when they were
born to fly? I wonder why, why chase rainbows?
Crows just aren’t smart enough, fast enough,
brave enough for dream pursuits. Their destiny
lies in night’s cold eyes.  Blood on the moon quenches
the desire for warmer climates and sunnier days.

Whippoorwills. Lovecraftian angels, pallbearers,
a flock of feathered mourners lifting the murderer’s
soul from its body at the moment of death, yes,
pulls the soul from the gravity of flesh tossing it
to the old gods! What a gluttonous feast for them,
the sweetness of a newly formed ghost, a tasty little treat
for those older gods who’ve forgotten their own names
because no one, no one ever sings of them anymore.


But the pale lady remembers in rhyme and pitch

the selfless reasons for our existence. She remembers

sparrows as true as a bass, a lead guitar, the synthesized,

panic rhythm mechanically laid down by a drum machine.

She is the goddess of sad looks and painful words that
strike ever so surely and hard the nastiest of hearts.
Woodie o6-o7-19 (rewrites o3-13-2o)

Sunday, March 15, 2o2o
1.  Got out to see a movie today, The Hunt. It got a lot of bad press even before it came out because it was hinted at poking fun at 2nd Amenders and Donald Trump . . . which it does. But it also takes the satirical look at the liberal left . . . a lot. It's a weird movie. Depending on the political position, some people will find some of it funny, and some of it not so funny. It smacks both liberals and conservatives. 
2.  I got in an argument with a guy from Direct TV at Walmart. I don't know why. I usually just say no and march on. But for some reason, I stopped to talk and the guy starts asking for my address my zip code . . . I thought he was looking to see if AT&T was servicing my area . . . but then he wanted my name and my phone number . . . and I got pissed. "Hey, don't try to con me into subscribing to your service . . . ! "Sir, you started talking to me first . . . " "Bullshit!" and I ran off towards the food section. I shouldn't have gotten so mad, damn it!
3.  It was creepy at Walmart. Very few customers . . . a ghost store. Went to this small organic store that David goes to  . . . same thing. There was a sign on the door: "We'll be closing the store early to clean up." Hmm. AND they had hand sanitizer at every cashier line! Yeah, creepy again.




Monday, March 16, 2o2o

COVID-19-Blues 

1. I wonder if the Invisible Man is susceptible to the COVID-19? 2. Every time I hear a cough . . . I wince. 3. The bad news . . . I have cancer. 4. the good news . . . the type of cancer I have the doctors tell me means I have only a 5.08% chance of catching and dying from COVID-19! 5. Went to KFC to get chicken for dinner. Side door was locked. Went to the front door. Opened it and walked into a gauntlet of wooden chairs barring me from going to any of the tables, and forcing me to go straight to the counter. "So," I said to the smiling teenager, "No, dining in, I take it?" Yes, that's right," the teenager said with an even bigger smile. 6.  No matter how old and sick I get the world still delights me with its cruel sense of funny. 7.  AND I finally found out WHY everybody's buying up all that toilet paper  (look to the right. {smiles

9:28 pm
1.   About 5 weeks ago, we met a friend's mother who was receiving chemotherapy. Beautiful lady.  Very thin, bald, a beautiful smile that she flashed at me and David when she was introduced to us. Last week, we learn that she had succumbed to the cancer.
2.  Last week my blood levels were at 14. Today it dropped down to below 7. So, life keeps jerking me around.

Tuesday, March 17, 2o2o
Well, Norman town is shut down. Can't go to bars, restaurants and movie theaters. Some restaurants will be open for takeout orders only. Man, this is creepy I Am Legend shit. Anyway, it does give me plenty of time to write.
1.  Watching my neighbor get into an Uber. My neighbor wearing a double intake respirator. My body and mind are hard-pressed to laugh or cry.
2.  The good thing about being 71 during this COVID-19 outbreak? I'm considered high priority venerable.
3.  "Knock, knock."  "Who's there?" "Nobody." "Nobody who?" "Nobody's knocking at your door, idiot, everybody is under self-quarantine!"

