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}

 

 

The Daily (W)Rite March 2o15 WK o2

The Daily (W)Rite

wk o2

 
“You can hang him from a tree,
but he can never sign with me.
There will never be a n***** in SAE.”

 

This was the SAE frat boy chant caught on tape and sent across the internet universe last night. And man did it cause backlash. President Boren of the University of Oklahoma (where the offense took place) closed the fraternity down giving the SAE students 24 hours to clear out. He also  suspended the "gentlemen" who were directly involved in the incident. Moreover, this morning OU students held a silent protest denouncing the action of these punks.

 

I don't understand this kind of behavior in the 21st century. Hell, I didn't get it back in my day when folks expressed this racism nonsense out in the open. What bothers me most isn't the chant but the kind of thinking that goes on in the mind of anyone who would say something like this. What the hell were they thinking at the time that they chanted this garbage? What kind of person these days doesn't understand the harmful effect of racism on other people and on the stupid jerks who believe in it? And does it change anything to just shut down the fraternity and oust the frat boys responsible? Maybe. But wouldn't it be better to change the thinking of these dudes rather than just suspending them, forcing them into hiding? You can't change a person's mind if you don't confront them face to face. And you can't do it overnight. Takes time and patients to get folks to change. Do we as a people have the stamina and courage to truly change the minds, the spirits of people who are still buying into this racist nonsense?

1o:12 PM
Been reading up on the racist thing that happened here in Norman Town. Been reading Facebook and everybody has an opinion about it which is punish that frat boys as hard as you can. I don't think there's any folks that sided with the SAE. Well, maybe a few did. But they didn't come right out and say it. They said stuff like, "Oh, yeah? Why don't you say something about all the rappers that belittle woman with their rap lyrics?" I get it. Try to change the subject, or indirectly say what the frat guys did was okay because other people do things that are just as bad. Yeah, we get it.

Tuesday, March 1o, 2o15
Got up rather early to go with David to his dental appointment. On the way over there, guess what we talked about? yeah, the whole racist thing that happened at the University Of Oklahoma. Pretty much we talked about how OU was getting a lot of national publicity over it. We're not use to that! I mean, sure, when football season is going and the team is doing well we get our share of notice. But never about something like this.  Over coffee at the Gray Owl we got it all figured out, though. All people have to do to STOP race hate is to listen to me and David for a few minutes. Man, we are geniuses when it comes to solving the world's problems. {smile}

Wednesday, March 11, 2o15

2:45am
I might dream about you tonight if it gets dark enough, if I ever get to sleep. I know how you are, though. You never show up when I need you, when I could use the sound of your English accent reminding me that my American voice is an insult to God and queen and proper grammar. No, you'll arrive as you always do when I'm not thinking of you at all, when I'm not consumed with the sound your tiny feet made as they echoed away from me down that crooked walkway of our old apartment. We were best together when we were poor living off the government, shopping when we needed to at the Goodwill for jeans, and t-shirts and worn-out tennis shoes. We were happiest when we worked as actors for Street Players . . .  during the day performing children shows at elementary schools in the smallest towns that Oklahoma had to offer, then hurrying home to Norman to rehearse the adult show for the coming weekend. If I could close my eyes and dream of anything, it would be of you and me during those happy years when we foolishly thought of nothing else but each other.

11:o2pm

David and I walked around the OU campus this afternoon. It was warm out. People in shorts and short sleeve shirts . . . just walking around enjoying the day. Out front of the Student Union there was a small pen filled with alpacas! Yep! NOT llamas but alpacas. A crowd of students surrounded them. 21st century students are so funny. Everybody was snapping selfies with the alpacas. I don't know why I find that so humorous. I really love the 21st century and the strange Earth creatures that live in this galactic time zone.

David and me did our walkabout for an hour or so visiting some of the older buildings that we used to have classes in. Yes, a few have been renovated a bit, but the Old Science Hall where me and David performed and directed a lot back in our day still felt like home.

