Thursday, April 23, 2015

April, The Daily {W}Rite 2o15 wk o4



Thursday,
April 23rd. One month from today I'll have had 67 years on this planet. Got me to thinking about age and all the little clichés people throw at you when you start getting old . . .  all those wise-old-sayings about "being" alive for a long time. One of my favorites to hate? "You're as old as you feel." If that's true I'm a hell of a lot older than 67 . . . I "feel" like a thousand years have gone by. And there's always the one that people have no qualms about shouting out when you're feeling lower than the Dead Sea:  "Life is too short to be sad." Hey, not to me. It seems I've been emotionally under the weather my whole life . . .  and this "sad," little existence I'm surviving just keeps going on and on . . . Sure you take a nap once in awhile just to breakup the monotony of consciousness, but life's always there staring at you through the bedroom window the moment you wake up!

I remember at 23, just out of the Marine Corps, living with my sister and her family, riding along with my then brother-in-law (who was a cop), going to the local grade school to pick-up my nieces. I saw this crossing guard old man walking some kids across the street  . . . bright yellow safety vest, make believe cop hat, waving a big red and white "stop sign on a stick" at us. "Man," I chuckled, "that dude is really old." Brother-in-law stared at me with a huge, fake smile on his face, "That man is only 30 years old." So, what, I was thinking, to me that's fucking OLD! Hell, at the time I had no expectation of seeing 30 years old. It would be unnatural to go passed the three tens . . . "Trust nobody over thirty!" "Hope I die before I get old." That was my train of thought. But the guy who wrote that last line, Pete Townshend, he's now 69. Like me I bet he never thought there was life after 30. Hell, I thought I'd hit 30 and bam! I'd just disappear. Didn't happen. Yes, I am slowly dissolving into nothingness . . . but we all are doing that . . . from the day we step out of that womb-with-no-view we've been dying. Some of us just take a lot longer to get to the end . . . Damn you, Beckett, for putting this existential nonsense inside my HEAD! {smile}

Saturday, April 25, 2o15
It seems to be too difficult any more to just sit down and work on my writing, work on my poetry, hell, work at anything. Lazy? lethargic? Just too old to care about being creative? I don't know. I'm just not interested in doing anything other than "playing" around on Facebook or watching TV. I miss my creative self, my energetic self . . . I use to have
such a kick-ass abundance of creative energy. I never worried about my art , how good or bad it might turn out, I just did it.

Did get one thing done this last week, though. Got that piece of art I purchased last Art Walk framed. Though it was a cheap metal frame with a white matting job thrown in, it cost about $25.00, five dollars more than the painting cost me. One of the Hobby Lobby workers really liked the picture. I told him about the artist, Manda Shae Dickinson, how she was from Lawton and just recently arrived in Norman. I didn't think about it until just now, but I should've gotten her to sign it, damn it. Anyway, I need to get in the writing "mood" again. I need to start getting creative again. I miss it.

















 

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

April the Daily {W}Rite 2o15 WK o3

I'm wake dreaming again. David drives fast down the back road. We're heading for the Warren to see some horror film that neither of us are really interesting in seeing . . . but it's been a while since we saw a movie . . . Listening to David's car out run the wind. I look out my window see an April green field on my right. "Is that a clover field?" David takes a fast look. "Doesn't smell like clover. Nope." When you look down, outside the window, when you watch the road a while going at'a rather high speed, the asphalt becomes unstable, turns to water, turns into a gray river running along side the April green field. Look even closer and the river turns into long thin almost black lines, millions of lines all heading in the same direction. String Theory on a warm Wednesday morning . . . Sometimes I wonder if there are more  dimensional realities than our measly three (or four if you count time). Other realities would be interesting to explore. I'd like to see how I'm getting along on another Earth.

Coffee. I live by coffee, a scone or bagel (perhaps) at one of two favorite coffee shops: La Baguette Bakery & Café or The Gray Owl. Points of conversation: "Do you need to go to the store?" "How's your kids doing?" "Dentist for me tomorrow, want to come along?" "What time should I wake you up?" "You see that girl? Damn, wish I wasn't so old." David notices the girls most times. I'm too busy studying the ceiling fan or counting the number of cars in the paring lot. But I always look at the girls when David points them out. "Yeah, definitely cute."

