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."

 

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!         

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}

 

 

The Daily (W)Rite March WK o4

The Daily (W)Rite

wk o4

Monday, March 23, 2o15

 

Have you dined at Pepe Delgados on Campus Corner? Pretty Damn good Tex-Mex. A very nice place for Sunday brunch with David, his daughter and son-in-law. Pepe's use be Liberty D's back in the day. Mostly LD was a bar. Yeah, they did serve food  . . . burgers and  . . . . well, Liberty D's was mostly about drinking . . . at night, listening to bands. Food? Not so much. But Pepe's is all about the food! Tons of different menu items and served pretty damn fast.

 

Anyway, we drove down there and as we went in these two women walked up to me with big smiles and relatively loud voices shouting, "WOODIE!" It took me by surprise. I looked at them for second and said, "I'm sorry I don't know who you are!" They looked a bit hurt, and being the gentle I am I added, "Wait a minute! I DO remember your faces." And they started smiling again. See, that's how you do it when you run into a stranger who you don't know from Jesus. Just say you remember the face.

 

Anyway, it turns out I did know them somewhat. They were both regulars at the Town Tavern back in the 80s. And I worked there and did Street Players there for years. Yeah, I was a bit of a celebrity back in the day, and yeah, and a lot of people knew me because . . .  I cooked them breakfast. That was my specialty, breakfast. I had Street Players Theatre at night so I could only work during the day. To be totally honest . . . I sucked as a cook. I was really way to slow to run the grill, and the Tavern? Man, it was always crowded! I mean, people didn't just eat there they practically lived there. It was the coolest place. The owner, Bette, was really big on the arts so she always had bands and poetry readings going on, AND she was one of Street Players main sponsors. Actually, she WAS the sponsor. She gave us rehearsal space to prepare our shows in  AND even allowed us to build a little stage in the Tavern to perform on!  You see, the Town Tavern wasn't just a restaurant . . . it was a home for artists. It was a life style, the Tavern  . . . I miss it. The ladies I talked to at Pepe's? They missed it too. {nostalgia sad face}

Tuesday, March 24, 2o15

I hate worrying about money. Being retired and living on a fixed income really makes you pay close attention to what money comes in and what goes out. I mean, I really gotta watch what I buy at the store, always the cheapest noodles, rice, chicken, etc. BUT a little trick grocery stores play on us is that each store has cheaper prices on several items and higher prices on others. For example, Braums Ice Cream & Dairy Store has the cheapest Red Delicious apples (76 cents a lb.) and Walmart has the cheapest meats. Sooooo, when I do a food run, I have to go to at least two if not three different stores to get a week's worth of groceries!

But my doctor appointments are the worst. Seems I got some kind of heart problem and I needed a bunch of tests. Okay, I know all this costs a lot, but the way the hospital billed me just drove me nuts. The hospital's billing office called me four weeks ago leaving an "urgent" message on the answering machine. I called and they tell me a bill is over due. I counter their statement with, "That can't be, I always pay the bills on time." The guy on the phone puts me on hold, comes back, "Oh, I'm sorry. We had a computer glitch and the bill didn't get sent!" I tell him it's okay, and he says he'll mail it right away! Guess what? Two weeks go by and no bill. Third  week another urgent call, different person. I explain the situation that had gone on with the first caller, but caller #2 wasn't gonna buy my excuse. However, she would (begrudgingly so) send me another bill. Two more weeks go by and I finally get a bill (without an itemized statement) for $213.oo ! AND the following Saturday I get the same bill again, and another (the third) urgent call on the following Monday! It's a mess. I'm writing them a letter and giving the billing agency a big dish of bad attitude. Okay, not too big, but enough that they get the point! YOU WANT ME TO PAY MY BILLS? THEN GET THE DAMN STATEMENTS TO ME ON TIME!

