November The NEW Daily (W)Rite Wk1

Saturday, November o2, 2o13

The Daily (W)Rite

Wk 1

   I know. A while it's been. Did you miss me? Did you throw something at me? LOTS to talk about, I suppose. Definitely, politics is on my mind. But I think I'll save that for a bit later in the  month. But for this first post . . . let's talk about something else, shall we? let's talk about the month of November.
   I've always liked November. Yes, it gets colder during the month, a warm up act (Hee!) for winter, and rain, and snow, and an Oklahoma wind that'll eat you down to bone. But still, a good month. A cozy month. I did finally turn the heater on last night. There's something comforting about heaters and gloves and huge coats and caps . . . something more than just being warm. Security, I guess. A feeling of solidity that you don't get in the shorts and sleeveless shorts  summer forces upon you. Anyway, a great month, November is.

Sunday, 11-o3-13
  Never been much of a voter. In fact I've only voted in a national election twice and once in a primary. Jessie Jackson got my vote back in what? 1980s? Didn't get the nomination, Clinton did, and I voted for him. And I never voted again because I didn't feel strong enough about the candidates . . . Well, at least not until this last election. I really felt that Obama would be the best. He seemed to be concerned about us "ordinary" Americans, and he seemed to be honest. That's why I could never vote for a CONservative. They just aren't honest. But as it turns out? Neither is President Obama. He assured us that when Affordable Health Care kicked in, the American people would:
1. be able to keep their original health plan if they wanted,
2. health care prices would go down for everyone and
3. the individual would be able to choose the type of health care they wanted.
   Well, it turns out to be a lie. All of it. AND when we call him and his followers on it they just said, "Tough luck." Well, they really didn't say that. They said, "He didn't lie." I don't like liars, con men. I mean, I voted for Obama because I believed he was an honest man. Okay, maybe naïve of me. But he said he was an honest man. Okay, again, naïve of me. You see, we LIBerals are suppose to be the good guys and the CONs the bad guys who lie, cheat and steal. We cannot justify our use of the same dirty trick of those who we are against. But he did. And I now feel like a "man with out a country." No one for me to believe in anymore. 

 

September, The New Daily (W)Rite Wk 4

The New Daily (W)Rite

Wk o4



Tuesday, September 24, 2o13
Took a few days off from writing. I don't know why. I suppose I didn't have anything worth typing out about. Not that I ever do. It may well be that this constant feeling of loneliness is created by a great desire to just not do anything. I'm lazy. I don't want to go out and engage other people.  Hell, I don't want to shower or wash close or do any of the stuff that one is suppose to do in order to have "friends." I wish it was more complicated than that. I wish there was some great despair or great fear that keeps me tethered to my small apartment with only the TV and computer to keep me company. A dark secret, perhaps. I'm a criminal on the run. Hiding out like Walt in the second to last episode of Breaking Bad. Or maybe Norman Bates! Yes, sitting patiently, waiting for my next victim to innocently knock upon my door, unaware of the monster on the other side. No, nothing fancy or fantastic as that. Just a lazy guy that no longer gives much of a farmer's truck about himself . . . or other people. I guess I've just given up on myself the way I imagine everyone else has given up on me. I know, "Boo-Hoo." Don't worry. I'll be better tomorrow. I have to have at least ONE day a week to feel sorry for myself.
 

September, The New Daily (W)Rite Wk 3

The Daily (W) Rite

Wk o3

Sunday, September 15, 2013

Friday,



   The alley, fastest way to get to Boyd from my house. I'm up for it, the bike is up for it . . .  AND we get there and have to wait for a break in the game day traffic. Some lady in a Bronco trying to make a left hand turn is yelling at me. I can't hear, I put my hand to my ear, shake my head, shrug. Doesn't she read sign? She finally gets across the street and stops next to me. There's a smiling guy next to her in the passenger seat.
"Are you Superman," I don't quite realize that she's drunk.
"Not today."
"Well, I lost my virginity, can you find it?"
I don't even remember what I said to that. I know I didn't have a a witty response. I just rode away. I don't know why people feel the need to bother me with their nonsense . . . I don't know why it bothers me so much.
   The Diner was open on Art Walk night. Quite a treat. It's usually only open from 7:30 AM to 2:00 PM. Had a Swiss & Mushroom burger. Best burger in town. And I let Amy (owner and cook) know how much I liked it . . . "THIS IS THE BEST BUrGER IN THE WHOLE WORLD!" I sometimes get too loud. I sort of stopped time with that obnoxious phrase . . . everyone stopped eating, looked at me . . . frozen in space.
   I walked around the ART Walk . . . not very long . . . no picture taking . . . didn't even stop to ask about me performing sometime. Again, why? Why was I so depressed and . .  scared. I know why, 'cause this was the place I've lived for a long time, this was, is home and it treats me like a stranger, like I never existed before this moment, this night. Fuck.

Saturday,
I've been up since 10 AM Friday morning. I tried to sleep for a few hours but no doing. 

So, here I am, in the alleyway behind my apartment. I got my parking rent sign ($20) propped up on my water jug, a nice comfortable chair to sit on . . . not too comfortable, I hope. I can't fall asleep. I got responsibilities this game day: show the fans where to park, collect their $20. And the first one drives up. Two guys. One driving has a bald head and one of those Neo-Nazi, scraggly goatees. "You, Woodie?" I say yes, hoping that this is just parking and not a hit. They park, I get their twenty, take that to the guy up front whose sending the cars down the alley to me.  Finally, I'm done parking. I go inside my apartment, take off my clothes, crawl onto the couch with my blanket . . .  and no go.
No sleep until1 AM Sunday morning. Thirty-nine hours before I get to sleep.

Monday, September 16, 2o13
A bit of luck today. Was going to get a cab to run me out to Walmart. Just picking up the phone when the neighbor knocks (rather loudly) an asks if I'd like to go grocery shopping. He just got his car fixed and was feeling generous. Hell, yeah! Don't have to spend $20 on a cab! So, we go and we talk about movies there a back. We both are big movie buffs. He turned me on to a little film called Upside Down which was really good, fun, a bit of a crazy sci-fi story. The thing is I'm living pretty well on the money I get from SS and my retirement fund. Even made a little extra this month.
   A lot of heartbreak in the world today. Syria, another mass shooting today. You know what? I can't worry about it. Nothing I can do. If there were, I would do something. But getting upset about it doesn't help so . . .  to hell with it. I can't do much about the world. I can, however, do the best to make my little part of the planet a better place to live.

Tuesday, September 16, 2o13
    A playful day today. A trip to the Braum's ice cream shop. Mmmm, ice cream. Yes, I'm fat 

 

and I shouldn't eat a Sundae with two scoops of ice cream (peppermint and coffee chocolate)  and hot fudge, and nuts and whipped cream . . . I shouldn't. But what the hell. Only once a week I do this.
   A lazy night too due mostly to the ice cream. Tomorrow though I get ready to read some poetry! Yes, that's right. I am going to do it. No matter what. There's an open mic on Monday night at a local coffee house . . . Yeah! A coffee house. No backing out this time. Tomorrow I pick the poems, get them printed out and start rehearsing my ass off! Oh, this pic was developed originally on Photoshop around 2oo9 or so. I always loved it. Pretty creepy and yes, it is me!
 