The Movie at the Warren was a bust. Sound was incredibly loud! David covered his ears, but I, like a stupid, thought it was suppose to be that loud . . . The manager comes in and asks what's the problem with the film. David: "TOO LOUD!" The manager looks at the screen, listens for a minute . . . comes to the conclusion: "The movie's too loud!" He and the camera booth guy fix the problem and start the movie over . . . Didn't help. The movie was just as bad . . . only we didn't go deaf.

Thursday, April 16, 2o15
Air-conditioner on high, a knock-down, drag-out battle with the setting sun. The right side of my body hot, my back side cool. Life is like that. Between sips of cold coffee and typing out some words on the blog, I think of you. Not much, granted, but I do think of you, your face, your loud, but very pleasant crow like laugh. There are memories of you and I together that drift through my head now and then . . . although I don't recall what the memories were, I realize that I'm smiling, and I'm sure I never smile unless I'm thinking of you.

I don't sing much anymore. Was a time I screeched like an owl into a microphone, stomped with thick, uncontrollable fingers on a piano . . . "You have a great blues voice," my friends who could REALLY sing would say. I always took the compliment with a smile . . . even though I'm pretty sure they meant, "You'll never be a REAL singer . . . like US!" But it's true. I'm no more a singer than I am a piano player . . . I just liked doing both. I also liked writing songs .  . . LONG songs . . . that I'm pretty confident about . . . my song writing ability. Here's a favorite song of mine . . . written by me.

BROKEN DREAMS (song by woodie)


As I wondered passed the graveyard, saw Mother Mary with her Lamb
He was cradled in her fragile arms because he could not stand
She was crying out to heaven for someone to lend a hand
But no one heard and no one ever came
 
In the small town of Las Vegas see them walking down the street
Their hands stuffed in their pockets and no shoes upon their feet
And their eyes are as empty as the future 'pears to be
No one cares, not you or even me
 
Broken dreams rotting in the noon day sun
Crawling t'wards the shadows looking for the one
Who can lead them from this misery to a place near heaven's door
Where the pain of living won't be heard no more
 
From behind the barred- up window she could see the prison walls
The things she did that lead her here she never could recall
When she cried she clung to memories of family and good friends
And she prayed to God she'd see them once again
 
He was born of rage and fury ‘tween the cracks in paradise
The brutal life he chose to live no one could realize
Only by chance did he meet her in that dark and lonely room
He took her life and sealed his own in doom

Broken dreams dying on the prison floor
The scream of love and laughter silenced evermore
All the fragile shattered promises that life freely gave
Now dance within the darkness of his grave
 
And the winters here are cold as hell
But the spring rains seem quite warm
Sometimes at night I go to sleep and hold you in my arms
I can hear your laughing voice in every raindrop that I see
Do you ever take the time to think of me
 
Broken dreams drowning in the melted snow
Longing for a lasting love that ended long ago
Take us far from this misery to a place near heaven's door
Where the pain of living won't be heard no more

Friday, April 17, 2o15
Sometimes my eyes finger themselves between the narrow slits that disfigures what would be total darkness in my apartment. Sometimes running barefoot through sunlight, those same eyes must halt, lean against a flickering beam, catch it's breath, long breathes sucked in through the cornea, finding there way to deflated, defeated lungs that my sight have conjured up.  I see more, sometimes, than I need to, than I want to, sometimes. The green flesh of jogging shorts, the sweaty meat sliding from her head, down her shirt to form crooked, wet rivers that seek the shelter of her white crew socks. Her head a red fire burning the blue from my sight. I love/hate the thoughts that I create for myself as she turns the corner and soon disappears from sight. My eyes grow dim with loneliness.
 
Saturday, April 18, 2o15

A thick glob of day. The Earth conspiring with the warm weather to remind me hell is everywhere. My legs and feet sluggishly stumbling throw the crowd of older, overweight suburbanites herded onto the Mont's patio. If eyes were bows and thoughts were arrows, I'd be bleeding from head to crotch. The stylishly fake blonde mother with her college age daughter seem the most interested in my demise. Their OU caps and dark sunglasses can't hide the murderous plan they plot. Why? What harm had I caused them?  Our waitress is no less guilty. She screws up my order three times, loses my check so I have to wait . . . and wait . . . and wait. No tip for her, damn it.
And Walmart. A sea of old people slam into me with their battleship shaped shopping carts filled to the brim with sour cream, butter, a pork roast and various high fat, sugary treats for late night TV viewing . . . "You seem a bit grumpy today, " David says as he pushes our not even half filled cart to the car. But I'm too busy trying to get a clear shot of the Grackle hiding in the birch tree to answer him. David hates Grackles. But not as much as I'm hating this day.