Politics are drivng me crazy too. All the Conservatives are jockeying for position. They ALL want to be POTUS! The Liberals are starting to get into it also. Wrote a little poem about it this morning that I'm sort of proud of:

Evolution

 

I prefer plastic Dinosaurs

over those made of flesh
and cold blood  . . .
Plastic ones don't bite
and they melt away
if left too long
in the morning sun . . .

 

The real Dinosaurs,

the vicious ones
are far too dangerous
to live with us
in our civilized world . . .

 

And yet,

there they are

walking about,
running for office,
gobbling up
all the tiny
little dinosaurs
that we've become.

Evolution sucks

Woodie o3-24-15

Wednesday, March 25, 2o15

Stormy night. In Oklahoma the weather can more than scary. It can be deadly. Spring brings the thunderstorms which are rather beautiful. But tornadoes, flooding can be horrifying, and as I said before . . . deadly.

the city of Moore was hit again by tornadoes. Not as bad as a few years ago, but bad enough that the local weather guys commandeered the whole night telling us about the advancing storms. And we listen to them even though sometimes they get a bit too carried away with their warnings. Sometimes the scare people more than they help folks stay safe.

Ran into my sister at Walmart today. Seems she had a couple of minor strokes over the weekend. And she had trouble getting a doctor to see. her. Can you believe it? Someone has a stroke and the receptionist says, "Well, the doctor can't see you for two weeks." I worry about my sister maybe not as much as I should but I do worry. We don't talk much anymore. Was a time when we talked all the time, went to the movies, sometimes to dinner. I don't know. I'm not a very nice person, I guess. I mean I really didn't get very upset about her having a stroke. David did. But I think he may no more about it than I do. Or maybe my humanity is just shriveled up to a nothingness. I don't feel much anymore. Things don't bother me like they use to.

I saw this plane today as the storm was just coming into Norman Town. It was hauling serious ass like it was trying to out run the storm. It didn't make it. I shot pictures of it for as long as I could and then it just disappeared into this huge rain cloud. It just vanished. Like it never existed. No sound of its enormous engines,  no flashes from its wing lights . . . nothing. It just dissolved into nothing. I feel that way too sometimes. I'm disappearing into a big cloud . . . not as fast as the plane, but disappearing all the same. {no smile today}

Thursday, March 26, 2o15

Went for a bike ride today. I love getting out, feeling the wind zoom by me, focusing on the world around me . . . nothing quite like it. Can't say I can ride like I use to, bit of a chore this days. The lungs don't work as well as they once did, and if the lungs don't work, nothing else will. Legs go, head starts to ach, the arms get tired . . . I'm physically a mess. BUT it wasn't too bad and if I keep going out the lungs will get better . . .and when the lungs get better every other part of my being (physical and spiritual) will start functioning at a higher level. No, I'll never make it back to 30 years old, but life will be . . . better.

Friday, March 27, 2o15

Hee! I gotta laugh at David sometimes. We went to the store a couple of days ago and the parking lot at Walmart was filled with Grackles! Grackles, Grackles everywhere, in the parking lot, under cars, on top of cars . . . hell, there was a bunch just sitting up in the trees  . . . like the crows at the school playground in Alfred Hitchcock's, The Birds? Remember that? Yeah, scary doo-doo to say the least. AND when I was getting ready to step out of the car . .  and there was this bad ass Grackle perched on the roof of this Range Rover parked next to us . . . looking straight at me! It freaked me out a bit. But I got my camera out real slow to take its pic . . . and that damn bird just stood there posing for his close-up, lick, click, click and then . . . swoosh . . . it flew away!

Saturday, March 28, 2o15

Yep! Medieval Fair day today. I got up earl, big smile on my face as I thought about the MF days of yore . . .! Jumped on the bike and flew like wheeled bird down South Jenkins Ave. heading towards Reeves Park . . . and was stopped by a traffic jam on the corner of Jenkins and Lindsey Street. Man! For a few moments no one moved! It was a car graveyard. I should of brought flowers! But there wasn't any honking of horns or yelling out the window at the asshole who just scooted in front of you when he got the chance, no road rage, no shootings or stabbings. Quite civilized are the Medieval Fair folk! Of course, no problem for me on the mountain bike. I was floating like a metallic bright orange butterfly in and out of the traffic . . . until I got closer to the park where a sea of people in shorts and t-shirts and Jesus sandals clogged the frigging sidewalk.

