The Daily {W}rite June 2o18 wk o4

FRIday,

Well, another day passed by . . . almost. Still have 24 minutes left in this wk's Friday. It's raining. A hard but very silent storm. I wouldn't have noticed it at all if it was not for the electricity blinking on and off. Played hell with TV. I was just booting the Cox box up when I caught sight of  a flash of white light outside the window.

The frat boys next door are howling at the moon, which is odd since there is no moon just rain and lightning. Very little thunder. A mime storm! Anyway, frat boys' lunar-lunacy isn't caused by heavenly bodies. Their moon shimmers in the bottom of a Bud Light beer can.

Tomorrow is SoonerCon. Getting up at 10am! YES! Out the door by 11 with the hope of hitting the Midwest City hotel where the convention is held around the time that people are wondering off for lunch. That's the best way to get a parking spot. David doesn't agree, though. He's already complaining about taking too much time last year driving around the parking lot and waiting on someone give up a space! David just goes to SoonerCon because I like to go. I tell him I can get someone else to drive me down there but . . . NO! I think he thinks it's his job. {smile}

SUNday, June 24, 2o18

Yes! Yesterday was SoonerCon for me, and it was a crazy wonderful day filled with fantasy, monsters, comic book and anime characters and . . . Artists. Lots of fantasy/sci-fi/horror writers and illustrators and make-up artists. I'm tellin' ya, SoonerCon is my Disneyland, and David Slemmons is that dad who doesn't really want to go, gut is stupid kid doesn't drive so, what the hell! I think he does have a good time, especially when he runs into an old friend that he can talk to about music and the "good old days" as his freaked out kid runs from booth to booth checking out all the neat super hero drawings, the wonderful horror masks and the dazzling Cosplay costumed characters! I am in nerdvana.

Particularly fun was talking to the writer J.O. Young. She's written a dystopia novel series titled Freaks! Oh, yeah, baby. The title alone is enough to get my intellectual creep running. But checkout the book cover. Click on the picture if the cover art is to small to see. I mean to buy a copy but when we were ready to go home after 2 hours SoonerCon I forgot all about it. But no worry. I can get a copy of the first book online although I'd would have liked to buy it directly from the author.

All the authors I talked to were so young! Well, maybe not really young but at seventy they looked like ten years old. And Accomplished? J.O has  . . . okay, I don't know how many books she's written though I'm sure she told me and I'm SURE she's written a lot. Anyway, here I am at seventy STILL trying to put together and get published my first book of poetry. Am I Jealous? No. Just astounded by how much J.O. (and the many other young authors I ran into at the Con) has accomplished in such a short period of time.

And then there are the

Cosplayers! Oh, so many! AND so much variety. Lots of Star Wars of characters as well as Doctor Who, anime characters . . . and most of them I don't recognize because I don't know a lot of anime . . . and groups of people, people interested in sci-fi and fantasy and . . . there was a family there dressed as different characters from different stories, anime and movies . . . ! Okay, now I'm rambling. Anyway, if you've never gone to SoonerCon, you should! Next year's Con is going to be here in Norman -town! Yeaaaaaaaa! I told David he needs to get that bicycle he keeps saying he's going to get. He asked why. "Hey, because next SoonerCon in Norman-town we can ride I bikes to it instead of driving to it in the car." He said nothing in response. {smiles}

MONday, June 25, 2o18 . . . 4:00am

It's raining. A pretty hard rain at times. there's thunder to. Rolling thunder, far off. When I was a kid, I saw this cartoon about angels in heaven having a bowling day. The bowling ball would roll down the heavenly lane and when they hit the pins there's be a flash of lightning and a big boom of thunder! I don't know how old I was when I saw this cartoon . . . but I always remembered it when as a kid a thunderstorm would roll in. I never feared thunderstorms as a kid because I knew they couldn't hurt me because . . . hey, it was only angels bowling.

"Thunder is the sound caused by lightning. Depending on the distance and nature of the lightning, it can range from a sharp, loud crack to a long, low rumble (brontide). The sudden increase in pressure and temperature from lightning produces rapid expansion of the air surrounding and within a bolt of lightning." -Wikipedia 

When I became an adult (or a reasonable facsimile of one), I learned that thunder and lightning didn't erupt in the sky from  angels were bowling. No, I learned the definition of thunder and lightning that was more . . . scientific . . . more realistic. Yeah, you learn a lot of things when you grow up, no Santa Claus, no dang Easter bunny, and hey, life isn't fair . . . all that correct knowledge. Rather boring and uninteresting. So, I tend to believe . . . no, I choose to believe science is wrong . . . sometimes, at least when it comes to thunderstorms. Far more interesting to believe that it IS caused by enthusiastic angels drinking beer and bowling.  