Wednesday, March 18, 2o2o

Natural Selection
"Stop your weeping," said the rain, "no one wishes to see that!
Not even the sparrows dancing on the winter lawn wish to see

your tears . . . even though they cry like falling leaves from 
the oak tree branches whenever the night strolls by."

Shouldn't I ignore Mother Nature's speeches when she's never
shed a tear for me, never has she sent a sobbing wind rummaging
through the cracks in my apartment walls to keep me company,
protect me from the many shadows peppering my thoughts, and

those gentle dreams that evolve into haunted nightmares and
chase me screaming through the dark . . . what about some
solace then, oh lovely, caring nature? What about a single,
meaningful caress from the graying moon

that I watch every night when your storm clouds permit me?
Seventy-one years on this planet, this lovely Earth and you
won't comfort me with a whispered, "there, there," when
I'm feeling my ghost slipping from me towards the grave.

And when this flesh falls into your open arms, what then?
Will you be as cold to me in death as you have been in life?
Yes, we give you too much credit, we sing your praise, write
poems celebrating your eternal youth. It's gone to your head.
Woodie o3-18-2o

Thursday, March 19,2o2o
1.  Listening to Thick as a Brick by Jethro Tull.
2.  Hmm, the sun stares at me from the west window. A burning stare. I'm afraid my sweatshirt will explode . . . my whole life is gasoline and nitro. I wonder if I just allow the sun to stare at me as it is right now forever . . . will it go blind? See red Woodie spots pulsing in its one eye?
3.  Believe me when I say . . . I don't know of what I'm talking about.
4.  More than likely my legs will fall into a deep blackout before the rest of me realizes this is not some kind of demented dream forced onto me by my parents, by the world in general, by an uncaring intellectual cannibal that denies me my individuality.
5.  FREEDOM! I shout the word and it bounces off the wall and back into my ears . . . a massive headache screams back with silence.

Friday, March 2o, 2o2o
My exposed flesh soaks up the warm sunlight dropping in through the west window. I smile at all this gentleness that nature has decided to lay on us in the middle of a horrifying pandemic. Unlike our leaders, our POTUS and his league of evil conservatives, nature seems to have some moral feeling towards this dying time. I know. Silly to think that nature gives a damn about us and what happens to us. Maybe she is even more detached than our "masters" here on her fleshy Earth.  And yet it appears she has more feelings for us than the human powers that be in charge.

Saturday, March 21, 2o2o
Out Into The Apocalypse

The first day out of the house and into the ghost town once named Norman-town. David and I riding around in his car rolling towards the Sooner Fashion Mall. ME: But is the mall open? DAVID: I guess we'll see. AND it was! AND lots of folks in there walking around because . . . well, like me, they were tired of being under "house arrest" and just want to get out . . . ANYWHERE! Most of the shops were closed but there were a few still open.  Jewelry stores, a small convenience store (mostly candy), a sports cap shop open.   That one was weird. It has all these different sports caps hung up in sections. But one of the sections was stripped of all its caps . . .  an all those caps were piled up at the foot of the section, like all the caps had said at the same time, "I can't stand this! I'm going to commit suicide!" Another freaky thing in the cap shop: a mannequin wearing some sport team's shirt on its torso, AND a cop sat on its shoulders because . . . THERE WAS NO HEAD OR NECK ON THE MANNEQUIN!