We ran into KK and it felt a bit awkward for me. Back in grad. school Kk was my mentor and really good friend. Her and her husband use to call me every week when I got that job at Highlands University. And they even showed up one day in Las Vegas to say, "Hi." But after a few years we lost touch with each other, and when I finally got back to Oklahoma . . . well, it was like we never really had a relationship. She and "hubby" are always too busy to go do something. It bothers me. So, when I saw her today I just sort of mumbled a "hey." She hugged me and it was . . . uncomfortable.

The only thing I hate about being back in Norman is that everything has changed in some way or other. People who were my friends, if they're still here, aren't really my friends anymore. {no smile}

Thursday, March 12, 2o15

This morning was . . . weird! I woke up to the sound of a crowd arcing very loud out side my window! I couldn't understand the language they were speaking . . . I jump out of bed, ran to the window, and opened the blinds . . . to an empty street. What the hell was going on? But pretty soon my seeping self caught up with consciousness and realized the noise that woke me wasn't coming from humans but from birds! Sparrows to be exact, a huge flock of them in the trees just chirping their little heads off! "Welcome to spring," they were saying. Yes. When I'm fully awake, I speak perfect sparrow.

And then there was a thump and two voices (human this time) mumbling something. I looked out the window again and there's my landlord on the A-shaped roof (that covers the front porch) with a young fellow wearing a tool belt with a million tools rattling with every move he made. I really was awake now so it didn't take me long to realize they were up there to fix the roof, which had been damaged by the ice we had on the two days Norman Town had winter!

Lots of little errands to run with David today: to the bank, to Old School Bagel (David is really getting addicted to them) and then a short stop at Homeland (David needed yogurt). I checked my bank account at Homeland. Not bad. Lot of expenses this last month, though. Hospital stuff, doctor office stuff killed my finances a bit. But I am surviving. Still, I may have to get a job to make ends meet. It's tough being retired.

All in all it was a decent enough day. Not earthshaking, quaking good,  but a good day. Much better than yesterday when I was feeling like a lost dog. My feelings about life, my life do rollercoaster on me sometimes. And it ain't always fun; but it ain't always bad. You know what I mean?

Friday, March 13, 2o15





Ah, that wonderful holiday: FRIDAY THE THIRTEENTH! As a kid I remember Friday the 13th!  it wasn't a holiday, but just a day when you were scared shitless that something bad was going to happen to you! Seriously, I remember once faking being sick because I didn't want to leave the house cause I was sure if I went to school on Friday the 13th! I would die! I got away with it a couple of times but after a few years of my Friday the 13th! flu my mom caught on, and she passed on to me some great advice that I have never forgotten. "Son," she said, "don't be an idiot. Get your ass up and go to school!"

It wasn't until the '80s when the movies came out that I started thinking about Friday the 13th! as something sort of fun! Yeah, I was already a honorary old guy by the time the 80s rolled around, but I was in college and all my friends where relatively "young" and they were digging the blood and gore, and even though I wasn't really into the decapitations and stabbings and blood and stuff I went along with the crowd! And after a while I got as excited as they were about the "really cool" special effects. An that was the only redeeming thing about these movies. I mean, it was the same story over and over again: a group o kids go to Crystal Lake and each one dies a horribly graphic death at the hands of the hockey masked JASON! Okay, before you Jeopardy! smart, Friday the 13th! divas get up in my face, I know that in the first Friday the 13th! it was his momma and not JASON who was the killer! But JASON became the monster icon of the 80s NOT his dear old mamma! Anyway, the whole reason for going to a Friday the 13th! movie was to see the special effects, and how those little snot nosed, high school kids where gonna bite the big one! Horror movie special effects may be the ONLY good thing to come out of the 80s . . . that and music videos. {smiles and BOO!}

Saturday, March 14, 2o15
Well, the last entry for this week's blog. I'm starting to get a good rhythm to my writing. Hope it's interesting to read. Anyway, took the bike out this afternoon. It was a bit rough I haven't been out riding because of the weather and my lungs just weren't interested in breathing too deeply. they huffed and puffed most of the way to The Diner. Yeah, went to The Diner for a late breakfast. And the place was packed with couples and families. Luckily, I always sit at the counter at my favorite seat, the one in the middle that has plenty of room on either side for waitresses to stand and yell orders out to the hard working cooks. AND MAN, did they yell today! One waitress yelled an order that drilled into my right ear drum like a bullet. It was so loud and so high pitched . . . a banshee's cry! "EGGS OVER EASY WITH BAAAAAACON!" Damn.