But a crowd at the Medieval Fair? A glorious thing to be a part of. Costumed characters everywhere. Well, not all of them dressed in Medieval attire, but how wondrous of a thing to wander about passed Vikings and kings and their queens and knights of old, and fairies and plague doctors . . . Yeah, that's right. What's a Medieval fair without plague doctors? And there's plenty of food: funnel cakes, turkey legs, iced teas and sodas (not quite in period, but what the hell).

It is a wonderful thing that we have here in good ol' Norman Town. Yeah, of course, we aren't the only Medieval Fair in the magic land of USA. In fact, most of the artists hawking their wears and many of the cosplayers are not local but spring travelers who go from fair to fair (for as long as the season and their 60s Hippie van lasts) just to make enough money to continue their art and maybe make enough money to last through the winter. It's a great time. And if you are a Normanite,  I know I'll see you their tomorrow. {smiles}

Sunday, March 29, 2o15

Another day at the Medieval Fair and my body soaked up a lot of sun. It still feels warm, not unpleasant, but I still very warm like human toast. No, don't get all crazy in my face. Yes, I wore a ton of sunscreen . . .  and a hat . . . I'm fine, but I do appreciate your concern for my physical well being. {smile}

I'm drifting into a contemplative mood tonight. I really don't want to bother you, reader, with these strolls through my gloomy mind, but you already know I tend to roam around in those bleak fields where unpleasant memories flower, grow.  Sometimes, the past catches up with me, grabs my head and gives it a little shake. Sometimes I deal well with the intrusion of my "day-mares;"sometimes I can't find the strength or the will to fight back. Luckily, you chose to read me on a night when I'm capable of tossing those morbid, sad thoughts out the door. A little tussle, yes, but nothing I can't handle this evening. So, I won't bore you with the details, the full story because . . . well, because it's not a big thing tonight. An important note: tonight I don't wish to give my torments the satisfaction of letting you, my dear reader, know who and what they are. Want to get rid of the troubles? Don't feed them. I'll see you tomorrow.

Tuesday, march 31, 2o15

Last day of March. I'll miss you. I'm hoping that my new love, April, will be as gentle to me as you have been. Granted, there were those days when you turned away from me Sometimes you can be quite cold, at times a bit scary, so frightening that I've had to hide myself away inside a heaver coat and refuse to go outdoors just in case you were waiting there to attack with your chilling breath! But all relationships have their moments of pain and sorrow. When you chose to be warm and approachable, you were; I forgive without hesitation all those moments when you weren't. Goodbye, dear, dear March! I shall miss you the whole summer long. {sad smile}


 

The Daily (W)Rite March 2o15 WKo3

The Daily (W)Rite

wk o3

11:oo pm
Days almost done. About 45 min. until we jump into another day. It's quiet tonight. I turned off the TV. My writing seems to turn out better if I make it a little quieter. There is the soft sound of he air conditioner, a bit of music (Abby Road is just gearing up) and the occasional sound of a car passing by but nothing else. It's nice, to allow myself and the small world of my small apartment be semi-quiet once in a while.  I think I embrace loudness all day long because . . . well, it makes me feel less alone. But I am alone now and wish to be so for maybe an hour. No big thing, but being alone is not my favorite type of existence, and since I'm not around people that much I fill the emptiness with TV, talking to myself, and sometimes
music . . .