But more like life as we know it was the grocery store we went to Crest Grocery Store. Tons of groceries, and people shoving giant shopping carts along as they picked up this or that . . . . There were a few sections that were pretty bare. This store was really controlling the toilet paper, though. One person could buy just two, two-packs of T.P. at a time. I still don't know why there is a run on T.P. Pretty sure I don't understand why there's a run on ice cream, also. But there was. Needed to go to Walmart to get my sorbetto  . . . . and I got the last two pints of that . . . but not the flavor that I wanted. I got mango flavored! I'll tell ya, this apocalypse stuff ain't all it's cracked up to be. Anyway, new blog next week . . . if there is a next week. {smiles}









Saturday, February 22, 2020

The Daily {W}rite February 2020 wk. o4

We're not the dreamer . . . we certainly are the dream. The trees, the forest where they live, the stars, the heaven where they die and live again . . . all of this we are, they are not us. They are only a whisper on our rotting lips and when we're gone all this . . . the oceans, the mountains, the desert lands . . . all this will cease to exist. There'll be no one left to remember. 

Saturday, February 15, 2020

The Daily {W}rite February 2020 wk 003

Thought of getting a bit of a jump on this third week of February's blogs. I'm sort of waiting to see if the mailman will stop by my apartment to day. Focusing on the blog while the right eye's peripheral area keeps a look out for the postman's truck. Well, that's not totally true, is it? My hearing is helping out because they will "hear" the truck's approach before my eyes can see it. I love it when my body parts work together to accomplish goals. And every part has its job. 

Sunday, February 16, 2o2o
I just finished watching an HBO show, Ali and Cavett: The Tale of the Tape. Really good and very powerful story of Ali. Yes, there have been a lot of bio. docs. on Ali and I have seen them all. This one, today and where I am in life right now . . . really moved me. It seems that these days I'm finally cementing my beliefs about America and myself. Wrote the poem below last night.
True Patriot

I've given up the myth of race.
Bound it up in heavy duty twine,
and chucked it all in the vast
emptiness where meaningless
thoughts and beliefs go to die.
A friend of mine said he was
tired of being racist. He wanted
to know how to stop it. I just
shrugged, "If you don't want
to be racist, just stop being racist."
My friend, of course, shook his
head, wandered away like he had
just been hit by a car . . .  delirious. 
But it's that simple, isn't it? You weren't
born racist, you learned to be racist.
You were taught the lie of race, and
you believed it because it came
from people you trusted . . . dad, mom,
movies, TV, the news, politicians.
But there came a time, right? A time
when you realized that racism was just
pure bullshit, nothing but lies and hate.
I try to live by the Bill of Rights. Yes,
most Americans are for the Bill of Rights
for themselves and people who think
just like them. And that's the problem.
Personally, I can't perceive patriotism
in a person unless that same person
defends not only his or her rights but
the rights of every American citizen.
People say that if you were born in
this country, you are automatically
an American. I say no. You are only
a true American if you wholeheartedly
defend the rights of every American citizen
with the same tenacity that you defend your
own rights. Anything less is un-American.
Woodie o2 16-2o

Yeah, took me almost an entire life to figure out my political stance. I mean, I'm sitting here and understanding what I should've understood from the moment I was politically aware: we are all created equel. And that the Bill of Rights from the American Constitution of the United States is the key to living that ideal: all of us are equal. 

5:16 pm
Need to think about eating  . . . it's become a bit of a chore . . . eating. I forget about it. The chemo, I guess, plays havoc with my desires to eat. So, I gotta force myself to cook and eat what I've just cooked! 

Monday, February 17, 2o2o
1.  Well, blood count up to 8.3 . . . I really don't know what that means exactly but it is high enough that I don't need chemo for another week which is very much appreciated by my fat tummy. It is still recuperating from the last round of shots. The right side is extremely bruised and may well be infected . . . or as the head RN says, " It looks very angry." And what I don't need is a pissed off infection of some kind. The RN told me to put heat on it and if it doesn't get better give them a call.
2.  Do you remember my New Year resolution. One poem for each day in January. Well, I reached my goal, but I'm still writing one poem a day! Guess I got used to it. So, I'm reinventing my resolution. I will just write a poem a day for the whole year of 2o2o! That should keep me busy.
3.  I've decided to stop trying to educate other people . . . particularly, I mean to never try to educate others about my political beliefs. Why? Because they won't get it, and that they definitely don't want to get it. So, no more talking to folks about that. I'll write my poetry, write some opinions on life which includes politics . . . but I won't discuss it. A waste of time. 
4.  A friend of mine who just finished her cancer treatment gave me some decretive surgical masks to wear. It could be fun.  