No better at home. My headache forces me to flop onto the couch before I put the groceries away. Ice cream! That's what I need. Ben & Jerry's New York Super Fudge Chunk should do the trick! It doesn't. All night long I feel like crap both physically and mentally . . . and I might as well throw in spiritually.  I need for this day to finally end.

Monday, April 2o, 2o15
David and I out on the town this afternoon. That's right! Look out Norman Town the old foges are out and about. First stop Panera Breads for smoothies and pastries! We talk a little about the MusicFest coming up . . . or should we call it GunFest since there was a big whoopee about gun owners wanting to fulfill their 2nd Amendment rights by open carrying their semiautomatic weapons of choice to the festival. Norman Town was against it, as were the folks putting on the festival, but some gun toting American took them to court and . . . well, still up in the air as to IF the gunny boys are going to carry their guns or not. Facebook is all a buzz with antigun folk screaming and gunslingers screaming . . . " My rights! No, my rights!" Blah, blah, blah.

We took a stroll around The Sooner Fashion Mall. Personally, I love walking the mall  . . . don't tell David . . . but I'd rather get my "exercise" walking indoors than trudging around the Wilderness Park with the mosquitoes, turtles and whatever insane Jason wannabe is running around out there too! Actually, I do enjoy the WP. I just said that I didn't cause I know David's going to read my blog. I just wanted to  BAZINGA! him. {snicker}

Tuesday, April 21, 2o15
Well, the end of wk 03 in good old April is about to close. A lot going on in Norman Town about "open carry" and the music festival that is gearing up for its start. I wish I could say that I'm above getting involved in it on Facebook, but I guess, after all is said, I m only human. Thought I would leave this week of wonderful April, sunny and rainy week of April with my Facebook post on the subject of open carry:

"You know I'm not really against folks owning guns . . . but I do get a bit creeped out about how some men and women start going on and about their right to carry a firearm in public . . . when they start yaking about the 2nd Amendment. The thing is the BOR doesn't say anything about carrying a gun in public. That idea was artificially attached to the 2nd Amendment by the NRA and folks who just like the idea of carrying their guns around. They also talk about defending themselves and others from the "crazy" folk with guns . . . sort of like a Captain America or something. But most of the people I know who are gun owners are just that . . ."gun owners" who don't really know much about guns, don't really have the kind of gun training that would help them or others in a real firefight. And just to be as honest as I can be on the subject, the only deference between a law abidiing citizen with a gun and a mass murder with a gun . . . is one pull of the trigger. A big portion of the guns used in the mass murders across America were purchased legally. And one other thing. I'm 67 years old and I've been in a few tough jams in my life . . . unarmed. I've been shot at twice, twice I've had guns pointed at me, and one time I had a drunken step-father shove a loaded shotgun in my guts and threaten to kill me, my sister and mother . . . but I survived all those events without a gun. Sure, in the Marine Corps, in Vietnam I had an M-16. . . but I was a damn cook! Never fired it once. I got in a couple of hairy situations from mortars and rockets and shit like that . . . but a firearm would be of no use against that kind of stuff. Personally, I think IF you want to carry a gun full time, you should join the military. Even then there are places where you can't take your rifle. If you want to protect and serve, join the police force and get the right training, training that will help you IF you need to protect yourself or your family."












 

Wednesday, April 8, 2015

April The Daily (W)Rite 2o15 WK o2

The Daily (W)Rite
wk o2
 

Okay, 2.4 mile trip from my apartment to Walmart on my mountain bike. Total trip: 4.8 miles. Going up was pretty much gravy. However, round trip really broke me. Legs and back just aching, and my lungs? Damn, Couldn't catch a breath. I had to stop and suck down some inhaler for my COPD. Made it home and it got even worse with a major headache and my teeth throbbing! I know, I should have never smoked cigarettes. People kept telling me I would regret that three pack a day habit I started back when I twelve, but . . .  I loved it too much. Smoking, cigarettes, sometimes the only friend I had. people leave, but cigarettes were always there . . . well, as long as I could afford them. Anyway, I've got to start exercising more. I can't get rid of COPD, no cure, but I sure as hell can do better than I did today on the bike.