September, The Daily (W) Rite Wk 2

The New Daily (W) Rite

Wk2

 

Sunday, September o8, 2o13
11:30 AM, Saturday morning, me, my bike, backpack, helmet tight around my skull . . . down the stairs, clump, clump, clump, tires aired up . . . to the street, big arching swing of left leg, my butt landing perfectly on the narrow bikeseat, body aligned and we are off to the movies to see, Riddick! Rocketing down the street, legs pumping it out in rhythm with my lungs . . . smiling as I swerve around the Game Day traffic just beginning to clog up the narrow Norman streets. I had a dream last that me and the bike got hit by a car so I'm wide-eye aware as I approach the old lady driving a bigger than life blue Cadillac. She looks nervous perched behind the giant donut shaped steering wheel, looking to her left for a chance to get out on the road from the Homeland parking lot. But no one will let her in. Game Day road hogs have no sense of chivalry. So, I make a nice slow curve around the back of her monstrously large car . . . a nice wide curve just in case she decides to back up suddenly. After that a sweet, sweaty ride to the Spotlight 14. A fast stop at Homeland, to the money machine, to the grocery checkout stand to buy a bottle of water . . . Didn't feel the heat of the day until I got inside the air-conditioned building. Big gulps of way, way to cold water . . . don't know the brand name . . . Don't really care at the moment. Catch my breath, reattach my helmet to my head, gloves on, sunglasses on, unlock the bike parked by the local rock 'n' roll radio station van blurting out an old heavy metal song . .. I can't remember the group. And finally, over the bridge, again, very alert as I cross the exit road for the freeway . . . traffic thicker now, horns are starting shout their annoyance at slow drivers. But I'm okay. Around the block and down another street and I'm there. I'm coming to get you, Riddick!

9 PM Saturday night. The game just over . . . WE won! Trout Avenue already bogged down

with foot traffic and cars trying to "get out of town." It's a beautiful mess of purring engines, bright headlights, the almost mute tap of feet hurrying along to their cars. There's that smell too of human sweat and oil in the air. I take a few fast pics, no flash though, wouldn't want to startle the walkers. Game Day in Norman. A part of the breath of this little town. Little? I always thought of it that way. But on Game Day it surely isn't. There's a herd of cars on my front lawn. Our landlord rents it to game goers for $5 a car. Doesn't make a lot, but these days five dollars is five dollars. I don't watch the parade of weary OU fans for long. They'll be out there until 1 AM Sunday morning. They'll probably spend almost as much time sitting in their cars trying to get home as they did watching the game.

Monday, September o9, 2o13
Monday. A very lazy day for me. Of course . . . that could be said of everyone of my days since

I retired. I truly need to get my mind onto doing something creative. Yeah, I write a little poetry, but I don't treat my writing as a job really. I need to get out of the house and start being more active in the art going on around me. There's a lot of it here in Norman Town, lots of painters, dancers, musicians and some poets. They had an open mike tonight which I should have gone to, but I only found out about it yesterday. I know, that's just an excuse to stay locked up in my apartment. I don't like the idea of not being prepared, well rehearsed before I go out and perform in public. So, I'm going to start working up some of my poetry and hopefully when the next open mike happens I'll be ready. It at least gives me something to do so I don't feel quite as useless as I'm feeling right now.

Wednesday, September 11, 2o13
There's a lot being said about today. Lots of people leaving testimonials about where they were
o9-11-o1 when the Trade Center Towers went down. We all pretty much remember when and where we were that day. I was in Las Vegas, NM just starting my second year teaching theatre at New Mexico Highlands University. Just up, watching TV and drinking coffee when the first plane hit Tower 1. The news folks on the Today Show thought it was a fluke accident . . . until the second one hit then everyone pretty much knew it was a terrorist attack. I left about 8:30 AM 'cause I had class at 10:00 AM. As I was walking to the Sala de Madrid, our little theatre on campus where I taught Intro to the Theatre, I heard a LOUD airplane engine. I looked up to see this small aircraft flying LOW, I mean, LOW and I thought, "Motherfuckers are after me now!" I sort of laughed nervously. I got to the theatre and our tech director was watching the news coverage on a small, b & w TV in her office. "What do you think of that?" She asked me. All I could so was, "Oh, well." It was the only exclamation I could come up with. I KNEW what this meant. Hell was gonna come down on whoever was responsible. I told my kids in class that this was a game changer, American life would be changed forever on this day. A lot of them, being kids, laughed at me, thought I was over reacting. But I wasn't. Even now, twelve years after the attack, we are feeling the effects. We're a troubled nation, and most of that trouble was started on September 11, 2oo1.

Thursday, September 12, 2o13
Just put the finishing touches on a new poem, Shadows. I'm feeling positive about the piece. Read a

little bit of Whitman before I started putting it all together. I think some of the Whitman style rubbed off onto my poetry. That's a good thing. I never read much Whitman . . . No, I take that back 'cause I've NEVER read Whitman. Yes, for a poet I don't know much about my heritage. Many say Whitman is the father of modern poetry. I don't think I can argue that. Definitely prose and image driven the poems I read of Walt's. I need to read more of the masters' works.  I need to find more ways to skin the old poem. My style needs a transfusion of skill and creativeness. I love writing poem and yet I balk when trying to read it. Need to take at least one
or two days to do nothing but read the great poets. Walt will be the first one I'll explore. The main thing that I've discovered while reading Whitman, a 19 century poet, is that "seeing the world" in a unique, personal way is the challenge. Too many of us wannabe writers just recycle old, clichéd  images, phrases and words. I don't want to do that anymore.
   It's been heavy clouds all day, clouds that speak in whispers about rain. Not sure their promises will be met tonight. The weatherman says no. Not until next week. But I can't wait that long. I need a drink of rain right now. I need to see it dripping off the eves, off the tree branches, slithering down the concrete gutters to the storm drain entrance on the corner of Page St. and Trout Ave.

Friday, September 13, 2o13
What started out as a minor day of "celebration" has become a VERY special day . . . well, for some of us, manly due to the popularity of the Friday the 13th  movie series (There's only 12 in the series right now. Damn, Hollywood, get your shit together!). Yeah, Jason and his machete AND hockey mask have done a lot for this minor "holiday" though I'm not sure if anyone gets a day off. All I know is that America (okay, where I live at least) people get into it . . . a bit. Okay, NOT as big as Halloween or Christmas . . . but I enjoy it. AND the cool thing is that in some years . . . I get to celebrate it more than once! What do I do to celebrate this glorious day? Not much. I do post a "Happy B-Day, Jason" on face book, and I put my personal Jason mask and machete (plastic, okay?) in the window facing Trout Ave. AND a my little plastic Jason. I hope it doesn't freak the neighbors out. But other than that not much. Yeah, I ore just acknowledge it than celebrate it. To be honest, I really am more of a Halloween fan, But please .. .

Don't tell Jason about it. He and Michael haven't talked in years!
   So, it is also the 2nd Friday Art Walk in Norman tonight! And YES! I AM going tonight, me and my camera. I know, I always SAY I'm going and always don't go unless someone makes me. But David ain't here, and I promised myself I MUST get out and explore Norman Art Walk all by myself. I got to start doing something artistic. Plan tonight to get the ball rolling on doing some poetry readings. There are a few 'open mike" nights around town . . . but I have reservations about it. Not sure what they are. It's probably just stage fright. But then again, I want to get reintroduced to Norman Town, and I'm thinking that the beat way to do that is to make myself the center of attention. So, I'm planning to put on a bit of a one man show, and there's no better venue in town than the Art Walk.