Tuesday, February 18, 2o2o
1.  Finally got all the info for the Norman Regional Financial Assistance Application. And I'll put it all together by tomorrow. 
2.  I had a dream last night and actually remembered it. But the remembering a dream after I wake up has been going on for about 3 weeks now. BUT I found out that whatever I am watching on TV right before I go to sleep is what I dream about! I know! It's like cheating. I just hope the DP (Dream Police) want arrest me for plagiarism. 
3.  I've become more of a thought shadow these days. Always clinging to the memory walls inside my delicate mind. Do mot be alarmed that if you are taking a whiz in barroom john and you look up and there's my shadow on the wall right beside the old joke: Why are you looking up here? The JOKE is in your hand.
4.  I was going to wear my Land of the Dead T-shirt to chemo last Monday but decided it would really be in bad taste.

Wednesday, February 19, 2o2o
1.  Finely finished the financial assistance form. Send it of tomorrow.
2.  The politicians, the Democrats on TV are serial killers. With their condescending words, their vicious syllables, Gatling gun metaphors tearing bloodless holes of the others talking points. It was a massacre. No one survived.
3.  Yes, your touch now a ghost. I feel it on my flesh no more. Do not turn away, fade away into the dark . . . My eyes refuse your leaving as an end to us.

Thursday, February 19, 2o2o
Well, big surprise when I got home today. Got the usual bunch (5-6 ) bills from the hospital for my chemo treatment. And the first five? three were $100.00 each, and two were around $50.00 each and then I opened up the last one . . . $15,001.46 . . . fuck! I don't have over $15,000.00 to pay out. I started this treatment with over $9,000.00 and I made a lot of payments with it. I think  may be at around $5,000.00 now . . . nowhere near $15,000.00! So, gotta call in the morning and see if there's anything I can do about that huge amount. Maybe I can pay it off a little at a time.

Friday, February 21, 2o2o
Last entry for the las day in the 3rd week of Feb. A little tense. A little unwarranted fear all day because of the fifteen thousand dollar chemo bill hanging over my head. I guess the Medicare is finished with me and the bulk of what is left (around twenty thou.) is up to me. But I got a call finally from the billing department at Norman Regional and . . . the lady waiting on me was very nice and is helping me a lot. I hope the financial aid packet I sent them yesterday will go through. Anyway, one big chore left: Change out the old cable box for a brand new one. There's that tension in my neck again. I do get freaked out easily. But no worries for the rest of this night unless my fretful thought machine finds something else to worry about. See you next week, readers. Oh! Maybe one improv poem?
My shirt sleeves frayed around the cuffs.
Old, worn. Reminds me of the mirror
I find myself trapped in . . . sometimes.
Spotted white from toothpaste slime
slung there by my heavy breath. I
never bother to wipe it off. The spots
remind me of  a ghostly snow leopard
that once hunted inside one of my
drunken dreams. Beautiful it was.














Sunday, February 9, 2020

The Daily {W}rite February 2020 wk. o2

I sometimes don't get people . . . Sure, its normal not to get people who you don't like to begin with . . . but I'm definitely not getting people (who I like) still trying to get Bernie elected  by doing the same thing they did the last time to support him  . . . and they lost! They've already started on the conspiracy theories. The media and the party itself is out to get Bernie and Bernie lovers have plenty of fake news to prove it. These kind of tactics didn't work before what makes you think they'll work this time? It's like Yogi Berra all over again.

3:31 pm
I'm already watching the pre-Oscar shows! Yes, I am a junky for the Hollywood get together. I'm hoping that the movies I want to win . . . will win. And I think they will.

