Thursday,
I didn't write much last month, my BIRTDAY MONTH. Being honest, I'm not quite sure what to write about. Or maybe I DO know what to write . . . but can't find my way in. Funny thing happened today on our way to the gym:
David: (looking at the sky)
Hmm. Are those rain clouds moving toward us from the east?
Woodie: (looking at the sky) (pause)
How the hell should I know? David: Well, normally storms come in from the west not the east.Woodie: Ew! listen to you, Mister Weatherman. Ew!
Got home about four, turned on the news just in time to hear the weather person say, "
Looks like we are going to have more rain. Not too heavy, but the weather pattern is a bit strange. Usually a front comes in from the west. However, this front is approaching from the east." Fuck! How did David know that? Better question, why didn't I know that! I question my ability to see the world clear enough to write about it. I always thought of myself as being extremely observant, I mean, that's one of the basic tools of an actor, the ability to observe and to know what is actually being observed. I didn't even notice that those damn rain clouds were even moving!
11:48 P.M.
I was thinking about the human race today. Not a lot but a little. When I talk to someone on the street and they have a charming, polite smile for the old dude stopping by out of nowhere just to talk to them, I can't help but think what a wonderful America we live in. I get home, turn on the TV listen to the Blonde Boy politician ramble on about how rotten my America is, when I hear his crowd of supporters cheer him on, I think, "Well, that's a step backwards . . . . maybe two." And I get depressed. I just stare at the inside of my coffee cup, and after awhile I get angry and maybe toss the Koosh ball at the door, yell a long line of David Mamet like obscenities at the wall! And then I let out a disappointed breath of hot air, sit in my favorite chair and think . . . "Someday all these hateful folk are gonna understand, they're gonna get." Maybe not during my time on this big ol' Koosh ball of an Earth . . . but they'll get it someday. Maybe.
Saturday, June o4, 2o16
I could tell you a million stories about how Muhammad Ali
changed my life. He surely did transform all that “White America” propaganda
that I was fed my whole life by my parents, by the government, the school
system, the TV commercials and TV shows, the movies . . . But then one day Ali came along and
nullified all that racist, anti-American nonsense I had drilled into my head as
a kid. Ali was an individual and stood as an individual against the "great
white-American hope" that black folk would just magically disappear from this
country, that we, the mighty Pale People, could wake up one morning and walk
outside our pretty little suburban houses and see nothing but go ol' white
America faces! "Oh, oh say can you see how white my skin be."
Ali was a “real” American man, a true patriot, a man with
fire in his fists and in his voice, “I am the greatest! I’m pretty! I’m a bad
man!” He was an honest man, a man that stood up when everybody else said, “Sit
the fuck down.” Everything that I now believe about my country, about how the
Constitution of the United States should work, came from Muhammad Ali’s stand
against the Vietnam War draft:
“Why should they ask me to put on a uniform and go 10,000 miles from home and
drop bombs and bullets on Brown people in Vietnam while so-called Negro people
in Louisville are treated like dogs and denied simple human rights? No I’m not
going 10,000 miles from home to help murder and burn another poor nation simply
to continue the domination of white slave masters of the darker people the
world over. This is the day when such evils must come to an end. I have been
warned that to take such a stand would cost me millions of dollars. But I have
said it once and I will say it again. The real enemy of my people is here. I
will not disgrace my religion, my people or myself by becoming a tool to
enslave those who are fighting for their own justice, freedom and equality. If
I thought the war was going to bring freedom and equality to 22 million of my
people they wouldn’t have to draft me, I’d join tomorrow. I have nothing to
lose by standing up for my beliefs. So I’ll go to jail, so what? We’ve been in
jail for 400 years.”
Patriotism is not just about standing up for your own
personal rights but also standing up for the rights of every other American
citizen. It’s about putting yourself, your beliefs on the line, but NOT in an
attempt to make just your life better, but in an attempt to make everybody’s
life better, to make America a better place for all live.
I got home from Vietnam in '69. I stayed with my mom through
my thirty day leave before I reported to 29 Palms, CA to finish up my
"term of service" in my Marine Corps. So, I turn on my Mom’s TV and .