 

September, The New Daily (W Rite Wk 1

The Daily (W) Rite

 

Wk 1 

Sunday, September o1, 2o13

It's a Sunday. The very first day of September, 2013. I've decided the language 

I speak, that I grew up learning is not enough to express the poetry in me. To be honest no one language works. So, I 've decided to create my own language. I suppose that's what all writers do . . . create out of the language they are familiar with a new language, images and rhythms to express that individual experience of being alive . . . or dead. It's not good enough to just see the world differently . . . there has to be a way of saying it that's different from everyone one else. Individuality can't be expressed fully without recreating the means of expression. So, A new adventure. Something to keep my mind busy. Creating a new language and form for my poetry . . . and, perhaps, my way of writing all together.

Monday, September o2, 2o13
Went to Walmart to get food today. Called for a taxi to take me there and it took them fifty minutes

to come and pick me up. Did my shopping, all the time watching how much I spent. $1,188.00 a month is not a lot to live on . . . pay rent . . . buy food . . . cable, phone and internet bill. So I gotta be careful with money buying what I need and NOT what I WANT . . . all the time. Anyway, did the shopping ( I try to get about a month's worth of groceries at a time.) and call the cab up from the return desk at Walmart. And they said twenty-five to 30 minutes before they could hall me home again. It was an hour and eleven minutes before the cab got there! During my waiting time I just watch people come and go from the South entrance. People are sort of funny. Most of them don't smile. I don't think they're mad. I just don't think it's natural to smile . . . just for the sake of smiling. Something has got to make you smile, I think. It's more natural to frown. I'm sure you've heard that old wife's tale: It takes more muscles to frown than to smile? I think that's Bullshakalaca. When we smile we're fighting gravity . . . except of course when we are standing on our heads and smiling! So, okay, maybe it takes less muscles to smile, but it takes MORE effort too. That's why people don't smile when they are just going to Walmart. They are saving their energy for something they'll need it for later. And what do they plan to do with that extra energy?  . . . THAT I don't know.

Tuesday, September o3, 2o13,
I'm flat-lining as a poet these last few days. I don't know. I just can't get my mind in the right mood. I've been reading some other writers I've never read before, and they are really, really good poets . . . and that's making me falter. Look at this one I just discovered after seeing the movie, The Sessions:
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/245460

Wednesday, September o4, 2o13
I gotta run away for awhile. Something I need to do. I'll be back later on today. But Let me build a little intrigue. I only got maybe 2 hours of sleep tonight. Oh, yeah. Basically, I'm running solely on coffee fumes. More later.

Friday, September o6, 2o13

Okay, I failed to get back to you. Please don't be too upset with me. Yes, all my plans to get to bed early and get up early AND do some work during the day instead of late at night . . . All that just went to hell. I'm back to staying up until six in the morning . . . sleeping in until noon. Sigh. Not good for me. So, I'll give it another try. Need to get my bio-clock a ticking at the same time as my creative clock. I don't know if that makes any sense or not. The problem is I enjoy the early mornings(2 AM to 6 AM). It's quiet, dark, a good time to shut off the TV and pump up the radio (Not too loud. The neighbors would get pissed.) and just write, or work on pictures, or just stare out the window. I love nights. I have always loved nighttime. Oh, last night I was looking through my pics that I worked on for my poetry and ran across this one (on the left there) which is titled Shadow Land. I developed it for an old poem that I meant to rewrite and post on the web page. Never got around to it. That happens sometimes. A poem, an idea gets lost, and sometimes you find it . . . and sometimes it just stays lost. Maybe I'll break it out and work it a little. I really love the way this pic came out. Hope I can get the poem up to speed . . . this pic needs a good poem to go with it.

August 22, 2o13 The New Daily (W) Rite Week 4

The Daily (W) Rite

 

Wk 4

Thursday, August 22, 2o13
   The first day in the last week of August. That means autumn and winter are not too far away. Because we've had a rather mild Oklahoma summer this year, lots of folk are predicting a very COLD winter. Pessimists! I'd rather believe that a mild summer means a MILDER winter than usual, hope I'm right.  I don't take well to winter . . . however, my writing tends to like bad weather (rain, snow, ice). Bad cold weather seems to inspire me. We'll see if my writing gets any better as the world begins to slow down. I don't know why, but I am not inspired by summer so much. I haven't really figured out how to use a summer day as a metaphor. Something to work on towards before the summer's all gone. Maybe I'll work on an "end of summer" poem tonight.

Friday, August 23, 2o13
   I sometimes try not to be political. Never works. Like all Americans I DO have my political point of view. This theater owner somewhere in the South decided that to protest Jane Fonda's being in
The Butler that he wouldn't show the movie. He had involvement in Vietnam. Folks he trained were killed. And of course, Jane Fonda was a war protester who went to North Vietnam, of course, lots of American Vets hated Fonda for it . . . still hate her for it. The movie owner is one of those guys who consider Jane a "traitor" to her country. So, he decided NOT to show the movie that she is currently in. My friend David posted the article on Facebook. http://newsok.com/article/3875211
And here is my response to the article:

"When I got back from Viet Nam, I went to my mother's house to stay for awhile. I was getting ready to watch Ali fight on TV. Just as the fight started mom came in and turned off the TV. I said, "Hey, what are you doing?" She told me I couldn't watch Ali fight in "her house" because I went to Vietnam and HE didn't. "Well, I said, "Thanks, Mom. But I really want to see Ali fight." And she turned the TV back on, but wouldn't sit down and watch the fight with me. If we do believe in this whole freedom of speech thing, this idea of protesting when you think something's wrong with this country, how do we say that people who protest what they truly believe are wrong for doing so? I don't agree with the way people think of Jane Fonda. I think of her as fighting the Vietnam War . . . but in a different way than a lot of us did. However, I support theatre owner who in good conscious protests what he believes to be an American wrong. Good for him."

And . . .  again . . . of course this caused a bit of a hubity-bub from all kinds of anti-war folks and others calling me this and that. One particular Vietnam Vet had some choice words for me. I replied to him in a "civil" manner . . . but did get the point across that he needed to "shut up." No, I didn't say, "shut up" or "Shut the FUCK up" but I did nicely suggest that his tone was "trollish." And that ended THAT conversation. It's hard to talk politics without getting emotional about it. I try not to sound angry when I'm talking a point. I try to explain my ideas with "passion" but not in a negative way. I would prefer that others do the same.

Sunday, August 25, 2013

Friday,  
   Spent a wonderful evening with my friend David. We went out to the Midsummer Nights' Art Fair at Lion's Park in Norman. Not a lot going on at the fair, a couple of stages set up for live music, lots of tents for individual artists' paintings, drawings, sculptures. One guy had a booth full of tie-dye t-shirts. I had to laugh at that one 'cause all that David wears are tie-dye Ts. I asked him if he was going to purchase is fall  wardrobe. Don't think he got the joke. One booth had a sort of "petting zoo." Well, there was a snake and a hedge hog. I didn't see anything else. The whole place was made-up of mostly old hippies and their families. Well, not all of them were old. But they seem to be mostly artsy types, middle class, you know? They had some bands too that were pretty good. Norman has a lot of local  "players' that ain't shabby. One guitar player David knew. he said the kid was nationally known . . . would give Clapton a run for it. Hmmm, I listened with a critical ear . . . and yeah, the kid had some fingers on him . . . but better than Clapton? I'll leave that for the history books to sort out. But we did have a good time. Didn't last long, though. I

know. Old guys. As soon as the back starts to ache, art needs to sit on the park bench. I got home around 9 PM.

