The Daily {W}rite November 2018 wk o1

November is here. December stands in the wings. A shiver runs through both months when they think that soon, too soon the year, this year will end. And we will begin again a new life without sin. Yes, repent! We shall repent! Like an unfaithful lover caught in bed with another  . . . New Year resolutions will ring out like rock music blaring through the dark cold night that always accompanies change. Repent we shall . . . and then we'll sin again as we always do, as we are destined to do. But that's another time, a time to come. I mean. who knows if we'll make it to the end of the year? {smiles}

FRIday, 3:42pm
Got up early. Well, no, NOT early by a young man's perception of time. But an old . . . er man, 10am seems early . . . considering that this old . . . er man didn't hit dream stack until 4am.

David and I were suppose to go out a do a few things today . . . exercise a bit . . . when I say "exercise" I mean take a leisurely walk around Sutton Wilderness Park in Norman. Also, he had said something about going to Vintage Stock, which is one of my favorite places to go hunt old . . . er movies. But we didn't make it out of the house.


The Day Before (In David's Car)
Me: Okay, you want me to call at 11am?
David: Yeah. And if that doesn't work, call me again at 12."
Me: how about call you at 12 noon first, and then if you're not up for it I'll call you at 11am.(long pause)
David: WHAT?
Me: (exiting the car) Never mind.
BLACKOUT 

SATurday, November o3, 2o18

I don't like it when people treat me as if I'm stupid. However, it's true, I may well BE stupid,  and maybe I'm pretty close to being the stupidest person to have ever graced this . . . this existence . . . . but it's no one's job, no one's responsibility to point it out to me, or gossip about it with my friends when we're at a party and I go to the restroom . . . allegedly. Snooty people. I dislike them too. Always correcting my speech, telling me how I'm suppose to pronounce their names, speak their names in the same accent they are using. Oh, please, snooty people. Do I tell you how to pronounce my name? Am I the one that goes to one of those fancy coffee houses where it takes about three days to tell them what kind of coffee you want, Latte this, Half and Half that, a foam flower on top, or maybe a detailed rendering of The Last Supper  or . . . The Scream by Edvard Munch! Ah, but which version? AM I the one who can't make up their mind even when the line to the counter is already 3 miles long? No, I just want fuckin' coffee WITHOUT The Picture of Dorian Gray etched into a layer of hot, milky foam. Although . . . that would be cool.

SUNday November o4, 2018

1. Difficult to write today, this day, which is like any other day . . . if at all true and not just a lie I tell myself, then it must be me that is difficult, hard to get along with, selfish and unkind. I'm unaware of any behavior in myself that would lead anyone to assume I am the villain . . . of my own life story.
2. The world is ambivalent to my existence, to me feelings. I hate the cage I've quarantined myself in, the corner of my room that I hide in . . in here . . . within the creases that the workmen made putting up the drywall.  
3. Yesterday. A reminder that I'm older than I realize while squinting at that bathroom mirror . . . admiring the

wrinkled flesh around my eyes. Nothing new, I sure. But I can't remember seeing it before.
4. If I looked more humanoid,  would people be less inclined to cannibalize my spirit? 

5. My eyes hurt. I saw too much of the truth inside the raging thunderstorm.
6. Her dark-sun eyes . . . I cannot force myself to look into them, they might drag me towards their dark waters. So, instead, I stare at that corner of her mouth, the only place where she shows her age . . . a deep, red scar carved there by the many hours and days and nights that had brushed by her life. When we met I mistook her for being much younger . . . even though at her adjusted age (30 something) she's still a kid. 

MONday November o5, 2o18 (3:47am) 
Almost 4 in the morning. Sleep is tap dancing on the fleshy edges of my eyelids. I'll fall away into the dark lake of dreaming soon enough. Dreaming. I've been doing a lot of that lately. Well, maybe not any more dreaming goes on inside my head than any other time asleep or awake . . . I'm just remembering my fantasies a bit more these days. Not sure why.

3:02pm
I feel a poem is necessary to explain the curious mood I find myself drowning in.

Alien

Sometimes I feel alien. 
Not quite a human being, feeling
more like a dwarfing star
devoured by its own heat.
Sparrows once sat on the
window ledge and sang sharp,
crisp songs for my ears, 
my ears alone. I vaguely hear 
them anymore.

Smiles, the few that I have seen
in this life seem vacant, lost uneven.
Even the most sincere face is just space,
empty space devoid of expression.

Is there any meaning to any of this,

this endless breathing, this existence

which no one seems to appreciate

beyond their own shallow lives?

It would be nice not thinking.

Be, instead, wind strolling mindlessly

through the dark green boughs

of early spring.

Or perhaps not even that.

Perhaps it would be best

to just rest, not move at all

like dirt in an open grave.

Woodie o5-14-12 (rewrites o1-1o-18, o8-1o-18)

TUEsday, November o6, 2o18

Yes, we voted today. Yes, we went in numbers, large numbers of people waiting in line just to cast their votes, and YES! It probably won't matter a bit. But we tried. People are anxious waiting to hear the good news! The conservative, white supremacy movement will be crushed and we true patriots of the USA will finally live in peace . . . or maybe not. I doubt we really have the numbers to change . . . anything.

At Sprouts, the very young, tall curly head kid was checking my groceries. "So," I asked, "did you go vote?" "Uh, no, man. I forgot to register." Probably not the best answer he could've come up with because the older cashier at the checkout line behind him reached over flicked his ear, "Idiot." He corrected his mistake (admitting in an organic food store that he didn't vote) by overcharging me for the groceries I bought. "$58.00?!" Yes, I was freaked out. "Oh, sorry man." He readjusted the total, "Yeah, it's actually only $18.00."  I got to thinking that maybe it was a good thing he didn't register to vote. {smiles}

WEDnesday, November o7, 2o18

Well, 2:37am on the last day of this first week in November and the last entry to this week's blog. I wish I could leave this week behind with a joyous entry . . . but it can't be that way. No, we didn't do well against the demons that lurk in out politics. In Oklahoma very little will change because the conservative gang is just too powerful. But there is a bit of good news. The Dems did take back the House and . . . that's something. Maybe not as n=much we think we deserve but it IS something. I doubt I'll write anymore for this week. And I may just post this . . . right now. No, let me say just a bit more. America? You listening to me? Don't be too bummed out by the votes this election period. We'll get you back, will never give up on you. So, you hang in there. Don't despair. Don't give up . . . and we won't give up either. {smiles}