Maybe you remember me talking about the "universe" telling me something on last week's blog? You know, how the girl almost hitting me with her car and my response to that incident, AND how me telling David about it . . . and how his reaction . . . all of that . . . mean something profound . . . something for me to think about when it comes to my reactions to the world in general? THAT sort of thing happened to me . . . again to day.
I was looking through all the pictures I had taken over the years of the monthly Art Walk in Norman-town. And there were a lot of great candid picture there of people attending Art Walk, browsing through the art galleries, the shops, stopping to listen to the music our local musicians where creating on the sidewalks . . . and it mad me sad. I wasn't doing that anymore. I didn't last night. Last night I just concentrated on the "secret art" project . . . And this morning I get a Facebook message from Frank Lawrence, one of the many musicians I always shoot during Art Walk. And he was asking why I didn't have my camera with me last night . . . and why I hadn't taken his picture?! AND it just hit me. I was NOT taking pictures because of SoonerCon's ban on taking candid shots of the Cosplayers. You had to ask for permission, and that's something I don't want to do. I take non-staged shots, that's my art, that's my craft . . . and there were also folks at Art Walk . . . mostly shopkeepers . . . who didn't want me taking pictures inside their shops. But there were also people on the street that would rather not have their pictures taken. Okay, I get it. So, this is what is going to happen. I'm never going to step foot into SoonerCon again. The shopkeepers who don't want me to take pics in their shops . . . you got it. I won't And people on the streets if you see me taking your picture and you don't like it then you just tell me and I'll delete that pic right there in front of you. Fair enough? It better be because I'm going back to shooting freestyle because . . . because that's my art and it's what makes me happy.
Sunday, June 16, 2o19
Interesting day. I always seem to wake up in a depressed state. Seems that this is my daily routine for several years now. I mean, when I was younger, I couldn't wait to wake up, finish off whatever dream I'm having and . . . WAKE UP! But now . . . . it takes me awhile to get my positive thoughts flowing through me head . . . coffee seems to help. The more awake I become the more positive I become.
Got out of the house, on to the bike . . . a trip to Braum's for lunch and bread an apples. Talked to one of the kids there about riding my bike. And it was a good ride. My lungs aren't completely healed . . . and they will never be according to the doctors . . . but they work well enough to get me to Braum's and back with only two stops to catch my Breath.
10:00pm
So, I've been looking over some of my poetry that I wrote for Poetry Month . . . last month, and a lot of it is good enough to work on, I think. Spontaneous creativity. No waiting on a mood, a muse to strike you with a bolt of inspiration, no drugs . . . although steroids for a serious sinus infection does jolt the old imagination . . . IF you know what I mean. Anyway, life sucks . . . no, I really meant it. There is no such thing as gravity . . . the world just sucks. But so does a vacuum . . . and they are okay with me . . . especially an old Kirby my mother used to have. I was allowed to vacuum the living room rug until . . . I sucked my sisters long blonde hair up the tube . . . and did she scream?! Well, what was she doing sleeping on the floor
?
Monday, June 17, 2o19
Up too early . . . that's what my eyes were hinting at as the refused to open . . . they blinked a bit . . . but never stayed open. But I forced them, the lids to open wide and stay open while I found the coffee cup and poured a bit of lukewarm coffee into its mouth . . . and staggered back to the couch/bed. Yes, staggered like a drunk right after the barkeep yelled, "
LAST CALL! DRINK UP, GET OUT!" At these advanced stages of aging that's my body early in the morning . . . before the first sip of hot, dark roast . . . nothing more than a drunk at last call.
Tomorrow . . . a haircut at a real hair salon. Tried an old fashioned barbershop a couple of weeks ago . . . but long hair is an alien to them. Don't know what to do with it. But a hair salon . . . yeah, they'll treat my old strands with respect. {
smiles}
Tuesday, June 18, 2o19
It's difficult . . . if not down right impossible to shed the past from your thoughts . . . like a snake sheds its skin. Impossible to rewire 71 years of learning into a new system . . . one that's free of any kind of preconceived ideas about people, philosophies . . . anything . . . everything. Wonderful it would be that you grew up in an environment where you decided what is right and wrong without any interference from other, older humans . . . no mothers and fathers carving you into their own likeness. No social rule that tells you how to perceive the world and the people in it. No religious sleight of hand from Biblical "scholars" who twist the meaning of every word written in the Bible, the Quran, the Constitution of the United States . . . etc. Yeah, sure. You can change the way you've been taught, brain washed into believing about living in America . . . but it's hard. Relieving yourself of all the bullshit that's been shoved into your brain . . . would be like getting a tattoo removed . . . it hurts like hell and it leaves a very nasty scar.
4:09pm
So, went out this morning to a hair salon called
The Social Club. Got me a pretty good haircut that cost . . . $35.00 + a $5.00 tip! AND $35.00 more for a leave in conditioner. Yeah. Way too much to pay . . . and I won't be going back.
Wednesday, June 19, 2o19
. . . but I woke up this morning and looked in the bathroom mirror and . . . the hair looked damn good! I mean, for a bald guy (the sides and back are hanging on to my head for "dear life."). So, I don't know. Do I want to spend . . . $35.00 (+ $5.00 tip)? But it's not like it's every month . . . more like every 4 months. So . . .
I always wake up sad . . . angry . . . depressed . . . I know you're tired of hearing about it, about my difficulties dealing with life . . . then maybe you should give up reading me . . . No, don't do that. Just bear with me, will ya? Let me write the blues out of me . . . if that's possible. Anyway, off for a bike ride. Maybe being out in the afternoon breeze, which Norman is known for, I'll feel better . . . better.
Thursday, June 2o, 2o19
Why not look at the world as . . . poetry? Poetry that is waiting for me . . . to write it down. Poetry. The sounds of the living, the life, the existence. A rain of words, a thunderstorm of ideas, of breath, filled with the steady (or unsteady) pounding of the heart. Poetry. Words. Words yet to be created . . . words painting a thousand . . . a billion . . . an infinity of life pictures . . . in words.
You know how you do an action over and over again . . . and then one day you change? Not a big change. Just a simple change that has stared at you forever and you never . . . stared back. Picture to the left. The effect is called Reflecting Water. Usually, you have the original picture on top and it's reflection illustrated on the bottom. I've created thousands of those pictures . . . and to day, I just decided to take a "chance" and see what would happen if I just created the original effect (pic on top, reflection on the bottom) and turned it so the pic and the refection were side to side. {
miles of smiles}
Friday, June 21, 2o19
Last day . . . in the third week . . . of June. I went to the store this afternoon on the bicycle. Very hot. Extremely hot. I was told by the guy at the checkout line that, "Ah, it ain't that hot out there. Gotta good breeze goin'." Yes, a breeze but a breeze out of the south and very warm! I didn't say anything. I was too exhausted from riding the few blocks between my apartment and the store on 12th and Lindsey. Going up wasn't too bad . . . two small grades to get up, but going to the store the grades going down gave me enough pedal time to pick up some speed before hitting the up slope. However, coming back? Three stops to catch my breath before I finally got to the front door of my apartment.
I haven't written a lot this week. Maybe because I', mellowing out a bit. Seems to me I'm more prolific when I'm in one of my angry depressed moods. Well, I hope that my writing doesn't require I be insane. I mean, pretty tough to write anything while wearing a straightjacket. {smiles}
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