Saturday,
  Guess what? I rolled out of bed at 9 AM Saturday morning! Yeah, I know, astonishing since I usually don't get up until noon . . . or later! Bu I was up drinking coffee by 9:30, brushing the teeth, a little bit of a shave at 10:30 and me and the bike were out the door on the way to the movies by 11 AM! Actually, would have been a little later IF the modem for my computer hadn't crashed. But it did, and I took it as a sign to get the hell out of the house.
   I stopped to mail some bills off at the OU post office and then started peddling away across campus, down Main St. to NW 12th, over the bridge . . . and there it was, the Spotlight 14 Theater. To be honest I hadn't decided which movie to go to before I got there. I was thinking about Kick Ass 2 or Earth's End . . . but the reviews on both from Facebook friends had been pretty bad. I don't normally listen to what others say about movies . . . I usually LIKE movies my friends hate. Yet, I decided to go see this flick titled The Mortal Instruments: City of Bones. I had read the book . . . well, okay HALF the book. It's a YA read and I tried to read it because I liked the Hunger Games series a lot. It was REALLY a poor read  no really! I did like the storyline, though. So, I decided to watch it and. . . I loved the acting but HATED the 19th century Melodrama dialogue that even these young, very good actors couldn't overcome. I know, the movie and the book were not written for me. Yet, somehow I'm not sure even 21st century kids would enjoy this clunker. I think it was written more for 13 year old girls . . .  from the 19th century. However, it WAS better than Twilight!

   Laidback day. Sunday. And I did just that. Didn't even read the Bible though I said I would. Sorry, God. Maybe I'll read a bit tomorrow before I start getting busy with my life. Oh, yeah. I decided to get my "creative" life up and running starting tomorrow. I got two "old projects" I want to jump start. I mentioned before that I had a play script, a man in morning, that I want t type onto a flash-drive. All I have right now is a hard copy. AND I got an extended poem I started back around 2o11 that I want to clean up and finish. I got a sample of it I'll post. So, I made up my mind to start working on those to projects tomorrow. here's a bit of Monster Man And Moon Girl:

Monster Man & Moon Girl

       

III

There were lots of stories about the monster that lived up

in the Puente Hills. Some said a kid got murdered up there

years back by some hobo guy passing through. Cut the kid’s

throat with an old Boy Scout knife and threw him

into the ravine right below the Plateau. Cops found

the body about a week later, but it was a mess, all eaten

up by dogs and crows and stuff. The kid’s old man got so upset

seeing his son all chewed up like that, that he went

home and shot himself. The story says that the old man’s

ghost now haunts them hills around the Plateau looking

for kids to kill just like his son got killed.

The night I heard that story I had the worst dream.

I was lost running around in the Puente Hills in my pajamas.

There was all these shadows growling at me so

I started running. I got so far up in those hills I couldn’t

see anything except trees... big oak trees. And right

behind one of them was that kid’s dad, all moldy looking

with large yellow teeth and razor sharp claws.

I ran, man, did I run! But the Monster Man

was way faster, He knocked me down and jump on top

of me. “Now you’re gonna die!” He howled.  And I

screamed, I screamed my head off...

“What the hell is going on in here?” I opened

my eyes and the lights where on in my bedroom

and my dad was standing at the foot of my bed.

I told him the whole story about the “Monster Man,”

and his dead son, and it chasing me through the woods.

Dad stared at me for a long time then said,

“Son, are you out of your fucking mind? Go to sleep.”

He shut off the light and went back to bed.

I learned a lot of things from my dad.

One of those things was how to cuss good.

Tuesday, August 27, 2o13

   I didn't get around to writing on the blog yesterday because I was busy . . . writing! Yep, up early and spent 3 hours on the script. I don't know if it's a waste of time. I mean the original manuscript was written back in 1990. that was 23 years ago, damn. It's had a few stage readings but never could get anyone interested in a full blown production. No one was interested back then, why do I think they will be now? I guess it means something to me. It's a story I really want to tell. BUT . . . not sure that anyone wants to hear it.
  

  
   Also started on rewrites on the long poem yesterday. Didn't get to far with it. Mostly, I just reread some of it, and I decided what I want to do. I'm stalling a bit, I guess. But it's going to take MAJOR rewrites, and I'm not ready to get that deep into it right yet.  But I will.
   My friend Rick Lockett is coming over to watch a movie tomorrow night. We haven't seen each other in a while. Little bit of a argument between the two of us, but we are "making up" and continuing our friendship. Anyway, I probably need to clean the house up a bit if I'm having company tomorrow. Early to bed tonight.

Wednesday, August 28, 2o13

http://youtu.be/HRIF4_WzU1w

Worked a bit on the revisions. Taking most of the day to think about the march on Washington and the greatest American speech written in the 20th century. It 's a day for reflection, thought and action. I'm not sure I'll see Dr. King's dream come true in my life time. But I hope that we Americans will get it through our thick minds that, "All men are created equal."  As individuals Americans we have an obligation to work toward the dream without any certainty that we will see it fulfilled. But that's what life is all about anyway, isn't it? Struggling to do that which is right and honorable in the eyes of the Constitution and the eye of God. So, the fight continues.

Friday, August 3o, 2o13,
My ex-roommate came over last night and we had pizza and watched DJango Unchained. Rick pretends to be a QT hater. I know better. It was nice to sit around with Rick. We lived together for a year or two back in the 90's. He was a student when I was doing Adjunct for OU Drama. He was a good roommate . . . well, other than he liked and play ABBA all the time. I hate ABBA. We stopped the movie a couple of times to go outside and smoke. Yeah, I started smoking again about two days ago. Don't worry, quitting again. Sometimes I just miss it. I loved to smoke. But these days my lungs don't care for it at all. Oh they do for about two cigarettes or three but after that they are ready for me to quit again. I always wanted to try those new electric cigarettes . . . HELL! the EC seems harder to run than my computer. So, I'll stick with nicotine gum.
   Game Day weekends start tomorrow. Seems to soon. Norman Town gonna be filled with football fans. Hard to get out and around even on my mountain bike during game days. Cars parked all over the place . . . just a huge river of fans (drunk and sober) walking around, tailgating, singing Boomer Sooner. But The town proper needs the "tourists" to survive. An old superstition: If a business don't make a shit load of money on Game Day, They'll be closed by New Years. And that's pretty true . . . NOT a superstition at all.
   I'm gonna take a break and read some poet from Ireland or somewhere that just died. Suppose to be a great poet, though. So, I'm off to check him out.

