The Daily {W}Rite December 2o15 WK o4

Well, the last week in Christmas has snuck up on me and beaten me about the head with the heavy idea that this year, this wonderfully dull year is almost over. The fear is settling into the cracks of my brain housing group caused by this revelation. . . what the fuck have I done with my life echoes through my head. I've done nothing, I guess, or maybe I've done everything! I have made a New Year's resolution to get deeper into my writing both on The Daily {W}Rite blog and my poetry in the coming year. I've also vowed to get that damn book of poetry I've been going on about for the last ten years published. Hmmm. That may be a little tough since it involves getting a publisher interested in my poems. No, not all that secure about my work, for sure.

I called David at the usual time, 11:30 a.m. and he had just gotten to sleep. So, That means I have plenty of time to write on this blog . . . or do something else. Going to Moe's for Christmas this year. I've done that at least once, I think. I met Moe back in '68 when I got back from Nam. We became best buds pretty fast. Got a lot of Marine Corps inspired stories to tell . . . but we don't tell them very often because . . . Weeeeeeeell, some of them are a bit . . . unsavory? {Mischievous Smirk}

10:16 p.m.

I'm stalling. I need to take a shower and pack for my Christmas trip to Moe's house. I plan to be there for a few days. The thought of sleeping in a strange house, on a strange bed, having to take a shower in a strange bathroom . . . Hee! I think I've accidently fallen into my Norman Bates phobia. It doesn't happen often but I get a feeling that going to visit at a friends house is a lot like the shower sequence in Psycho. When I'm out of my natural habitat, I get extremely uncomfortable, unable to sleep and my body just starts to itch and ache, I toss and turn. I really get scared. I know it's crazy but it's real. Here in my apartment there is always a hall light on day and night. And at night when I'm going to sleep I can see the hallway light shinning through the gap between the door and the door frame. It's "comforting." I feel safe. But these last two nights? The hallway has been dark. The lamps are burnt out I guess and the landlord hasn't replaced them and it's unsettling to be in the dark like that. I mean, it's not totally dark, but somehow . . . it scares me to not have that light shinning through those cracks in my microscopic world.

Sunday, December 27, 2o15
1 p.m. on Christmas Eve. At 75 miles an hour the thick grove of blackjack trees turn into a wall of brown mush. Where long, wild stems of yellowed high grass once stood waving in the northern breeze a river the color of urine magically appears. The world looks strange at 75 miles an hour. Too fast it is for my eyes, my thoughts . . . only way to slow things down is to look at the sky right above the tree line. There the world is normal, traveling at a rate of speed that my mind can understand.

It's starts off well, the trip to Moe's house for Christmas. Lots of talk about out shared passed experience. "You remember that time in Yuma?" ""Hey! the two drunk girls, big girls we picked up in 29 Palms that time?" Pleasant conversation that can only be appreciated by the two of us. It was a rowdy time that most of our friends, lovers and relatives wouldn't approve of. A pleasant time, to old friends just reminiscing . . . then with just one sentence containing the name, Donald Trump, the laughter stops and the argument begins. It lasts the rest of the trip to Moe's house

Teresa is always gracious even as I babble on about the sins of Donald Trump. My better subconscious realizes that I'm treading on dangerous ground here so stop talking about politics and concentrate on Christmas. Lots of presents from Moe and Teresa. Their adult size kids are always fun to talk to. Sarah is the adventurous one of the family who is heading off  to South Korea to visit with her friend who teaches English there, who now sits on the couch in Moe's living room and smiles and chuckles anytime the conversation includes her. And there's John the rock star to be. Moe and Teresa asked me to talk to him about a speech class he can't seem to get through. I offer him some advise and he listens graciously though I'm not sure he really listens or cares what I have to say on the matter. So, the night passes by with out anyone mentioning politics. We say goodnight and I try to go to sleep long before 4 in the morning.