2:30pm

yawned my way out of a pleasant dream (I say it was pleasant though I don't remember it at all) around 10am. Greeted the TV news with a fond click, click, click of the remote, warmed up last nights coffee . . . closed my eyes and thought about . . . I fell back into sleep, into some other dream (I think it was another dream) and woke up finally at 11am. 

I should do something, you know, with my life. Something so profound for society that when I'm dead they will set aside one day in the year to celebrate my contribution to existence. I'll get on that . . . maybe tomorrow. 

As a child in grade school I had the most difficult time trying to remember how to spell tomorrow. I don't know why but my write hand kept writing it as t-o-m-m-o-r-o-w. Isn't that something? I still do it every now and then . . .  t-o-m-m-o-r-o-w. Maybe this spelling mishap is due to my love of the elongated m sound. Mmm. The yummy sound, the sound a shy person utter during the love making process. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm . . . 

THursday, June 28, 2o18

My friend is so upset about what's going on in American politics that he's seriously thinking about moving to another country. That would be a bad idea. I mean, he would still have to take me to Walmart and the movies every week . . . or more . . . The commute from Norway to Norman, OK? Yikes! Though I joke, sort of, the fear the depression that many of my friends are feeling about "That Guy in the White House" and that he got his travel ban on Muslims okayed by a predominately conservative Supreme Court bummed a lot of us out. AND just yesterday Justice Anthony Kennedy decided to retire,

WHICH means there will be another opening on the Supreme Bench and . . .  well, TGWH is already grinnin' like a hound in the chicken coop . . . he plans to put a hardcore conservative in that spot . . . a YOUNG hardcore conservative so he can have the Constitution rewritten to serve the need and greed of the far right conservative. And people are scared shitless. I got lots of friends who have already "got out of Dodge" for the politically greener pastures of other countries. One guy just left for England swearing that he'll NEVER step foot in America again; I few other had headed out for Canada a long time ago. But you know what I think? Bullshit to that. Your responsibility as an America is to stand up and fight for America not run off to some foreign country, FIGHT for America against its enemies both foreign AND domestic. 

FRIday, June 29, 2o18
  
"Iron is full of impurities that weaken it; through forging, it becomes steel and is transformed into a razor-sharp sword. Human beings develop in the same way." -Morihei Ueshiba 

The line at the movie theatre's concession stand is not long, but there's only on person at the counter and the grandmother he is waiting on have 5 kids with her ranging from 6-12 years old. And they really don't need any  more sugar. And the grand mother is buying them all snacks for the movie (probably The Incredibles 2) and she asks them individually, one at a time what each wants. "I want nachos and a coke," says the 6 year old that can't help but swing around on the pole that separates one concession line from the other . . . and guy goes to get the nachos and the coke (which the kid doesn't need) and I'm counting the number of kids she has and I think I'm gonna be stuck in this purgatory of snackeries forever. Ah, but another employee opens an other register . . . GOOD! I can go over . . . but as soon as they see the cashier, the long line of people behind me run over to the other line leaving me like the cowards that they were. "John! Get over here!" Grandma yells at the bigger boy. And he takes his time looking at the menu board and I want to scream, "You little fuck! Pick something and get on with it!" 

And then I remember the saying I placed at the top of this Friday post. I had just read it, right before David picked me up to go Sicario. And I realized that this was my moment in the forge. Facing not being in control of a moment. So, I start to look at things around the theatre, studying the posters, the people next to me in the other line who aren't going to let me in their line even though I've been standing here in Granma's line before they even walked into the theat . . . Okay, NO! that's not what I'm suppose to be doing. I'm suppose to be learning how to curb my anger . . . rid myself of the impurities that I've picked up a long the way. 

SATurday, June 3o, 2o18

It's difficult to change "your ways." The thoughts inside your memory were carved into the gelatin, that soft, gray tissue that we call the brain, and re-forged by every experience that laid a boot on ya. Good memories are there too, but more ghostlike, like air, you can feel them occasionally but they don't carry the weight of a bad memory so they become inconsequential, more dreamy as if they'd never existed. The bad memories . . . nightmare created . . . they run the show. Backstage. In the dark, behind the black curtain legs. You know the term ghost light? It's an incandescent floor lamp placed in the middle of the stage so you can walk about, in the dark and see just enough so you don't fall off the stage into the orchestra pit. My conscious self is that ghost light, and when it goes out . . . 