 

 

 

 

August 15, 2o13 The New Daily(W) Rite Week 3

The Daily (W) Rite

 

Wk 3



Thursday, August 15, 2o13
So, Thursday's here! We don't really celebrate or consider Thursday much. Every other day of the week we have some kind of feeling about, but Thursday? Don't tell anyone... but I like Thursday because it IS that sort of "throw away" day. Thursdays are good days to do laundry... go to the grocery store... maybe clean house. Thursday is a preparation day. "What am I going to do this weekend?" I have a whole day to think about it... most theatre advertise the movies opening on Friday on Thursday. Good time to call people, "Hey, what are you doing this weekend? Nothing? Well, do you want to go see Kick Ass 2 with me?" Thursday is also a very good day to do new animation for my blog (see above), and for writing poetry and catching up on other people's poetry too. AND it's also a day to start contemplating how you're going to change your life, make said life more exciting! You don't ever start a new life on Thursday, no, no. You just think about. If you decide to dramatically change your life, you have all weekend to work it out so you can make the change happen on Monday... Monday is the best day to be reborn... Die (metaphorically) on Sunday and... rise on Monday... a new man.

Saturday, August 17, 2o13
   Okay, I'm stalling, damn it. I said I'd write everyday... and of course I don't. Not the blog anyway.  So, maybe no one will actually want to read these little bits of thought I write down... and maybe I don't really have anything worth talking about... AND maybe I just don't have the skill and the genetic make-up to be interesting and exciting enough on the page. Well, fuck that! I don't care.
   Racism has been in the news a lot lately. A lot of the pundits are on air trying to prove they are NOT racist... and all they prove is that they are racist. It's really not hard to figure out if you're a racist or not... do you lump everybody together based on myths about the color of their skin or genetic make-up? If yes, you're a racist. If not... congrats! You're a Liberal. Pretty easy to figure out.
   Oh, did I have big plans for today! Was gonna wake up early (8:00 am) and get myself all ready to go see Kick Ass 2 at 1:30 pm today. BUT I had to stay up until 2:30 am to finish watching the Da Vinci's Inquest. Okay, no problem, I'll just set the alarm for 8:30 am. I do, and I go to bed at 2:34 am and I lay there for an hour... itching like crazy... Okay, so I get up at 3 am and write awhile... and then it's 5 in the morning and I finally get to sleep... and wake up at 2 pm! Damn. Well, better luck tomorrow.
   I guess we all want to be profound... no, not want to be profound... we just want others to think that we are profound. Big difference. That's me, really. I just want to be liked and thought of as having something worthwhile to say. Something pretty to say, poetic, meaningful. Yeah, well, good luck with that one too.

Sunday, August 18, 2o13
   Spending a bit of the afternoon reading the New Testament. I don't read it enough. I need to stop thinking so much about my life here on Earth and focus on my soul a bit. By doing that I think this "earthly life" will be a bit better. Belief is a funny thing. A lot of times we humans wind-up doing that which goes against what we try to believe in. I want to be a follower of Christ, I truly do, but I often find myself more involved with doing bad things to myself and others rather than acting the way Christ suggests we act in "this world." The disciple Paul says something like, " I know what I should do... yet, I don't do it. " I'm paraphrasing, but that's petty much me. I know how I should think and act... but I don't. Lots for me to learn. I'll get back to you later on today.

Monday, August 19, 2o13
   David and I went to see The Butler  yesterday afternoon and it was really good. Even though I was around for the Freedom Riders I really didn't know much about them other than they fought  nonviolently against the South's Jim Crow laws. And it was brutal. The movie shows the horror of the time very well. Sometimes we live in times important and never actually know how important they were. I want to change that about myself. I want to be more aware about my life on this Earth, in this town that I live in. I spend too much time inside my head and not enough time looking out at who and what is around me. Maybe that's what I should write about. Less about me directly and more about life that's flowing all about me. I need to look, explore more this world.

Tuesday, August 2o, 2o13
   I had some pleasant dreams last night. Not quite sure what the storyline was, but I do remember that when I woke up? I was smiling. There was a girl, you see. Blond, young. Don't get the wrong idea... I was young too... in the dream. We were saying goodbye... but not "so long.." not forever gone. I was happy, she was happy, I was leaving with the dead certainty that she would be there when I returned. We were in love... and for a moment it felt real. I guess that's why I woke up smiling. I don't remember where I went... though I did go somewhere... on a ship, I think... I didn't return. I woke up instead. I hope tonight I'll continue that dream. make it back  to her. She'll probably be pissed that it took awhile for me to get back. Who could blame her?

 

August 08, 2o13 The New Daily (W) Rite Week 2

WK2

 Thursday, August o8, 2o13

It's a warm day. Not killer hot. But warm. Took a bike ride up to Walmart to get nicotine gum and a DVD, Cloud Atlas. Sweated a lot both up and back... but you know... I felt good. Good to be out peddling away... riding a bicycle is freeing... and enslaving... both. It's a good day for writing too... and riding... but don't do both at the same time. (smile)

 

I'm loving the Norman Town weather this summer. Lots of sporadic rain when it shouldn't be anything but HOT. We got thunderstorms and  the threat of flash flooding tonight... I can do without the flash flood... but a rain is always nice. Hope it gets here soon. I hate waiting up for it every night. Usually the summer rain doesn't pull into Norman until after 1 AM, and I am, of course, obligated to wait for it or wake up when it arrives. That's what happened last night when it thundered in. The lightning flashes through the window popped my eyes wide open.

10:57 pm
I had a few weird dreams last night. One had to do with a serial killer who knocked out his victims and then set the house on fire! Too much news and too many episodes of The Bridge wartched, I think. In the second one I was walking with a friend and a BIG dog came up to us and growled! I just patted it on the head and it changed it's attitude, allowed me to pet him. The first two dreams really didn't bother me. But the third one had me working back at OU teaching acting. That made me a little sad. I guess I really want to be back in the classroom. I don't think that's going to happen.

Friday, August o9, 2o13
David called about 7 pm tonight and asked if I wanted to go to art walk with him. And hell, yeah! So we walked around for awhile and saw a lot of art and lots of beautiful people. I'll post a lot more tomorrow when I have some pics.   
The Art Walk is a fun thing that Norman Arts Council promotes. It's a chance for the community to get out and see what the local artists are up to. They have an art gallery where they feature local artists. There are also a great many artist's studios that are open to the public. They have street musicians performing and a lot of the sandwich shops and bars host bands. This evening the main gallery had a dance company performing. It's one of the first performing arts exhibitions I have seen. I'd like to include some poetry readings if I can get some folks together. I'm also hoping to display some of my poetry and art work at a later date. I came across a local silkscreen shop that's pretty reasonable. I'm thinking about getting some of my poetry printed on t-shirts! that could be fun and maybe profitable.

Most of the pictures I take are of artists and patrons. I like to take them without people knowing. Most of the pictures here are candid shots, but a few are of tonight's dance performance. As I said, it's a fun night. It happens on the second Friday each month. You should get out and see it all.

Monday, August 12, 2o13
Been going to ground since Friday night. Shut my door to the world, so to speak. Haven't done much but sleep till noon, eat, watch TV. Waking up is difficult. I don't want to get out of bed, I want to sleep forever. But I do get up after an hour or so of arguing with myself. And here I am. Writing my blog about me whom  I am finding rather dull today... well, every day. I've made up my mind that I need to start doing... something. Just do... something. Practical things at first: clean the house, wash my close... take a bath... get up and not spend all day in BED! Not necessarily in that order.  First off I probably need to get out of bed... before attempting anything else.