Did I mention it's spring now? Not officially, but, yes, spring is definitely here. You can feel it in the air, see it in the trees, the road construction going on around town . . . and in the students who have shed their thick coats, wool caps, gloves, heavy boots and now run around town, some of them jogging, wearing cut offs and t-shirts. There's a poem I wrote a few years ago about winter. Think I'll post it here right now just to say goodbye to winter and hello to the warmer days to come:

I Autumn

 Quietly waits the old elm tree. Her branches black stretching

out so desperately, searching  for a bit of summer breeze .
Yes, she dreams of warmer days when her leaves thrived,
those spring days when her leaves alive muttered rain, and
thunderstorms lit up the sky. So long ago that time before.
Now the autumn crows arrive and peck the bark from her thighs.
Stark naked and alone. She's to face the gloom to come.

 

II Fall

 What? Across the footbridge? This time a year? Quite hazardous

a walk, you know? It’s become nothing more than a cold grave for
autumn leaves, broken tree branches and patches of treacherous
black ice, which forces heroic fools like you and  me (who pay very
little attention to the weatherman’s predictions) to step cautiously
across its splintered face. When the seasons change, we become
suspicious, superstitious, wary of the very ground beneath our feet;
as the landscape shifts so must we. A heavy coat tugged tight around
me, wool cap, thick gloves… makes it difficult to touch, to feel
your face. But no worries. Soon we’ll be at that small café near Bridge St.
It smells of used books, freshly baked bread, the harsh aroma of hickory
chips blazing in a wood burning  stove…and that other smell which neither
one of us has of yet identified. At least we can shed our bulky, outer skins,
leave them toasting on that rickety coat rack and sooth ourselves with
coffee (for me) and tea (for you) and balmy conversations about spring
flowers and summer moons, and that short but happy trip we took last
year to the Gulf of Mexico. We can pretend (if only for a little while)
that Christmas isn’t just around the corner, that soon that old bridge
won’t all together disappear beneath the frozen snow.

 

III Winter

My old  truck is far more excited about sliding down

the icy road that leads to town than I am. And why not?
Its fossil-fueled engine—yes, yes, I know, you always say,
“An electric car would work better!”— keeps it warm while I
shiver in the cab ‘cause the heater never works... except
for summers. “But,” you always joke, “our love is such a
passionate thing!” Perhaps that’s true… or at least, a cheap
thrill that’s just obsessive enough to keep the icicles from
forming on my hands as I swerve, and skid, and slide my way
toward the closest grocery store just to buy a fucking quart of milk
for your morning tea. And yes, there’s something romantic about
the thought of you wrapping me up in that huge quilt you made,
serving me sips of hot cocoa from my favorite clay cup,
allowing me to sneak a few cigarettes and a warm kiss or two
while I wait for my frozen feet to thaw. Yes, that would be nice
if by chance I make it home… alive.

Woodie o1-28-13

Wednesday, March 18, 2o15

It's raining! Not sure why each morning when I wake up, get my coffee and look out the window and see that it's raining that I'm so amazed! Maybe amazed at or surprised by the fact that is raining isn't exactly what I feel. Maybe the emotion the word I'm looking for is . . . joy. Yeah, joy sounds about right, I mean, as I stand here looking out the window and seeing the steady but gentle rain fall, as I see the trees starting to bloom, see the yellow grass of winter starting to turn green, as I hear the sparrows gossiping with each other in loud, supersonic voices . . . I smile. Yeah, I'm joyful that winter is in the rearview mirror and we are  traveling towards the city limits of spring, 2o15. I'm so glad that it's warmer outside so I don't have to put on three layers of clothes just to walk onto the front porch to get the mail. Yes, I'm happy to turn the heater off and the air-conditioner on and put away my winter battle armor
and slap on a pair of cutoffs and a t-shirt and my hiking sandals. I'm giddy when I think about getting on the bicycle and riding around, just riding around the neighborhood for no reason other than I want to ride around. Yeah, I love spring time in Norman Town.

Spent the last few days studying other poets and prose writers, mostly the famous writers and a few not so famous, but good writers all the same. And I've learned a lot that I hope will help me become the poet I wish to become. Poets, writers in general see the same world we see but understand what they perceive in  more specific and personal ways. Look at this bit of Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock:

Let us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question ...
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

I wish, or rather, I hope to be able to write with such clarity of thought, such simplicity of structure some day. This is, for me, a beautiful piece that says everything I wish I could say about any topic.