. . HEY! Ali’s gotta fight going on! Great! Got me a beer from the frig,
settled back onto the couch just as the first round began. About half way
through the second round, my mother comes running out her bedroom, over to the
TV set, watches a few punches and then shuts the damn TV off! "Mom! What
the hell?" And my Mama said, "You can't watch that man fight on MY TV
in MY house." "Why the heck not?" "Because YOU went to
Vietnam and HE didn't!" Well, I thanked her for the thought. I mean, it
was kind of sweet of her. “But I really wanted to see Ali fight, Mom.” With a Christian
martyr sigh, Mom turned the TV back on and went back to her bedroom and slammed
the door shut!
I try to live my life by the example that Ali set. I try
to believe in the Constitution as it should apply to all citizens of this
country of ours. I try to have the strength to go against the odds not for any
other reason other than it’s the right thing to do.
Sunday, June 5, 2o16
I'm bumming a ride off my sister. I'm in a desperate need of food. Okay, you'll have to forgive the drama school training. I do tend to "overact" my daily life dilemmas. I do need to get to the store, though. Need the nicotine gum! Chewing way too much of it lately.
Scientists have a theory: Life is a simulation created by . . . well, their
not sure about who came up with the idea of developing a race of simulated people. Some theorize that there's an Evil Demon that created both reality and the way in which we perceive that reality. Of course most of us understand (to differing degrees) the idea of God as the ultimate programmer. But scientists, of course, don't believe in God (or gods) so they theorize that simulated world we wallow around on was created by a society of advanced human beings who were on this Earth before us. They (of course) are so advanced that they were able to create a computer universe where we (humans?) could live and struggle in the same manner as the advanced society that created our simulation had struggled in their lives before they evolved into a highly advanced, technological civilization. Sound familiar? of course it does, it's The Matrix! Or, if you like, The Thirteenth Floor. OR, if you like again, Dark City. Or, if I may one more time say, perhaps our reality is just an advanced video game, like SimCity! The possibilities are endless. I always liked the one that our universe, our reality is nothing more but a dream the God is dreaming while he cat naps. Now don't freak on me. Gods short naps are much, much longer than our little head bobbers we take during a boring movie or on a ten minute break. No, His nap can last millions and millions of years! But still, IF it is just a nap, then that means at sometime God will wake up . . . what will happen to us then?
Monday, June o6, 2o16
Up early today, 6 a.m. Had to ride with my sister to a doctor's appointment in OKC. On the way back we searched the service road along I-35 for somewhere to eat. Just by chance we found this little café called
Pickles! Hee. AND I had breakfast! I didn't realize that I haven't actually had breakfast in a long time. Chili omelet! After that we shopped at some of the shops around the Warren passing time before we went to see
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Out of the Shadows. If I had been 6 years old I would've loved it. But being old . . . er it just put me to sleep. After that, we went to the new super Walmart and man, is it big! I had a pleasant day. I don't spend much time with my sister. I need to.
Tuesday, June o7, 2o16
Tonight the darkness is a bit more confused than usual. I can see the huge elm across the street nodding in agreement. Above its leafy head a noncommittal quarter moon stands stoic in the evening sky. They never like to get involved with the questions humans instinctually ask whenever the sun removes itself from the conversation. I'm quietly disturbed by the silence that surrounds me. Not one train has passed by tonight which seems a bit unusual. To add to that, no traffic, no dogs howling up a mournful growl. Perhaps they, the dogs of this world, have given up. It's hopeless, you know. No matter how loud you scream at night, no one ever hears you . . . or chooses to hear you. Perhaps no on cares to share your fear of the dark.
I should take a shower. Haven't done so in weeks. Please, save your scorn. I know, I probably smell. But so far no one has passed out from the stink. I think that's why I don't have nightmares anymore. Ghosts are sensitive beings. Perhaps cleanliness is not closer to Godliness. Oh, He's always around. There's nothing that'll keep Him away. The rotting flesh of a billion years, the smell of heaven. Wait! It could be that His nose has burnt out, the nostrils being nothing more now but twin tunnels that carry the southern winds across Norman-town, across the salted oceans and the deserts and those tiny islands of red that populate the heart. Am I making any sort of sense? My thoughts are often wanders with no direction, distracted by the glimmer of moonlight on the Duck Pond, by the Abby Road album now shouting Lennon's
I Want You from my computer speakers. Am I making any sense? I suppose it doesn't matter. Not really. I'm done writing on this last day of the first week of June. Goodnight.