Monday, April 13, 2015
Sorry. I didn't write everyday as I promised. I fell off the sanity mountain bike on Friday. I've been creatively and emotionally indisposed. If you follow my "dairy," you know I suffer from a self-imposed head trip I've recently, and with great joy, dubbed PTLD (Post-Traumatic Life Disorder). Cute, isn't? Hell yeah! I'm not going to settle for some run-of-the-mill name for my mental health crisis (bipolar, manic depression . . . blah!). I'm special, therefore, my wacky brain activity (whn it kicks into gear) should have a special name! I was thinking of calling it just BOBS (Back Off Bitch Syndrome), or NMA (Ninja Memory Attack) because it always seems to sneak up on me. But those are just too sophomoric for such a serious, personal mind fucker. You know, I may talk about this later on. Or maybe not. Just know I'm fine and I plan to get back to my work here on The Daily (W)Rite. {survivor smile}

Last Friday went out for Art walk with David, Kathy and Chris. Wonderfully semi-warm night in Oklahoma just enough southern breeze to keep us comfortable. AND there were a hell of a lot of US out there. Never seen the AW so crowded. Of course, I took a lot of pics of the people we'd passed along the way. AND I bought some art! yeah, some art from this kid who just moved to Norman Town from Lawton and man, I really was digging on her art. What an eye this kid has and her skills are really sharp . . . AnnnnnnD her art was way cheap! I think maybe too cheap. But she's new to the area and I'm guessing she just wants to get it out their for people to see. Pretty sure her larger art pieces (top of this paragraph) goes for a lot more than the smaller ones. She sold me one of the smaller paintings for $2o! Wow! A bargain. Okay, I'm officially a  Manda Shae Dickinson groupie!

Tuesday, April 14, 2015
End of the 2nd week in sweet April and I feel like I haven't done anything creative. Yeah, did take a bunch of pics during Art Walk, edited them, also wrote two poems and did a little work (very little) on The Daily (W)Rite, had coffee with David, went to Sunday Brunch with David and his kids . . . had a melt down . . . that does take a bit of effort to get through . . . and still be almost alive. But not sure I should count surviving myself as a grand accomplishment. Most folk do it everyday . . . survive themselves and the "other" carnivorous beasts on this world.{smile}
 
I saw a Brian Grazer interview this morning  about his new book, A Curious Mind: The Secret to a Bigger Life and got all into his personal philosophy about "how to live." Of course, you gotta take it with a grain of alcohol any time someone's starts to tell you HOW YOU should live or not live out your existence on this three-dimensional clusterfuck. Hey! Don't get all friggin' offended by the word "clusterfuck. It is an actual WORD!

clus·ter·fuck
ˈkləstərˌfək/
noun: clusterfuck; plural noun: clusterfucks
cluster-fuck: a disastrously mishandled situation or undertaking.
 
Anyway, what he said made creative sense to me, and seemed pretty straightforward, no hoo-doo, no fifty Hail Mary's and "I'll call you in the morning." No, he just suggested that his life was "better" more creative because he was taught early on to be curious, to ask questions about other people. If you just get to know people, then maybe in doing so you learn something new. He said that he made it his business to talk to someone who worked outside of "show business" every two weeks just to acquire more knowledge about the person, about his/her job! That's a sound philosophy, I'm thinking. I mean, I spend way too much time thinking about myself, my stupid, little life and all the garbage memories stuck inside my head. Maybe it's a good idea to not keep soul searching there for "the answer." Maybe I'll learn more if I listen and concentrate on really knowing the "others" who also populate this spinning piece of scenery.
 
I'll leave off this philosophical soul-search of mine with A few memorable lines lines from Beckett's Endgame:
 HAMM: What's happening?
CLOV: Something is taking its course. (Pause.)
HAMM: Clov!
CLOV: (impatiently)What is it?
HAMM: We're not beginning to... to... mean something?
CLOV: Mean something! You and I, mean something! (Brief laugh.) Ah that's a good one!         