I need to get out more for exercise, that's for sure. But I need to get out and just talk to people too. It's true, I go weeks maybe months without talking to anyone but David. Not that I mind talking to David, it's just that when I get around other people, other than David, I feel a little . . . uncomfortable? They scare me, maybe? Yeah, they do. People scare me, and when I'm scared I get angry, become more cutoff from people than I want to be in this life. So, this next week I'm going to try communicating with these Earth creatures. The more I don't make contact the less I'm able to write. Writing poetry is connected to living life; that connection is the creative umbilical cord that keeps the artist alive.  So, a new adventure starts this next week. More interaction with this earthly beings.
{last smile for this 2nd week of March}

 

 

 

The Daily (W)Rite March 2o15 WK o1

The Daily (W)Rite

wk o1

 

1st day of March and I can feel Spring! Yes, I know, it as cold in Norman Town today hovering around thirty-two degrees (with wind-chill it felt like twenty-eight), but I noticed when the sun came up this morning the line of thick icicles along the roof top were dripping. And about noon they dropped, bam, down to the ground one at a time making a horrible sound when they hit the pavement. And the cars passing under the window . . . in the snow their wheels made a soft crunching noise, but as the morning wore on and the snow melted . . . the tires made more of a squishy sound like rolling over a huge puddle of warm pudding. Yum!

Wednesday, March o4, 2o15
March is a bipolar Richard. Yesterday it was a sweetly warm 58 degrees in Norman Town, but today? Twenty-four degrees right now with the possibility of snow and ice! Come on, March! Stay on your damn medication.
David and I got out yesterday to run a few errands before "the big storm" which hasn't actually hit yet. But never can be to cautious. We stopped first at an old friend's house to just to say hi and visit for a few minutes. Our friend is pretty much bedridden so we talked mostly to his friend that cares for him. After that we picked up bagels for David at the Old School Bagel Café then off to Best Buy to hunt down a movie I'd been wanting to see. The problem was I didn't remember the name of it exactly. I had thought it was In Skin or something like that. Of course, I couldn't find it so I went to one of the "Geek Squad" guys for help. I don't like to ask for any kind of help at Best Buy because the Squad is usually unfriendly and unhelpful.

But I lucked out cause the guy working in the DVD section was on top of his game. He didn't know which movie I was blabbering about so he walkie-talkied a guy in the back, "Hey, Woody (yeah, the guys name was WOODY), you know the name of the horror film with Scarlett Johansson?" And he did! The title was Under the Skin. Now the search was on! Into the computer the Geek went: online name, security code . . . oops! Didn't work! Try again! And on the third try he found it. ONE COPY LEFT! We rushed to the horror section (which I may say, isn't very impressive. Maybe five selections of horror IN the horror section at the most.) AND . . . it wasn't there! In a panic, the Geek called Woody up again, and a few seconds later that big ass Woody (long hair, long unkempt beard) ran out of the back and started searching through the drama section as Geek perused a sci-fi section solution to the mystery. But no good. Under the Skin was nowhere to be found. I lost hope. But then Woody had a big idea, "Say, don't we ship videos back to the distributor?" "Yeah," Geek confirmed, "It could be in the return bend!" They both ran off to the backroom and I waited. Finally, they came back, heads down in shame, "No, it isn't there." I thanked them for their service, found David and started to leave Best Buy, hurt and totally disillusioned with democracy and our capitalistic economic structure . . . AND . . . on my way to the exit I just happened to look to my left and there it was sitting in a display cabinet for Lionsgate Films, one sad little Blu-ray copy of Under the Skin. And I yelled to the crowd, "I found it! Under the Skin, I found it!" And Woody ran out of the backroom and so did the Geek and they smiled and yelled "Hooray!" And David looked at us as if we were crazy. And for a moment, a brief, moment the whole world was calm and at peace . . .  and life seemed somewhat good. {smile}