Just the other day an old joke popped into my consciousness. There once was a blind carpenter who picked up his hammer and . . . saw. Maybe that's it. Maybe that's the trick. Maybe the only way to find peace is to be blind to everything, to all those memories and dreams. If I could stop visualizing the past, it wouldn't have such a profound hold on me. Be blind and see. 

I once looked inside of my skull.
It was nothing like what I thought;
it wasn't grey and mushy, I must say,
it was more sand colored like rain
left over from this morning's storm,
muddy thought-prints around the edges,
its rocky edges, and silently faceless
clouds swam through the breeze.
Yes, there was a steady, snoring
breeze, and I am sure, so sure
this must be heaven.

The Daily {W}rite June 2018 wk o3

Saturday,

Politics. I try to avoid it . . . but I never seem to be able to do it. And Facebook. Full of those Alt-right buttons that I just can't resist . . . what a fish I am . . . I see the bait and CHOMP! So, I write and write and write and I try my best to NOT get nasty . . . but it's hard . . . and I write and I write and when I'm finished I'm gone off the post. And I don't look back. I don't go back to see the rebuttal comments that are sure to come. A bit cowardly on my part, don't you think? Well, yeah, I'm a bit of a coward when it comes to that. But I say exactly what I want to say and that is that . . . you can't refute it; it's not open for discussion. Why? Because I tell you the fucking truth and I KNOW from experience that you are gonna come back with some lame bullshit to disprove what is undisputable. So, I just say my piece knowing that none of it will get through to you, you'll still say you believe the same bullshit you were spouting before I typed-out my comment. So, why bother? Because I at least got to lay the truth out there for you just in case you want to hear the truth. {half-smile}

Monday, 18, 1018

I meant to write earlier . . . . but. I don't know what to write about at 1:30 in the morning. I haven't done much of anything for the last three/four days other than wake up after noon and watch TV, piddle a bit on the Facebook, play some solitaire, force myself to work on the damn blog and . . . stare out the window. God, I'm the oldest man in the universe, that ever lived on this dirt clot. I spend most of the day in my bathrobe and slippers, sipping coffee, taking lunch . . . ham sandwich on dark wheat German bread . . . a bit of kale instead of Romain Lettice, a couple of tomato slices, mayo, horseradish mustard and a wavy line of Sriracha "HOT" sauce. The trick to the hot sauce is to put it directly on the ham BEFORE the tomatoes. The kale goes first on piece of bread with the horse radish mustard. Remember, "HOT" sauce directly on top of the ham. Tastes better that way and it isn't as messy as putting on the tomatoes.

Tuesday, June 19, 2018

We went out, David and me, late at night (midnight) to get groceries. There's something unnerving about the Walmart parking lot after midnight. First thing we see is an old, bearded biker heading for his "hog", and all I could think of was  . . . . Ghost Rider. I mean, except for the large amount of gray facial hair he looked like a walking skeleton . . . in a Levi blue jean jacket, sleeves cut off, blue jeans, scarred motorcycle boots with a silver chain around the right boot. And he was carrying a bag full of groceries . . . No meat that I could see . . . just vegetables. Vegetables? What kind of bad-ass biker buys nothing but vegetables at Walmart after midnight?! No wonder why he looks like a walking boneyard.

I don't want to talk too much about politics on this blog, particularly because I just talked politics in the first entry of this weeks blog. BUT I just gotta mention this: Emperor Trump proclaim last night that he was going to create a Space Force army  to patrol the universe! Yep. He said it. And I got to thinking about a CNN headline I saw today: 1,500 Immigrant Children are Missing. No one seems to know how to find them, they've been misplaced. And now my head is reeling with possibilities. What if Trump stole those kids to be his Space Force army. I mean, it makes sense. No one knows where they are, they are just kids! KIDS! It wouldn't be hard to transform them into a killing machine, Space Force army.

Thursday, June 21, 2018
Here it is already the last blog for this wk. And it's the first day of summer! Yeah! I haven't been riding in my bike in about a month. Hell, I haven't even house much! AND it's already the first day of summer! Oh, well. Hey, I did write a new poem last might . . . early, early this morning . .  and instead of just posting it on Face, I thought I would post it here. Yeah, I'm nice that way.