Tuesday, August 13, 2o13
It's been raining all day. Well, at least it looks like it has. I slept through most of it. Didn't get to bed until around 5:30 am. I enjoy the rain. It's a nice time to write. It calms me, I guess. Why? I don't know. I just feel better about things. Not happy, no, never that. I just feel more at peace with living when there's a nice, cool rain outside my window. I write a lot about the rain. Again, don't know why.
A guy I knew back in undergraduate school, a guy I liked, died a few months ago. Steven Vincent. I just found out about it yesterday. No one seems to know what happened. He had been "sick" for awhile I'm told. Usually when people say "sick," they mean cancer. Don't know for sure. Vince was 56 years old. People from my past keep dying... all around me. My friend Nate called yesterday. He lost his job. They just kicked him out... just like that. He and his wife had just hired a contractor to do some expansion on their house (two kids from his wife's first marriage).  They had to call the contractor to cancel the work. And on Facebook someone sent me some pictures of a show that one of the folks who was responsible for me being fired from NMHU directed with the caption, "She is such a good director!" Oh, bother. I deleted it and went on with my life... feeling a bit less lively than before... but still living.

Anyway, the rain is nice. Makes the worldly problems a little less important... At least for a bit of a while.

Wednesday, August 14, 2o13
Last day of writing, August, Week 2. I went out for ice cream today at Braum's! Mmmm. I shouldn't do it... well, very often. They are looking for part time workers. It's about a block and a half from the apartment... pay's $8.00 an hour. I did promise myself back in 1999 when I got the teaching gig at NMHU that I would NEVER work fast food again! But I need a little extra cash. I am living okay on the $1,188.00 a month I get from SS and my retirement fund... but a little more wouldn't hurt. I'd like to be able to buy a few more clothes... and be prepared if anything happens where I need cash fast. I'd only work maybe 3 days a week. So, that wouldn't be too bad. Besides, I really need to get out of the house! Well, I'll write more tomorrow to start off Week 3 of August. Night, my reader(s).

 

August o1, 2o13 The New Daily (W)Rite Week 1

THE  DAILY (W) RITE

WK1

Thursday, August o1, 2o13
   Having a difficult time deciding what to write about on this blog. not sure if the too personal is the right way to go. I mean, do people really want to read about the "daily" routine of one old guy? Maybe, maybe not. I'm not sure if being "personal" is wrong. Maybe the problem is that the ramblings aren't personal enough or artistic enough. I've got to treat this blog (or blob) with more care.

   I 'm up really early today. 7 am. Yeah, for working folk that me be considered the middle of the day. When I was teaching up in NM, I was in the office by 7 or 8 am getting ready for classes by 9. Now  a days I'm lucky if I get up by 10 am. Probably not a good thing. Not sure WHY it's not a good thing. I suppose it's because we are trained from childhood to "get up! You're wasting the day! Lots to do." It's true. I am NOT doing as much as I should. I should be getting up early in the morning to write! And maybe I'll start doing that. BUT what to wrote about? What do people want to hear? What do I want to say? Always the dilemma. But since it IS a new day in a brand new, sparkly month I'll try to be more... writer like.

   There's a poetry reading (open mike) tonight at a local coffee house. David has been urging me to go and read. I've been putting it off using the same old excuses: 1. I don't have anything memorized, 2. My poetry's not good enough, 3. I got stage fright... Well, there are plenty of good excuses for not doing something. "I'm not feeling well" is one I use often enough. Can't use it a lot, though. When you use it TOO much, it just becomes an excuse. AND when folks know you are just using reasons as excuses, they stop asking you to go places. And we all know that going somewhere with friends is not as important as being asked to go. It's the asking that counts, and it's the saying "no" that makes you feel in control of your life. But I should go tonight just to see what's going on. Who knows? I might like it. I might meet some people. Make some new friends.

Friday, August o2, 2o13
   The new picture above I posted as a response to all my Facebook friends who are overcome with the need to bash President Obama. To be honest, I'm not against saying things against the POTUS. If that's what you really feel. My problem is that a LOT of my "friends" believe things because... well, because someone who they admire told them to believe it. Or maybe it's somebody who just has the same mind set: "President Obama is evil." Whichever way it is, they don't take the time to think about what they say. Here's a post I got from a friend:


Yeah, it's real clever. Obama says something you don't like and you dig up a quote from some famous dead guy to prove a point... And what's the point? That's the thing with most of the Right-Winger stuff... there's no point. BF's quote has nothing to do with the POTUS talking about national security. But that doesn't matter. Whatever, this president does the Right -Winger nuts are going to say something. This pic is actually clever... thought out... and well put together. I guess what bothers me... my friend on Facebook didn't come up with it. They just posted something that they got off another sight because it was anti-Obama. Hell, if you're going to make a political statement, make it YOUR statement, create something unique, THINK something that YOU thought up and quite stealing ideas from other people to try and prove a point that's not true.


Tuesday, August o6, 2o13

I haven't talked to my mother in almost 20 years. Yes, I know. I'm horrible. I'm suppose to love and honor and respect my mother. People tell me that all the time. I suppose I do in a way, from a distance. There's a lot of reasons that I'm estranged from my mother, from my entire family... Perhaps it's mostly my fault. I never felt like I fit in well with the rest of the "Woods Tribe."  Over the years my sister has "forced" me into a relationship with her. I fought against it but she is persistent. "Family." Very important to me sister. Last week my mother turned ninety years old. My sister asked me to call her. For some reason, I'm not sure why, I decided I should. Maybe it was because our brother Dennis had killed himself a few years back. I hadn't talk to him either in a very long time, and the last conversation we had had ended in a big verbal fight. maybe I was feeling guilty. Anyway, I called mom and the conversation went something like:

 

"Hi, Mom."

"Who is this?"

"It's your son."

"My son? Which one?"

"The one that's still alive."

 

I realize now that the joke was in bad taste, but I really thought she was joking me. She didn't know who I was? Yeah, she really didn't know who I was. During the whole conversation... well, it really wasn't a conversation because mom, it seems, can't hold a conversation anymore. I wish my sister had told me that before I called our mother. She just kept repeating the same things over and over: " I gotta walker." "I fall down sometimes." "The kids have to go to work." "They leave me alone all the time." "I'm too old to come see you guys." No matter how I tried to steer the conversation to other topics her response was always one of these phrase and not necessarily in any cohesive or meaningful order. I felt sad and guilty for not keeping in touch with my mother more. I should have been a better son. I should have been a better son when my mother recognized me as her son.

July, 2o13 The New Daily (W)Rite Wk4

The Daily (W)Rite





Monday, July 22, 2o13
   Yep! The beginning of the last week in July. And as far as weather goes not a bad July for Oklahoma. Warm? Yeah, at times. At least enough to get me a good sweat on when I'm riding my bicycle. BUT there was a LOT of rain and 70 degree weather for Oklahoma... not normal for this time of year! We can only hope August follows July's lead and gives us few cooler days. But I wouldn't count on it.

