The Daily {W}rite January 2018 wk o3

Monday

I know. What the hell happen to you writing daily, HUH?! Hey! LIFE happened. Yes, the original Russian roulette, the universe, God or the Devil deciding that I got it too easy this life! Nooo! So, whatever powers that be decided to CRASH my computer! But you're thinking, "That's no excuse! Just buy a new one." and I did. I spent a hell of a lot of money too on it too. More than I liked but it's a little bit better than my old one and I need a good running computer IF I'm ever going to get back to showing my art and poetry around town.

6:05pm

Politics drains me of my desire to linger in this existence. Well, maybe not that drastic. But it doesn't do much for my believe that things will workout for the better. Trump and his followers have us by the metaphorical gonads . . . and it's not a pleasant grip. What do we do we the "other side" has no sense of right and wrong . . . strike that. The CONservatives DO have a moral sense: We are right and you are always wrong. But Trump? Is he the evil or just a puppet? He makes a deal with the Liberals concerning DACA, goes and talks to someone and then . . . changes his mind. Yeah, someone's pulling his strings, alright, and We the People are gonna pay heavy price to watch this scumbag dance.

10:30pm

Gotta give David a wake-up call at 11:30 tomorrow morning. He's got a doctor's appointment around one or so. He's been sick with bronchitis for the last couple days . . . and he's blaming me for getting him sick. Ha!

I'm starting to feel better after my sinus infection. The damn cold just really gets to me. But I've restarted the blog and started a new poetry blog, Poetry by Woodie. Yeah, not flashy, but I like the use of my nickname Woodie as my nom de plume! HahahahahahahahaHA! I always wanted to use that phrase:  nom de plume. How pretentious!


Wednesday January 24,
Went with David to his doctor's appointment. Nursed called him in and I sat on a very comfortable white leather chair and read some Edna St. Vincent Millay poetry:
Dirge Without Music
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.

So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:

Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned

With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.

Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.

A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains,—but the best is lost.

The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,—

They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled

Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.

More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave

Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;

Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.

I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

An older man than me came and set next to me and started talking about his wife having died and now he has no reason to ever leave his house . . . except to come to the doctors office. And we sat there a while talking about how it sucks to be old (I am hitting 70 this year and the old guy was 78). Don't let anyone tell you, he said in a whisper as if he was telling me a grave secret, that it's fun gettin' old. It's not. The nurse came in again and the old man was taken back into one of the nondescript rooms where they check your heart, ask how you feel and decide whether or not to tell you, You're going to die sometime in the future. 

David finally came out and we went home. I didn't think about the old man that I met at the doctor's office until now. I didn't think about the Millay poem until now. I don't want to be like that old man. I want to hate dying. I want to kick death in balls when it comes for me. One of my friends on Facebook posted the other day that he was wearing pajamas to bed because he was afraid that he might die when he goes to sleep and he didn't want anybody seeing him naked. I commented back, To hell with that! I WANT them to find me naked as the dawn! They'll have a hard time forgetting about me AFTER they've seen my dead, naked body. {smiles}

Friday January 26. 2o18 12:32am

One of those days. You know the type. In the apartment all day. No human (flesh to flesh) contact. Just the TV. MSNBC goes on and on about Trump. I listen. But as soon as Trump or one of his henchman show up to talk . . . I turn the channel.

I wrote a poem about Vietnam around 2006 (My Cream-colored Psychedelic Flashback) that I just reposted yesterday. I was shocked at the number of positive comments. One person liked it so much that they sent it to some semi-famous actor, also a Vietnam Vet, for him to read. Nothing will happen, I'm sure, but it's always a nice thrill when someone likes your work so much they send it to someone "semi-famous." 

It was enough to get me thinking about trying to get out of the house to do a reading or two. Still want to do the Power Point presentation of my poetry and my art work, which if your are a "fan" of my poetry or my blog you know I've wanted to do something to "get my work out there" for some time.

Friday, January 26, 2018 10:19pm
The day existed, the sun trying to light the world through a filter of unfriendly gray clouds that had just began to retreat to the western horizon, where the sun had already claimed its own land. We existed at the same time. A light wind spoke to us in gentle words along the outside of our ears. But we didn't understand a it said . . . neither of us spoke the wind language.

I'm relaxed, thoughtful tonight. A bitter day inside my head battling the evil forces who had taken up their crusade to save Trump from the FBI's probe against him. And of course, his champions, his protectors, the misguided CONservatives, fought against with the only weapon they have . . . It's all Hillary's fault. Obama's to blame." I cursed them a bit, calmed down and told them, I won't play this game with you anymore. Believe what you want or change your thought patterns and get on the good side of these troubles. Will they do it? No, of course not.  But I will not let it pester my sensitive peace of mind.

Sunday, January 28, 2018 12:39am
Been working on poetry and editing pics with some new apps. Semi-busy today, but not accomplishing much. I need to get up early and go do something tomorrow. Sleeping until four in the afternoon is just not making me happy. I need to be up and about amongst  the day walkers for a change.
11:47pm
Guess what I haven't been since Saturday, waking up Saturday afternoon at 4pm. Okay, I did get maybe two one hour moments of sleep today . . . but I just couldn't stay asleep for eight hours at one time which is what I should be doing. And I think I'm hallucinating a bit. I'm fading in and out as I write this not knowing exactly what I put on the page. This will need a bunch of proofing, I'm sure.

Monday, January 29, 2018
Did seem to get some shut-eyes time last night . . . err . . . this morning. You know I'm tired of talking about sleep or the lack of sleep. There has to be something else to talk about to write about.

There's a giant crane, a metal, heavy lifting crane . . . you know what I mean . . . I hope. Anyway three huge red lights on the length of it arm. Only one winks, blinks at me.at the junction, where the arm is attached to the vertical leg of the crane, is a white plastic rectangle that contains a white light, which is much brighter the red warning lights on the arm. The logo and initials of the company  that owns the crane, but the white box is too high up for me to see the logo or name clearly, even during the day it's hard to make out.

I thought about teaching myself to be more conscious about my life. What do I mean by that? Well, take my mind out of sub conscious mode for the most park, start being aware of myself and my environment more, take conscious control of my life. Like tying my shoes, you know? I tie my shoes without even thinking about it anymore. Am I missing an adventure there? Is there more to tying my shoes than tying my shoes? Perhaps the meaning of life is there somewhere within the double knots I use to keep my feet from flying out of my Chucks. I know for sure that there must be a poem in the idea of a grown man double knotting his shoes . . . perhaps it's a symbol for my insecurities about writing poems, about the way I look, my weight,  about life.  I snuck a poem into this blog. Yes, right above your gaze . . . on the left.

Well, this is all I got for January. My writing abilities have taken a bit a vacation, and my Muse doesn't seem that interested in helping me out either. Probably a lot of typos, grammar mistakes. But I did the best I could for the first month of a new year. AND I plan to get better as I "grow" along. So, goodbye, January. You were a great month, but I gotta move on to Feb. and beyond. {smiles}