Fly

We'll you fly with me,
sit and sing with me?
My eyes have forgotten
but my sense of smell
still recalls your breath.
A minty kiss on a cheek;
a smile accompanies it.
You watched me sleeping
sometimes while I dreamt
of you watching me.
A cloudy sky, a sailor
hawk adrift upon an
endless sea, uncertainty.
Will you not sing to me?
The old songs, the ones
that we loved as we
loved each other.
Woodie o6-21-18

The Daily {W}rite June 2o18 wk o2

Sunday,

This last Friday was Art Walk for Norman-town, and David and I went walking the art, which for us always starts out with us moving through space in a very energetic manner, both of us wishing to see everything, every painting, every musician . . . well, after about 45 min. of running around  . . . we begin to slow down. Just two old men after all. We usually only last an hour and a half before my back and legs start aching and David's lively cane dance becomes a zombie shuffle. But this last Art walk . . . ? We didn't get home until around 10:30pm!

9:51 pm
So, there's a story to be told . . . but how to tell it? Where to start telling it? Never sure. This afternoon I sat outside on the porch waiting for my friend Vickie to pick me up so we could go see Ocean's 8 with David, of course. Anyway, I'm sitting on the porch listening to the sparrows sing . . . I mean . . . I couldn't see what kind of birds were there because the trees that line the street are so thick with leaves . . . and birds love to be heard but never seen. I wonder why that is? They are shy, I suppose, afraid maybe. Afraid of cars and cats and those hawks that sometimes come along and snatches them out of the air as easily as I swat a fly . . . But no hawk today. There is, however, a friggin' crow that makes such an awful sound that everything is still for a second . . . until I and the sparrows and cardinals realize it's just a crow.

It's warm outside and I didn't get much sleep the night before . . . maybe an hour . . . perhaps as much as three hours if I was lucky. Anyway, hot, hot, hot it was and I could barely stay awake. But I did and I thought about how little time I spend outside listening to the world, the birds, the wind that drifted freely through tree boughs . . . actually, it's the leaves being moved by the wind that makes any kind of noise NOT just the wind because wind by itself doesn't really make a noise, does it?

Monday, June 11, 2o16

NEW – 2014 Report – Veteran Suicide Statistics 20 Veterans a Day Commit Suicide.  Active Heroes’ plan is working to reduce these numbers. – Active Heroes

Talking about suicide today on Facebook. When someone famous commits suicide, you get a bunch of posts and comments from my fellow Facebookers about the grief they are feeling because this actor, this celebrity died. To me, it's normal and often touching to hear stories about what this actor, that performer, this singer, that artist means to individuals. A lot of times they are mourning their own youth, which a lot of these celebs. were a part of in some indirect way. 

So, what happened really recently was the suicide of  celebrity chef Anthony Bourdain. And a lot of people took it real hard, AND whenever someone grieves about a celebrity there's always one of those Facebook trolls that tries to belittle the mourners with some kind of ridiculous meme that says something like: "Why are you mourning this celebrity when '20 Veterans a Day Commit Suicide.'" 

Okay, these trolls don't give a damn about vets anymore than they care about Anthony Bourdain or any other celebrity. They just post these derisive memes to stir up trouble, get the legitimate Facebook folk to fight with each other. internet trolls are nothing but a delivery system for fake news. Ignore them.

However, if you want to do something for the vets, because suicide IS a big problem, then do something to help. Volunteer at a suicide hotline service or take a day and work with vets at the VA. Or when you meet a vet when you're out and about just take the time to talk to him or her, ask about their service. Just make that human connection with them.  That will help a lot more than writing some hateful meme. That does nothing but cause pain. 

Tuesday, June 12, 2o18

I spend a lot of time exploring the idea of the peaceful warrior. A simple concept, really. Give in without giving in, fight without fighting  . . .

There is no lack of hardship in my life . . .  radiating from both the external and internal realms. Lately, I find myself having such difficulty interacting with "other" people. I just feel such an anger when then "mess" with me my life, when they glare at me or bump against me or cut in front of me in the ticket line at the movie theatre . . . It's difficult for me NOT to be angry. My whole life seems like such an abuse. I sometimes feel that my only reason for my existence on this . . . this clump of dirt . . . is to be a target. And who knows? It may be true! And if it is . . . well, the big question I need to struggle with is . . . how do I respond to a hostile world?
11:36
Went to see Heredity today. A very old fashion horror movie but somehow . . . a very 21st century tale. Really creepy, nasty and horrifying. Glad we went to see it.

As we drove to the movies, David and I talked about our fear of getting old and . . . doing the big dirt dance. We decided that it's important that we keep living . . . keep getting out into the world, stay a part of life and maybe in the crowd death won't find us as easily. David brought the topic up and it really surprised me because I had just written about the same thing on my blog right before we left for the movie. Eerie.

So, I guess I'll get out of the house more, walk around in this world a bit more than I have, get out and do something with my existence before I no longer recognize that "I am."