   I've been writing a lot of poetry lately. A lot of it was inspired by what's going on in the news, particularly news worthy events in America.  Yes, the world interests me., but I tend be moved more (poetically) by what goes on in my country, what directly effects me as an old Marine living in Norman, OK. Once in a great while I venture out into international, poetic waters. But mostly I write about my personal life... my love life... the absence of a love life.  Am I any good as a poet? Don't know, don't care. I got a few followers on Facebook who seem to like my work. When I do write about politics, my work gets a lot of "shares" by those folks who agree with my political point of view. Lately, I've been diving into these "Anti-Zen" quotes. All of it original work based on little sayings that people keep posting to me, things like, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." or "Think positive!" I really hate those kind of posts. So, I create my own picture with a philosophical statement that might say something like, "What doesn't kill you makes you wish you were dead." or "I think positive. I'm positive things will get worse!" Sort of fun stabs at my friends. Here's a couple I'm rather proud of:

 These get a few hits every now and then. I like writing. But I can't always write LONG poems. Sometimes an idea is only a couple of lines; a couple of lines can be powerful. The "artwork" counts for part of the response I get with these short jabs. I call it artwork because... well, I don't know what else to call it. Most of the pictures I take myself (not the ice cream one), and then I play with them a bit on a photo editing site. Mostly I use BeFunky. Good site. You should try it out sometime.



 Tuesday, July 23, 2o13

    I don't know if I should be happy or sad 'cause I don't really care about being 65 years old without a girlfriend or family or friends... and I really don't seem to mind that I'll get even older and that none of the above will ever change. I'll sit here, write on the blog, maybe put down a poem or two, go out for groceries and came back home to the same old, same old. When I was in my 20's and 30's I feared the idea of becoming this lonely old man sitting around all day in his underwear, talking to himself or yelling at the TV... It frightened me so much I took to going out for a drink and staying out at some bar until they threw me out. I hated the idea of being alone... old and alone. But now? Now I don't mind it so much. In fact... I kind of like it. Truth be told... I don't have a desire for face to face time with people these days. I'd rather deal with them on Facebook, or communicate with them on my blog... AND I don't know how I should I feel about that. Should I be sad because it seems like I've lost my need to be intimate with people... lost my humanity, so to speak...? No. If I NEED to be sad, I should feel sad because...  I don't care one way or the other.  Alone, not alone. Anymore... I don't give a damn.

 

Tuesday, July 30, 2013

   I know. I've been away for almost a week! Sorry. Got busy working on the poetry. That is my main focus after all. However, I won't deny that after my last rant which was a bit too "poor me" oriented I decided to take a break from writing on my journal blog. I get into these fits of self pity a lot, and I have no qualms about moaning about my sad, little life. After all, that's what a "diary" is suppose to be for, right?

 

  Well, the Right is furious because President Obama said something about the Zimmerman verdict. Bill O'Reilly and the other pundits of the Right are making sure everyone knows that "black" murders out number  "white" murders by at least 10 to 1.  And what little research I've done so far says that the statistics might be right... or wrong. It's hard to tell because statistics can be manipulated to mean whatever you want them to mean. And I'm not sure if statistics matter much to people who are murdered. That's to say, I don't think people really care WHO they are murdered by. I know I would be as equally pissed off to be killed by a "white" guy as I would if I was killed by a "black" guy. Now maybe there are a few people who hope to be murdered, and maybe they hope to be murdered ONLY by a criminal of a particular race. But I couldn't find any statistics on that. I'll keep looking. BUT my personal experience with "almost" being murdered is the only statistical information I trust. AND according to that information I would have to say "white" folk are scarier than "black" folk. Twice in my life I've had someone try to kill me (not counting Vietnam), and twice the persons trying to kill me were... yep... "white." Maybe I'll talk about this later on. 

 

 

 

July, 2o13 The New Daily (W)Rite Wk3

 

The Daily (W)Rite

 

Monday, July 15, 2o13

   Okay, so I tried to write my personal, daily diary as pages on one of my poetry blogs. Little did I know I could only write up to 20 pages. Actually, I did know that. I just forgot that I knew that. Anyway, I've decided to start a blog for my rambles about life, liberty and the pursuit of.. whatever. My only fear is that now that which was semi-private is now a full-fledged blog that anybody can see. It's not that I'm worried about saying something embarrassing 'cause nothing bothers me when it comes to writing what I want to write about. BUT sense it IS a "full-fledged" blog, I don't want to come off boring. Now THAT would be embarrassing! So, I will try my best to be creative, witty and poetic as I pour out from my fingers all the strange... sometimes wonderful... ideas that float around in my head all day... and all night. Beware... you've been warned.

4:58 PM
   You know that I know I'm a strange looking dude (see the pictures above), right? Okay, maybe not strange-strange but "suspicious" looking. So, I'm waiting for a cab inside Walmart ('cause it's raining)and this AC/DC T-shirt wearing guy and his wife and his baby pull their cart up to mine and the husband gives me the hairy eyeball. His wife does the same and then wifie gives her husband the "I'll be okay" look and hubby looks me over one more time and goes out to get his car so wifie, baby and groceries don't get all wet walking through the parking lot... and all I'm thinking is... "I hope that bastard doesn't come back with a gun and go all George Zimmerman on me!" Paranoid? Maybe. But what happened down in Florida to Tayvon...? I'm worrying about people.

10:46 PM
   ... And of course, there's the big verdict! Man shoots an unarmed kid, and in a court of law is found not guilty of murder. Warms your heart, doesn't it? Makes you feel all patriotic and... well... AMERICAN. And of course, the battle lines are drawn in America along the black and white lines that have always kept this country away from being a real country, one ruled by ALL the people, one country for ALL the people. I really don't understand it. I got a lot of friends on Facebook who are just tearing each other apart. I try to stay out of it, but like everybody else I got strong opinions about the Zimmerman trial. But my opinions are not based on the color (or perceived color) of somebody's skin, or misconceived ideas about the 2nd Amendment. My opinion about what happened that night in a Florida town is based on having been shot at twice, beat-up numerous because the color (or perceived color) of my skin, a shit load f drunken brawls, gang fights and the physical and mental abuse I suffered at the hands of a drunken stepfather that stuck a loaded shotgun in my gut once and told me he was, first, going to kill me then go and kill my baby sister and mother. Now before you get to feeling too sorry for me I need to let you know I'm as much of a bastard as that drunken stepfather. I've been kicking people's asses and having my own ass kicked for a very long time. Yeah, I was a drunk, and not one of those friendly, laughing, huggable drunks either. No, I was a mean drunk. So, when it comes to fighting and what goes on in a fight and how a fight starts, you can take it to the bank that I know something about it. And I sat here watching the trial on TV, and listening to these "lawyers" tell us all about fighting and violence... and I'm not believing a word that's coming out of any one of their mouths. Yeah, they brought on all their "expert" witnesses to tell the jury ALL about violence and fighting and... that jury believed everything they said, even though everything they said was a lie. Maybe tomorrow I'll talk more about this. I got a lot to say on the subject. But now, I'm tired.

Tuesday, July 16 2o13

"It depends on your intent.

Do you wanna get mad

and break something

or

do you wanna get mad

and fix something?"



   People are pissed. And juror number... whatever... made things worse with a self-serving interview on CNN, saying, "I think his (Zimmerman) heart was in the right place."  She's an idiot who's planning to write a book on the trauma she must of suffered by being juror number... whatever... and she'll probably make a lot of money off of it.  It appears that EVERYBODY involved in the trial of George Zimmerman is an idiot and contributed to the most idiotic verdict since the OJ trial. And I'm not talking just about the defense team. The prosecutors had their heads stuck up their briefcases too.   The prosecutor's 'expert" witnesses? What a joke. What were they experts on? Being morons? The whole trial was a sham, a copout, down right evil. However, you can't change the verdict. All the violence in the world will not change the verdict. Tearing up L.A. is not going to bring Tayvon back. Protest is a good thing... NON-VIOLENT PROTEST! That can help change things. But violent protest, burning shit up, throwing bricks through windows don't change a thing in America.  Be mad, be angry, and let all that grief fuel change... and remember change can only come through peaceful determination to fix what's broken.

