The Daily (W)Rite January WK o4

The Daily (W)Rite

wk o4

Thursday
It's already the 4th week of January. I don't know if the cliché, "time is short," is more metaphoric than scientific, but as far as me getting started on my book of Oklahoma inspired poetry . . . this month really ran by me . . . I do have a poem about time that might be appropriate:

                                      Time

 

Sometimes the day gets away from me,

running ahead of me like my brother
who was always in such a hurry,
stretching his hideously long legs
out in front of his adult size body,
moving at what seemed to me
a million miles an hour.
And no amount of pleading,

 

"Come on, man, slow down!"

 

could stop his momentum.

He’d pick up speed and disappear
around the corner before I could catch him.

 

It’s not that we run out of time,

but that time runs out on us,
runs out of patience waiting for us.

 

We need to get on with it,

get after it with all we got
or time will turn the corner
and disappear forever.
rrw o5-1o-12 (rewrites o9-15-14)

Saturday, January 24, 2o15

Yesterday, I went back to smoking. Don't get all rolly-eye on me. It was just one day until I could get some nicotine gum. However, it did kind of point out the fact that though I'm pretty much over the whole cigarette addiction, my body and mind are nowhere close to kicking the nicotine habit out the fucking door!

 

I am So shocked by BALLSGATE! How could NO ONE not know if the balls you're handling all day long are deflated or fully blown? The refs should have known right off. I mean, they're grabbing the player's balls after every play. And what about the ball blower guy? Why didn't somebody ask him (or her), "Hey, did you blow these balls up to the right . . . blow capacity?"

I was extremely proud of my ability to tap into my 12 year old self and come up with some original "BALLS" humor long before anyone on my Facebook page did! However, now that all the political pundits have turned BALLSGATE into a full blown, professional football scandal, I'm pretty much over it . . . and I'm also WAY over the political debate about whether or not the term should be "Muslim Terrorists" or just plain "Terrorists." I mean, really? We're going to haggle over a definition? I suppose IF we include all Muslims in our phrase then that'll make it okay to stop and frisk anyone wearing a taqiyah or totin' a copy of the Quran. But is that what we want to do? Jail anyone who's dressed in the religious garb that we've designated as "terrorist apparel?" Hmmm. Ham Sandwich ! That's it! Why don't we call ALL terrorists Ham Sandwich? We can waylay anyone carrying or resembling or impersonating a Ham Sandwich!

Here's my problem: Whether you decide to use the word "Terrorist" or  the phrase "Muslim Terrorists" is (in America, at least)  based solely on your political affiliation. Conservatives go for the moniker Muslim Terrorists because they believe all Muslims are terrorists, and liberals believe that most Muslims are not terrorists so they use Terrorists. And I say BALLSGATE to both sides of the aisle. We are wasting too much time on a trivial matter. We're more interested in debating definitions than getting off our partisan asses and putting a stop to terrorism. No more grandstanding. Get something done about all those mass murderers who use religion as an excuse to kill the world. {No smile today.}

Sunday, January 25, 2o15

Yes, it is 2:38 AM and I should already be sleeping. Well, no, that's not quite right. The disappointing fact is I AM usually wide awake this particular time of the early morning without a hope of getting to sleep before five or maybe six. However, I do make the effort  to go to bed much earlier . . . I lay there for a while . . . twenty minutes or so . . . before I pop up, go to the computer, turn it BACK on and maybe play a few hands of solitaire, or see if any one has "liked" me on Facebook and hope I get to sleep before dawn. And if necessary, I work a bit on my blog. To be totally honest, I don't have much to say at what is it now 2:46 . . . oopps . . . 2:47 AM! But a big part of this blog is to train myself to write, to get myself ready to write my poetry book.  So, I'm guessing it's better for the development of my writing skills to just go ahead and write. Well, I think I've done all I need or can do tonight . . . I mean this morning. I'm heading for the couch!

Tuesday, January 28, 2o15

I haven' yet seen the movie American Sniper, but I  have definitely listened to all the controversy surrounding this movie, boy, have I heard it. I'm not sure exactly why people get all nasty about it, I mean, it's just a movie. But that doesn't seem to matter much. I think all the hubbub started with the fact that American Sniper made a LOT of money at the box office and that Clint Eastwood directed it. Most of all, I really think that the political Left and Right just needed something to fight about . . . Hey, what better target than a movie about the Iraq War that America has been involved in for, for . . .  well, it feels like forever.

The controversy ball really got rolling when Michael Moore called snipers (in general) cowards. That really set the conservative right off! Which, in turn, got the rest of the liberal left going. Well, you get the idea. Everybody had a point of view about "the war" and the people who supported it or didn't support it. And then the news got hold of the story and just ran crazy with it. Both Fox News and MSNBC just had a field day bringing in all kinds of "experts" to prove their point. I thought everyone got so carried away with supporting whichever side they were on that the movie got lost. Like I said, I haven't seen it yet so I don't know if the movie is good or not. And it doesn't seem to matter to the Right or the Left if the movie is good or bad. They're having too much fun fighting with each other.

Wednesday, January 28, 2o15
The end of another month. The weather warmer than normal for Norman Town this wintery time of year. But I'm enjoying it. Got the air-conditioner on low, and it's nice to be able to wear shorts in January.

David just called and I need to go for a writer's conference at 10 tonight. His son, Michael, has decided to explore his artistic side. He changed his major in medicine to a major in film. Just like that. He is, however, finding the transition from a medical degree to a fine arts degree a bit challenging. He's got some friends who are working with him on some projects, but they aren't quite dedicated enough for him. He's thinking of this whole filmmaking thing as a job, and his friends seem to think of it as more of a "fun, do it when it doesn't interfere with other stuff" type of thing. I wish him luck with it.

Friday, January 3o, 2015

Brewhouse

I like the way the bartender runs around with her huge, metal earrings smacking her upside the jaw each time she halts, slaps the bar top’s face with her white bar towel. I love how she sops up the tiny puddle of beer glass sweat that she just knocked unconscious with that first, deadly blow. And suddenly, like a red-tailed hawk, off she flies to the other side of the liquor island just in time to ask the bearded drunk seated at the center stool if he'd like another.

 

"Can I get a cup of coffee?" I shout. I must shout to be heard over the unidentifiable Hipster song blasting from the jukebox. The Keeper glares at me, scans me from head to foot, foot to head and back to my eyes, visually frisked by her angry blue eyes."Yeah, but no refills," she warns. "Okay, can I get a burger too?" “You got $12.47?” I slide a twenty towards her. She swoops it up, examines it with the keen suspicion of . . .  a red-tailed hawk.

 

At pool table #3: Sorority girls giggle like ducks as they chug huge glasses of beer and watch the football player lean over the table to make a difficult shot. He doesn't make it and his adoring gaggle of meticulously clean girls falls silent.

And all becomes clear to me, as clear as beer in a glass: I haven’t shaved in three days, my shirt’s stained a dirty yellow . . . from what? Hell I don’t know. My jeans haven’t seen a washing machine in months, I’m old and tired, I don’t drink anymore. I just don’t fit in this place, this renovated space filled to the brim with young college students and a red-tailed bartender who’s sure that I’m up to no good.