Thursday, March o5, 2o15

I'm not sure if I should say that I'm proud of myself for spending most of today with the TV off and concentrating on revising a favorite poem of mine and, of course, writing on my blog. Seems sort of
narcissistic to complement myself for finally immersing myself in my art since I've been putting it off for three or more years! But I did get back to my desires, my personal need to be creative. And that is a good thing.

Anyway, not writing anything new right now, but I am revisiting some older work that I feel needs some major rewrites. Yeah, I'm feeling as if I'm just now ready to write poetry. Isn't that strange? I mean, I've been writing for at least ten years! Ten years worth of poems and I'm just now feeling that I might have skills enough to really write some poetry!

I want to share with you this one I'm working on. I began it back in 2oo5 or so. I've already rewritten it several times, performed it for an animation a friend made and included it in my second poetry play . . . and I'm still not satisfied. But here's where it is right now:

Welcome to . . . the Freak Show

 

Shuffling footsteps down the hall

come one, come all the end is near.

 

Where breathing labors like a vacuum cleaner

running out of suction! All those horrible years spent
a munchin' kitty fur, and globs of wadded dental floss.
All our years we grieve, we grieve like withered leaves
in bleak December. All those mourning cobwebs piling up,
all the dust and cigarette butts fornicating on the rug.

 

"Heya, Heya!" cries the Barker from the sideshow tent,

"See the amazing frog boy pickled in a jar!"
And there he is pissed yellow, mossy green
“Slumbering,” some whisper, “slumbering he is.”

 

Our blue-stain collar fingers mock him,

our skeptic sneers, cruel jeers torment his lifeless body
as we await his resurrection on the soiled pocket flap
of the Bearded Lady’s dressing gown.

 

So, better kiss me quickly, dearie, while my tarnished lips

remember how your warm, wet tongue once brought to life —

 

But she'll have none of that. She’s far too busy now

her hands a burying the dead, her tapered fingers
screaming lily white, those red fire tears carve crimson rivers
‘cross her angel face.

 

Our graveyard spirit spits too much these days

and drinks too much  these moments in.
We dance too close to sparrows.
Our sin? A need for simple truths,
simple thoughts that might comfort us,
the multitude of us still dying . . . lying  . . .  
naked in the winter snow.

 

We shall sleep, no more. No more may we sing

for better or for butter or for weather kinder
than the mother who dropped us at the nunnery steps
beside the curdled cream the milkman left.

But willows weep and hang their weary boughs
and mutter blasphemous oaths
as the horsemen trample passed our wailing ghosts.
Too demanding we have been. So cruelly circumcised
from nature's tattered teat no longer can we recognize
the bourbon scented breath of poor departed father
as he staggers through that barroom in the sky.

 

And there we’ll meet our makers!

Brutal gods who ram themselves
deep within our youthful throats
then lick their sores like wounded dogs
and disappear into the fog.

 

They never loved us, no, not at all.-Woodie, 2oo8

(rewrites o6-27-12, 1o-22-13, o3-o5-15)

Saturday, March o7, 2o15

The last day of the first week in March. A little groggy tonight as I force myself to set word to page. I think my energy is improving, but I still have those days when I just want to sleep. This evening is like that. But a pot of coffee, the air conditioning on low and the blinds up so I can see the night gathering around the old fashioned streetlights that line Trout Ave.  helps me stay awake. There's also, the constant worklights spilling out of the high windows of the facilities maintenance building across the huge parking lot. And my special  friend just right of my window, the amber streetlamp on the corner. The darker it gets at night the brighter that workaholic streetlight gets turning the asphalt, the grass, the stoic stop sign that cars rarely pay attention to . . . turning all in its circular path a warm gold color.