Christmas day is filled with sleepy people waking up at ten or so. Will, not Moe who always gets up at 6 in the morning making breakfast for everybody as they wonder into the kitchen. No big plans for today. Christmas was celebrated the night before. However, Christmas night we are to go over to Teresa's brother's house to meet her nephew's new wife from Sweden. Oh, I get a bit excited about that. Never met a person from Sweden. Even better, the new wife's whole family will be there. And they were I spent most of the time talking to them about Sweden and how did they like America and such. To tell the truth, it's kind of boring until I just happen to mention that I liked

Quentin Tarantino movies then the brother of the bride jumps in with, "I love Tarantino!" and the rest of the night that's what we talked about. Thanks, QT even though I'm pissed about you shooting hateful Eight in 70mm! Dude, the closest theatre that has a 70mm projector is about 40 miles away from where I live!

The day after Christmas I'm back on the road with Moe, 7:30 in the morning and we're heading for a showing of Star Wars at the Warren in IMAX! There's a deep, gray fog over the farmland we travel by. I\I find a smile spreading across my mouth. Fog relaxes me. A trance maybe. A feeling of sadness, yes, but with a touch of calm that I don't often feel.

The movie was great. My third time to see it. I'm enjoying watching my friend Moe responding to what's going on, on the screen. It makes me smile again. I remember Moe from back in the day when we were in the Marines together. I remember that evil little smirk he got whenever he was having fun. He was having fun today. When the movie ended Moe drove me home. I unpacked my clothes when I got in my apartment and realized that I left a whole bunch of the presents I received from Moe and his family at his house! Damn it. But know time to fret. Gotta get ready for Hateful Eight at 3 p.m.

Rain. Thick, heavy rain. Anytime a big as rig passed us it splashed a blinding wave of rain water on the front windshield. But Brendan drove the 40 miles or so to get to Quail Springs Mall without  getting us killed. The mall was swamped with people! Large lines for the movie theatre snaked around the food court, and wouldn't you know it? Hateful Eight was sold out! Sorry, Tarantino but I ain't gonna see your movie today!

Monday, December 28, 2o15

A childhood friend was an electrician in the L.A. area back in the late '80s. When I moved out to Hollywood, he offered me a job as an electrician's helper. Work was long hours but not really stressful. New buildings were the best because we would lay the conduit and then just pull the wires through. Older buildings were a bit more frustrating at times because you'd have to pull the old wire out first, maybe change out some of the conduits and then insert the new wire.  Why I do I bring this up? Well, if I want to change my life, I mean really change it, I need to pull out my brain's wiring system and rewire my whole head. Yeah, it sounds a little strange perhaps. But how else can you change your way of thinking if you've been hardwired from birth to think in one particular way? There's nothing you can do but replace the brains conduit system and rewire the whole fucking mess.

11:14 p.m.

The last two days I've been a prisoner. The weather has been so nasty, too nasty for my old self to find the courage to put on the winter gear, open the door and walk out. But I got a pardon from a need to go shopping for food and nicotine gum and such, and David needs the same (except for the nicotine gum.) So, tomorrow I dress up warm and head out into the frozen waste land that lies between me and the rows and rows of needed supplies housed in the warm embrace of Walmart.

My memory. I'd like to get rid of some of the junk in there. Not the useful stuff like knowing how to walk, tie my shoes and such. I mean the nasty things, the memories that keep rising to the surface of consciousness whenever some trigger goes off and snaps to the forefront of thought. Maybe I'll go more into this tomorrow. Right now I got one more poem that I just wrote that I want to post on my poetry blog. So, until tomorrow . . . . {smiles}

Thursday, December 31, 2o15 (New year's Eve)
Well, I really didn't write much for the last month in the year 2o15. Meant to write a lot more today, but I didn't wake up until 3 P.M. Yeaya, I know . . . what the fuck! Well, in my defense I went with Brendan and Michael to see Hateful Eight and "road  trips" tend to wear me out these days. To tell the truth I don't even feel much like writing now. I do hope this next year will be better for me and my beloved country. I miss the America of my youth . . . this one I live in now? Not as good a place as I remember as a kid or even as a young adult. I want more from us than always fighting with each other. I want to see that loving America that I remember back in business. So, this will be my last post for 2o15. Let me leave you with this thought:

Happy New Year, Facebook friends!