Tuesday, February 11, 2o2o
Yesterday wore me out. Blood count was extremely low around 6.2. I'm not sure what 6.2 really means but the head nurse who told the news looked very scared as she set me up for not one bag of blood but two bags!  AND it took four and a half hours for my veins to suck it all down. Wasn't so bad for me  because I had the very comfortable chemo chair and David sit (all the way through the four and a half)  in one of those small chairs Oncology put out for visitors. AND since I hadn't more than forty-five minutes worth of sleep the night before, I reclined the chair as far as it would go and slept through most of it. Oh, yeah. About two hours in I remembered . . . I hadn't eaten all day. WHAT?" the nurse yelped. And she ran off and got me a cold turkey sandwich . . . and I realized then how hungry I was and that, that turkey sandwich was the best sandwich I had ever eaten!

10:30 pm
Also yesterday, I did a voice over for a film David's been working on. I don't like doing things off the top of my head even when it's a voice over and I have the few lines right in front of me. But I did it and I guess it went okay.

Wednesday, February 12, 2o2o
1.  When it gets too hot in the apartment, I can't sleep. When it gets to cold, I can't sleep. See my dilemma? Up almost every hour last night trying to get the heater at the right temp. so I don't have to get up and play with it a bit. Finally, I got it balanced out and I slept well until 12 noon.
2.  Moments, just moments when. Just moments when the world seems balanced just right on my skinny shoulders. But no matter how I try to keep the weight balanced on my tiny shoulders, it movies or I move and the whole thing comes down  . . . pinning me to the floor of my dirty apartment. That's the struggle of life . . . not just keeping the cruel  world balanced but digging yourself out from underneath the rubble when it falls on you. And believe it, it will fall.
3. I'm tired of politics. And I can't help but fight back when the opposition gets to wild. Unfortunately, most of my opponents are in the political party that I identify with.  {no smile}

Thursday, February 13, 2o2o
1.  Well, Thursday. On Facebook they call it throw back Thursday. For me, it's a bit like throw-up Thursday. Not well today. A bit depressed. Everything makes me cry a bit. Commercials for Saint Jude's Children's Hospital? Very sad to watch right now. And hospital shows on TV? I can barely watch any of them because you KNOW some character is going to be dying of cancer. Please, don't think I'm getting a bit maudlin because I'm laughing as I write this. {smiles}
2.  I'm having a difficult time on Facebook with all the political nonsense cropping up. Even the people I agree with politically . . .  I don't agree with politically. Yeah, I know. But exactly what I feel when I read some of my fellow liberals talk about politics.
3.  I've developed a alternate personality, a pseudo superhero  . . . Chemo-Man. My best pic right now is titled Chemo-Man and Pony. One pic above right with Pony and one to the left.
4.  I wish some days would be someday and some days would be days happy and some days just uneventful when I just smile because nothing bad had happened. Somedays I love
Sundays and some days I wish the day would magically become a Friday and I was young again and hitting the bars looking for love . . . or something I might mistake for love. Yes, I somedays wish I wasn't at the age I am at. 14. Yes, I wish to be 14 for the rest of my time on this mudd ball. Not 21. Don't need to be 21. 14 the magic number for me.

Friday, Valentine's Day, February 14, 2o2o
Yes, it is that love appreciation day, Valentine's. Not too sorry to say . . . but I never was much of a Valentine's Day celebrator. I don't really remember having ever celebrated it with a significant other. I'm pretty sure I must have at least once bought a girlfriend flowers, candy, a Valentine's Day card. I just don't remember ever performing  any of those gestures of love and admiration. However, I did start writing a Not a Valentine's Day Poem over the last few years just to celebrate not having an actual lover to adorn with a Happy Valentine's Day party favor. And it turned out pretty good, I think. I mean, I celebrated the occasion with a poem without actually celebrating it. The picture of the little guy carrying around this HUGE heart on his back . . . sort of expresses my feelings toward the holiday. But is it really a holiday? I know that people who are against Valentine's Day say it's absolutely NOT a legitimate holiday. Just a sad little con by the corporations to relieve you of more of your  hard earned money to put into some fat cat's pocket! Of course, the people who say all that are probably without love or a loved one to celebrate love with. I can understand their distain for the  . . . holiday.