Wednesday, April 1, 2015

The Daily [W]Rite April 2o15 WK o1

The Daily [W]Rite
wk o1

Okay. I Love the idea of an American occasion called April Fools' Day. The idea is really cool, but I don't care for the "celebration" of it. Basically, to be a participant in April Fools' Day you have to be either the person pulling the prank or the unwilling victim of the prank. I was rather surprised that the term April Fool refers to both parties involved in the prank: the prankster and the pranked. Seems to me all the rewards of pranking someone goes to the prankster. All the humiliation goes to the one who was too trusting when is closest friend says, "Pull my finger."
 
When I was just a kid, one of my parents favorite shows on TV was Candid Camera. It was a mild manner prank show. No harm to it. One of my favorite bits was "Hand in the Mail Box." They set up this phony mail box, you know, the big ones on just about every corner in my neighborhood . . . Yeah, trust me, I'm not lying. Anyway, the box was big enough to put a man in. They set the box and man on a busy foot traffic corner. People would walk by and think, "Hey, I'll mail that letter I've been carrying around for two weeks." They drop the letter in letter drop and the unseen man tosses it back out! Everyone was startled by the letter seemly to fly out by its own will, but no one was frightened. One man merely picked the letter up and reinserted it into the mail box. Then it flew out again and a human reached out of the box and gave the Good Samaritan the wagging finger! then, the man, the crowd that had gathered around, and me and my dad, who never missed Candid Camera, laughed joyfully at the "cute" prank.

And that's the problem with 21st century prank shows. They're no cute, but often cruel and frightening. There was one I remember from around 2oo2 or so: Grocery store parking lot, SUV parked at the curb, a guy comes out carrying groceries and a baby in a toddler's car seat. Man puts the car seat (with the baby still in it) on top of the roof of the SUV, loads up the groceries and starts to drive off! Well, of course, people started yelling at the SUV driver, "Your baby's on the roof! YOUR BABY'S ON THE ROOF!" People ran screaming and waving their arms at the SUV trying to get the drivers attention. He finely stops and confesses to the people, "It's just a joke. It's not a real baby, it's a doll!" Well, Ha-Ha Fucking-Ha! The people in the parking lot did laugh. The canned laughter on the TV set thought it was hilarious too. But I thought it was horrifying! Maybe I'm just old but these days a lot of the practical jokes that people pull on each other are just . . . cruel. So, long story short . . . that's why I don't participate in AFD anymore. Practical jokes are no longer funny. They're just mean.

Friday, April o3, 2o15
A wonderful adventure today. My Facebook friend who owns The Diner sent us all a mysterious invite: Come to The Diner at 4 pm Friday. very strange since The Diner closes at 2 pm. But wait! Even stranger we found out that our favorite eatery was closed for . . . TWO DAYS before!  “Curiouser and curiouser!” So, talked David into going with me (okay, he drove as always) and when we got there . . . Main St. was blocked off by police. And there were camera crews and all kinds of local folks standing around in the middle of Main St. by The Diner and then . . .  A fire truck pulled up! What the hell was going on? The front door and bay window was blocked out with butcher paper, an ominous hand written sign that said Please do NOT enter hang on the front door.

Well, it turned out that The Diner had been chosen for a Food Network makeover! Yep! remodeled the whole thing. They even changed up the menu, I heard. I hope they kept my Swiss and mushroom burger. Well, I didn't get to go in because . . . well, they got started late with the filming and David and me got a little bit too tired to wait for the grand opening. But what a wonderful thing for Bonnie and them. And a wonderful thing for we patrons of The Diner!

Saturday, April o4, 2o15
Before we went to The Diner, we had to go pick up David's computer at the computer Doctor's store. Getting of the car David noticed something odd, "Why's that big window have a dog painted on it." Sure enough there was painted on the bay window of the computer store the huge head of an Alaskan Husky! We were both puzzled.
This particular computer store is a tech geek's paradise! Cluttered with all kinds of computer parts, a bit dusty, darkly lit . . . and sitting behind a makeshift desk a young computer geek who looked like he just walked off the set of The Big Bang Theory. David asked for his computer and the kid disappeared into a backroom (a shady looking backroom!What was going back there? Marijuana cultivation?)  and reappeared with David's computer in hand. "That'll be $69.00," said the kid . . . And all of a sudden out of that backroom ran the biggest damn dog I have ever seen, an Alaskan Malamute! A beautiful, beautiful animal.