Thursday, March 19, 2o15

2:26am
What the hell?! Norman Town doesn't have a Popeye's Chicken! KFC, Church's, Sooner Chicken but not a POPEYE'S?! Heathens! But no worries. There's one in Midwest City, a twenty minute drive, but David is up for a Popeye's chicken run and I'm sure as hell Jonesing for some spicy wings!

The ride down Sooner Rd. is nice. Pleasantly cool, rain in the air. We pass a lot of ranches on the way. Horse ranches are big in Oklahoma. They sell a lot of polo ponies here, and they also have the race track in OKC. But there are also cows in pastures behind the main houses and, believe it or not, we pass a little ranch with a Shetland pony in the front yard. No llamas though or alpacas.

It's a nice ride through suburban countryside just outside Norman Town. Used to ride my bike down Sooner Rd. back when I could really ride. It's hilly a bit and you do have to watch the traffic (the car people drive like idiots on Sooner Rd.) but the ride was always wonderful. Wish I could ride like I did when I was in my thirties. Maybe I can again. . . some day.

Friday, March 20, 2o15

A rough night last night. Couldn't get comfortable enough to sleep until 4am, and even then I was up 45 minutes later! Damn. I finally "passed out" around 6:30am or so and got up for reals around 11am.  I really need to stop this sleep pattern.

There's a lot going on in Oklahoma politics these days. But today was focused on racism in Oklahoma. Well, is that a surprise? I mean, racism is running around all over America. However, it feels like Oklahoma's ahead of the pack when I comes to bigotry and racism. Some of these old boys are so racist and bigoted  they don't seem to even know it!

Take this guy, Kirk Humphreys. This old boy was once governor of our state, is now on the board of education somewhere in the state and he cohosts a Sunday political show, and yeah, he's Oklahoma Conservative all the way. Let me repeat what he said a week ago or so on Flashpoint a week or so ago:

“When I went on the school board 30… 25 years ago… a little over… we were, probably the best school district in the state. We just happened to have the best gene pool. But that gene pool keeps moving out. It’s moved to Edmond, it’s now moved to Deer Creek, and ya know, they’ll keep runnin’ as long as they can buy green fields and gasoline for their car.”—Kirk Humphreys

 

Of course, he apologized for what he said. But the problem isn't so much what he said but what he thinks. You can say you're sorry when someone calls you on your nonsense, but so what? You still think the thoughts, you still have the racist attitude. That doesn't change just because you say you're sorry. 

Saturday, March 21, 2o15

It's the last day in wk o3 of my blog and . . . I don't have anything to say . . . not really. I mean, could talk about our trip to David's dentist, how I couldn't make up my mind whether I really wanted to walk across Flood St. to the convenience store for a cup of coffee, and by the time I had decided, "Yeah, I really want some caffeine!" David was just about finished with his appointment  . . . of course I didn't know that . . . but as I walked out of the store with a Styrofoam cup of Joe (Okay, I'm not sure who came up with the term Joe, but I like it), I saw David walking to the car.

Even to me that doesn't sound very interesting. But nothing is very interesting today. I'm just tired and all I want to do is look out the window and watch the rest of this day (it ends in less than a half hour) slip into a comfortable darkness. Yes, darkness does have an odd effect on me. It fills me and  empties me . . .  both at the same time . . . it feels like I'm staring into a pool of water . . . I imagine my other self is there in the ripples, in the bottom of the pool glaring back at me. Water and darkness have a consciousness they share with each other . . . We human things are unaware of it. However, We do look to both water and darkness for guidance, and all the while knowing that they have no answers, no words of wisdom . . .  or if they do, if they really know something . . .? they won't share their secrets with us.

Hee! I think that's enough for this week. Hope there's something on this page that was worth the time it takes for you, the water and the darkness to read all the way to the end. And this surely is the end . . . {smile}