10:13 pm
End of the second week of February. Rather appropriate to have Valentine's at the end of the second month. On a darker, sadder note. February 14th is also the date of the 2018 Parkland shooting.  Want to keep remembering it an all the other mass shootings this country has suffered through since . . . well, a very long time.

So, shutting this week down. hope you enjoy my rants. I'm feeling like I'm not writing as well as I have been. I'm repeating subjects, I think. Maybe that's a good thing. Me realizing that I need to explore new ideas and ways of writing.  {smiles}







Saturday, February 1, 2020

The Daily {W}rite February 2020 wk o1

The first day of February. I know, it's NOT important. Nothing is actually important. However, there isn't nothing. Nothing in this illusion we created for everybody can't exist. There's always . . . some thing. And we are back at the beginning of a thought. A thought is like a church. Take off your shoes before you enter.


Frog Boy

We think, therefore we are confused.
Thinking, consciousness the plague
of human existence. If we did not think,
our lives would be a . . . a . . .

There's an amusement park on
the Santa Monica Pier. Bright lights,
Ferris wheel the colors of rainbows . . .

Whack-A-Mole, teddy bears, the sideshow:

"Heya, Heya!" cries the Barker
from the sideshow tent, "See
the amazing frog boy pickled in a jar!
And there he is! Piss-yellow skin
and eyes a gangrenous green,
yes, there he is!”

There's your heaven, your Mecca . . .
free rides for the eternal soul . . . if
there is a soul. If not . . . the ocean . . .
reclaimed life beginning and never ending.

Worshipping the Holy Mackerel.
"Fan mail from some flounder?"
Asked Bullwinkle Moose.
Woodie o2-o1-2o

Sunday, February o2, 2o2o 
Yes, an angry man, I am . . . Thank you, Dr. Suess. There have been moments in my life, bloodied almost dead moments  . . . If I could've, I'd have murdered the whole world. But then like now, I haven't the strength to do such a thing. Unlike then, now I have no desire to harm the world as much as it has butchered me, left me on the side of the road . . . roadkill . . . nothing more than a doggy corpse drying in the desert sun. They murdered me a long time ago, those parents, step parents, lovers and friends. They never even thought of burying the body. So, here I am . . . still. 

7:15pm
I'm taking time off from the game to write to you, dear reader. Don't worry, it's half time. I won't miss anything. I am listening to the half time show and writing to you.

Look, I take full responsibly for the I of ME. I can't blame anyone for who I am. Why? Because I am the one who decides what I do, what I am. Yes, other people's action towards me may have had a hand in it. making me who I am . . . those people . . . father, mother, people I've known as I was growing up, people good and bad whom I've had interactions with . . . yes, that made me pretty much what I am . . . but I chose how they effect me . . . how I react to their actions towards me. That's the rub. "They" may well do the kindest or the nastiest  things to me  . . . but it's my decision how I respond to those actions of others. And those actions can't be transmitting to the actions of other people. I can't or shouldn't respond to an action that may (to me) resemble an action by a different person in my past. There's the problem with living. You can be what they tell you to be through their actions . . . or you can choose to be yourself, what you choose to be.    

Monday, February o3, 2o2o
this morning, 8:40 or so, blood tests. The RN that took my blood smiled on her way into the waiting room . . . always a good sign. "Well, your blood is in good shape," her smiles gets bigger as she says this . . . and then a change in tone with, "but lower than the doctor would like to see." Oh, well. A discussion with the doctor next with her saying the same thing the RN said but in an even happier mood than the RN because she's getting ready to go on vacation. Then . . . into the chemo room for more chemotherapy . . . and out until tomorrow.
It gets dark outside the apartment. Night begins its drop into our sunlit world around 5:00 pm. And the world is aware of the arrival . . . the cars that pass my apartment seem more sluggish, almost standing still as it gets darker. The local black cat runs to the closest porch . . . a favorite place for street cats to hide . . . under the porches of the houses on Trout Ave. Dogs? Dogs just howl mournfully the dying of the sun, getting louder and louder until the sun is no more. And then the dogs just shut up, disappear into the black until the morning sun arrives.