Wednesday, July 17, 2o13

I live about a 1/2 block away from the railroad tracks. Mostly it's busied by freight haulers, lots of steel and lots of  tanker cars, big black tanker cars filled with... ? I don't know what. Now and then, usually later in the evening, theirs a passenger train that slides sleekly and quietly through town. It's heading for OKC and lands beyond. The windows are tinted so at night it's hard to see in. But I bet it's filled with business men and train men... and students on their way home for the holidays.  I've always loved trains. Love the sight, the smell of them, the mournful sound of their whistles late at night.  Where I'm living you can hear them coming from miles and miles away... particularly in the late evening and early morning. Sometimes they wake me up... but I don't mind. There's something calming about the sound of a train passing by when you're dreaming.

 

Thursday, July 18, 2o13

   I made a discovery yesterday. It's better if I turn off the TV and put on a little music as I write my blog. So, whatever happens here on the computer-screen page will be the fault of the Rolling Stone and not the voices of the liberal hipsters on The Cycle.

This is my writing lab. Okay, not really a "lab," just a corner of my little bachelor apartment. An old computer desk, small but sufficient laptop, room for my coffee cup and the modem for TV, phone and wireless hook up. Unfortunately, 

the wireless went down a while back, and I've had to use a straight connection into the modem to get online. What one must put up with in the name of... art. In the picture I'm looking a bit more hairy than usual. When I took this pic, I was in my old man "I-DON'T-GIVE-A-FUCK-WHAT-I-LOOK-LIKE" phase. I've gotten over that. Got the hair cut (chopped) real close, and I tend to shave on a semi-regular basis now. However, I did grow the "goat" back. My face just doesn't look right without some hair somewhere. To my right is a nice window for me to look out of. It's a regular house window but set real close to the floor. The whole ceiling is low. When I stretch in the morning standing up... I bang my hands against it. A few of my tall friends have to walk around my apartment hunched over. Small, one room, a kitchen, hallway to the bathroom... I like it. I like it a lot.

   Spent most of the morning arguing with some guy on Facebook about the difference between whining and protesting. Yes, that's right, the Zimmerman verdict is still a hot topic. This guy wrote a "poem" about how bitching about little things was the same as bitching about the verdict in the Zimmerman case. So, I wrote this and posted it on my Facebook page: "I'm concerned when we as a people can't tell the difference between standing up against injustice... and whining." And THEN the fight was on. He came at me with all these burnt-out clichés about, "The court system isn't perfect... can't go against the system... he got a fair trial... blah-deBlah-deBlah..." and I shot back with this:

"Jyrone, I understand that you believe a lot of what you're saying. But trying to debate an issue by using the same old clichés I've heard since I was a little kid... just doesn't convince me: 'our justice system is far from perfect, but it is the best one we have.' Well, if it ain't perfect, then let's fix the damn thing. 'And as we speak, young unarmed teenagers of all colors are being shot down in the streets. Where's the outrage?' So, if we don't pay attention to every injustice, every murder, every illegal thing that happens in America at exactly the same time... we can't pay attention to ANY of them? If the media played the race card, if the Right played the race card, if the Left played the race card, if the NRA played the 2nd Amendment card, If the prosecution played the kid card, if the defense played the self-defense card... I really don't care 'cause I'm playing 'the I don't want to be shot when I'm walking down the street wearing my hoodie card.' And that's the only card I care about. We cannot give people the right to murder whomever they want when they FEEL like it. Yes, we must accept the verdict of this case, however, we are obligated to denounce the court system when it doesn't do its job... protesting a verdict IS the only way to go about fixing a system that is a GOOD system but can be misused. And in this case, in my opinion, the court didn't do it's job properly."

And that was that. Didn't make any difference. I shouldn't be disappointed that it didn't because the worth of doing a thing or saying a thing is in how honest you present your side... the outcome I have no control over. Wish I did, though.

Friday, July 19th, 2o13

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q0TbnLctD8o&feature=youtu.be



   A wonderful day to be American. Today our President Obama gave an extraordinary, impromptu speech concerning the death of Tayvon Martin, the Zimmerman Trial and his personal struggles with racism back when he was a kid. You can view the speech in its entirety on YouTube (address above.)

   My long time friend, Albert Bostick, is an African-American artist and civil rights activist. The "murder" of Tavyon Martin hit him hard. In the last few days he has produced several paintings as a tribute to Tayvon. They are rather spectacular, and there are more to come. Al's creative energy
inspired me to sit down today and write another poem about the killing in Florida. The poem's not as "straightforward" as Al's paintings, but people seem to be gravitating to the Facebook site where I posted it. I'm also going to post it on my poetry blog, More Poetry by Robert R. Woods. I think this is enough for me tonight. Tomorrow I'll be back to write a little more... about what? You know, I never know. Do watch and listen to the speech when you have time.

Saturday, July, 2o, 2o13
   Well, it's probably NOT a surprise that for the last few days my blog has gone all politics. Not surprising since so much is going on around the "murder" of Trayvon Martin. The message of President Obama's speech yesterday came to life today with numerous protest vigils in big cities all around the good old USA.  And of course, where you have one group of liked minded people voicing their collective opinion, you're going to get the "other side" out voicing their opinion. I just don't understand how there can be another side to racism and gun violence. But there are people who can't join in and support that which is "right" because... well hell, just because they don't want to. It goes against what they want to believe. I posted this little idea on Facebook this morning:

"Pretzel Logic. A fun sort of thing. Can be used when you have no viable facts to support what you wish to believe. Example: "Catsup is always red. Therefore, racism in America does not exist." If you listen long enough to nonsense reasoning, you could start believing it! The more we repeat a lie, the easier it is for other people to start to accept it as a truth, as a fact! And that should scare the heck out of all of us."

Pretzel Logic is a logic that... well, it's not logic at all. It's a magic trick, slight of hand, or if you will, slight of mouth. Best example I got right now was the Right's use of Pretzel Logic to dismiss the idea of Global Warming: "Al Gore rides around on a jet airplane. Therefore, Global Warming doesn't exist." I know it sounds silly, but that was Sean Hannity's big Pretzel Logic statement back when Gore's movie about Global Warming, An Inconvenient Truth, came out.  Although it appears to be mostly a CONservative strategy, the Left is just as guilty of using it. I've always loved the Pretzel Logic of  "Science is all about facts and truth. Therefore, God does not exist." Again, we have an absolute that doesn't hold all that much metaphorical water. I remember as a kid science told me chocolate would give me pimples. About thirty years later science told me chocolate did NOT cause pimples. That pissed me off. All those kid years I spent feeling guilty about eating chocolate. AND for most of my adult life I've believed that nothing was faster than the speed of light. Why? Because Einstein said so! NOW we find out it isn't true. So I'm figuring if science can't get the speed of light and chocolate right, why should I believe them when they tell me, "There is no God."