Right behind this playful, giant ran the dog's owner, the guy who also owned the store. It appears the Malamute wanted to go outside for a run, he ran for the door and stopped, turned around and barked a pleading yelp. His owner said softly to him, like he was talking to a little kid, "Not now, I gotta take care of business first." Another painful yelp from the Godzilla size pup.

We learned that the owner of the store had "rescued" the Malamute from a Texas shelter. And I assumed that the owner had to be rich because this damn dog probably ate like a small horse!

Sunday, April o5-2o15
Here it is almost four on Sunday morning and I'm still wide . . .  pretty wide . . . awake. I got to get up by nine to go have lunch with David and his kids. Even if I were capable of wandering over to the couch and lying down . . . I'd probably just stare at the ceiling for another hour or so, so why even try? Maybe my head can think of something worth   . . . whoa! Big crash of thunder just now coming out of the east! Give me a sec to look out the window . . . Nope, no rain as of yet. Often enough rain can lull me to sleep. I count the raindrops like some folk count sheep. If it starts to rain, I promise I'll shut off the computer and let the welcome rain lullaby me into a dreaming state.  Hmmm, dreaming. Not too sure that I dream much anymore. I wonder why that is? I've read a few books on dreaming and all the deam "experts" say we always dream, but we don't always remember it. Well, that's a hell of a thing. If I dream I want to remember that I did so. It's kind of like a vacation, you know? If you go on a vacation (you know, like Hawaii or something) you'd want to remember it. That's why you always take a damn camera with you. Hmm, maybe they should invent a camera for dreams. yeah, a dream camera that only works when you are asleep. Then if you dream, you'll at least have photographic proof to show your friends. {smiles} Hey, what do you know? I think I'm finally ready for beddy-bye! And it's just started to rain! 'Night, ya'll.

Monday, April o6, 2o15
Hell! I for got tis was April and not march! Crazy brain I got. Watching Wisconsin beat the "Devil" out of Duke! I was a great week last week. Afraid I don't have a lot to say this 6th day in April. But I don't always need to quote poetic or be well- deep philosophical all . . . the bloody . . . time. Do I? I did start on a new poem. Just a little thing for a Facebook friend. She read it, loved it, but thought I could add more to it.

Late at night
 
I wonder why the sparrows weep so early in the morning.
I suppose like me they just can't sleep and use the darkness
to complain, or shout, or just cry about their troubles.
 
The moon doesn't seem to mind listening.
The stars too are quite comforting
to all who chose to stay awake
instead of crawling off into a dream.
 
The black dogs next door wrestle in the shadows
that the amber street light casts upon the lawn,
My crow spirit sings along with the owl that hides
somewhere nearby, somewhere in this lovely dark.

Well, well. As long as it has taken me to post this poem the DUKE came back . . . and WON!

Tuesday, April o7, 2o15
11:36 pm. Night has beaten the day out of the sky. Nothing up there but a brood of free ranging clouds. Now and then the moon slips through the gray masses and smiles upon the Earth. Not sure the Earth even notices. Too busy it is preparing itself for bed. As strange as it seems
I can hear a bird, a sparrow, I think,  shouting at the darkness. Trains shout too in a three horn harmony, but only when its early, very early morning. I'm not sure why they wait so long to butcher the silence. Perhaps, they get  a kick out of disturbing the neighbor's big, black Labrador who loves to add an off-key, soprano howl to the train's mix of horns and squealing wheels, and the sturdy drum like beat the railroad crossing lays down.

Sleep has finally caught up with me. It's shaking my eye lids shut. I should crawl onto the couch and start dreaming. Not sure my mind will give into my body's desire to rest. I still have a half of cup of coffee to drink, and I want to post this blog on Facebook before I even think about the next day and all the chores my bike and I need to do tomorrow. Cholesterol pills, apples, and nicotine gum is on my mental list of things to get.  There's something else I need to get, but I have no idea what it is. I'll remember after I get back from Walmart. That's the way it always is with me. My memory is getting worse, and my bicycle has no memory at all. {smiles}