Tuesday, February o4, 2o2o
Had a better sleep last nigh than I've had in a while. "Experts" tell me that you need eight hours of uninterrupted sleep for sleep to do you any good. Okay, but I have an old man's bladder that doesn't care. It wakes me up every two  hours or so. Anyway, did wake up in good spirits even though my abs ache from the chemo shots and my left arm is aching from the protein shot the RN gave me. But other than that. Feeling damn good. Some one on Facebook wished Trump to die of cancer. As much as I despise what Trump and his minions continue to do to this country, I would never wish cancer on him or anyone. And if you have paid any attention to my entries on this blog . . . you know why. {smiles}

Wednesday, February o5, 2o2o

Snow Day! Yea! It was a little nasty out but not to cold and beautiful snow fall. Went to the hospital for chemotherapy early, around 10:00am, instead at 2:00pm because a lot of patients cancelled their appointments because of the snow. What'a bunch'a wimps. Some of the doctors also took a snow day and cancelled appointments. Again, wimps.

6:26 pm
I wrote this poem last night after Trump's State of the Union speech, which I couldn't watch for more than 2 minutes at a time. I fear for my country.

The Fate of the Union
The president sat on the edge
looking down at the swollen ground
where once the people laughed
and sang now they cowered and
grabbed themselves and cried
to the sky above "when will it end?"

But the Orange One just shook
his head his Orange One hair
dancing in the wind. He pretends
that the problem is with the people
down there in the hole he created.
And all his crow-like followers agree,
"This country belongs to you and me
and not to the people way down there."

But the sparrows know how it goes.
Get enough of them together and
they can end the reign of the cowardly 
crows. Kill the ignorance, the stupidity 
that got them in this mess . . . but unless

their featherbrained ways come together,
become bigger than the power that has
stomped them down, the crows will fly
in numbers so large they'll fill the sky
with the blackness of their wings. And then
no matter how hard we try, no matter how
loud we yell, the world will die without its sun.
Woodie o2-o5-2o

Friday, February o7, 2o2o
The first week of the 2nd month of this "new" year. Pretty soon we'll not be calling it  New Year . . . in maybe 4 to 6 months from now. My birthday is approximately 3 months away and  . . . I'm just happy to maybe be alive for it. Yes, sometimes I'm very bitter about life,  how my life has turned out . . . but now that an expiration date on my life is close to be set, I feel much more in love with this life that I may be parting company with . . . AaaaaahahahahaHA! No, I plan on living forever . . . but I did fool you . . . didn't I?

A Facebook friend asked me if I ever plan to publish my poetry. Probably not while I'm alive. And if I'm dead, I won't be able to publish . . . anything. Look, I have my monthly poetry project. Granted the project is probably not even noticed by people. And it's designed that way, I guess. That's all I'm telling you. {smiles}

10:10 pm
My friend apologized to me over IM for being "grumpy" at me. I didn't really say anything I just blew it off. But we both got each other's nerves. I should apologize for all the rotten things I've said to him, actually.

I'm so glad that this week of chemo shots are over. Yeah, I know, I'm getting a minor dose of it when you compare it to other cancer patients. Today, man, the shots really hurt me more than usual. Still, it's not all that bad. Hey! Some great news from the pharmacy. The people take your prescription order are starting to look at the price and if it's too high THEY look for coupons for the patient! I had a nausea pill that was costing around $50.00 a bottle and the pharmacist got it down to $15.00. And today they got me a lower price on an antibiotic. Good. Very good. So, that's all from me tonight. See you next week.