Wednesday, June 13, 2018
I think someone may be living in the apartment that I share a wall with. But I'm not sure. It's been vacant for months. But I swear I heard a knock at its door. It could've originated from  the apartment just down the stairs from my apartment. But then there were voices, cheery voices that I'm pretty sure were right next to my front door! And then . . . they were gone! No other sounds coming from the hallway, and as best as I could hear no sounds coming from the apartment next to mine. Hmm. A family of vagrant ghosts, perhaps, just looking for a place to spend the day while they wait for the sun to go down.

Thursday, June 14, 2018
Well, the last day of this week's blog. "Use it or lose it." Yeah. Applies to poetry, to writing. This first two weeks of entries have been tough. I feel like I'm very slowly losing my ability to write a half way coherent sentence, a creative paragraph, a poem.  But I'll keep hacking away at it. Maybe will get better. So, I hope you enjoyed this week's posts. Forgive the typos, the spelling mistakes. Just too tired of writing tonight to proof read it. {smiles}

The Daily {W}rite June 2018 WK o1

So, I'm back. Did you miss me? Of course  . . . I missed you lots! And LOTS! Hope you caught the poem I wrote for my 70th birthday! Yep, that's right! The big ol' seven zero. On the day of my birthday I went to a local grocery store and at the checkout stand I said to the cashier, "I'm seventy years old today." She stared at me for a minute, studied me really, and finally said, "Well, you don't look so bad." {smiles}

Saturday, 5pm, June o2, 2o18 
Another sleepless night, again. My body refuses to fall gently into that good sleep . . . it itches, aches, can't get at all comfortable enough to close its eyes and allow my mind to walkabout in the dream world. So, I stay awake, usually, until eight or so in the morning . . . sometimes even later. But finally, my fleshy frame will "melt" into a sloshy bucket of blood and muscle ( and fat), and I'll float away into unconsciousness . . . and maybe sleep for ten to 30 minutes tops . . . and I'm up again! And that's NOT good. I should be getting at least 6-8 hours sleep IF I want to remain healthy. At least, that's what the TV tells me. Monday, I'm going to the doctor's office to get my nebulizer prescription filled. I'm inhaling "Ipratropium Bromide and Albuterol Sulfate", four vials a day, everyday for my COPD. I'll ask the doctor when I go about my inability to get some proper sleep.

Sunday, June o3, 2o18
Those who are possessed by nothing possess everything
-Morihei Ueshiba

Yes, I'm back into discovering my inner-self, my spiritual self. And I know what you're thinking . . . here he goes again! Looking for something he is not ever going to find (peace of mind). Maybe I will. Maybe not. But exploring, the journey to that place, any place, physical and of the mind is the spiritual aspect of living. What do you think? The quote I started this entry with comes from a book, The Art of Peace. Morihei Ueshiba is the father of the martial art, Aikido. The word Aikido translates: The Art of Peace. Sound weird? To me, yeah. But I'm learning to attune my western ear to the philosophical sound of the "peaceful warrior" concept.

Wednesday, June o6, 2018

Changing a way of living, of believing, of reacting to the world as it "attacks" you. Learning to learn all over again. How not to control your anger, but use it. To express that anger in a different way, a positive way is a chore that may never be totally completed in this particular existence. My anger? I think I was born with it. I got a subconscious feeling that that slap on the butt I got from my mother's birthing team . . . they were probably true believers in NOT sparing the rod and spoiling the child. In fact, I have a strange feeling that ALL of them in that room, on my birthing day (was it my first)  took at least one good whack  at my tiny pink ass just to make sure I got the point that "this world hates you."

Anyway, I had a doctor's appointment on Monday to get my inhaler prescription renewed. The lady at the front desk told me that I had an overdue bill and that I had to pay it right then and there or I couldn't see a P.A. And . . . yes, I got upset. I tried to tell her  that her information was wrong because I just paid that bill . . . Doesn't matter. It doesn't appear on her screen, therefore no doctor for me until I paid the outstanding bill. So, I paid it. But I was so mad, so angry . . . all that day into the next I couldn't think of anything else but revenge and that clinic. You know, something like calling the clinic's boss and getting everybody fired . . . yeah, like that would happen. Anyway, I've been evil mad ever since, and ever since that incident I've thought about every off hand comment thrown at me by some drunken scumbag,  I remember the time my stepfather shoved a loaded shotgun in my gut . . . You see? One slight by a minimum wage earner at a health clinic and I'm reliving my whole sad, violent life. {no smile this time}

Thursday, June o7, 2o18

Heck of a rain storm traveled through all of Oklahoma today. Came in fast and hard. The poor student in the animation got caught up in it. Her umbrella was much help. But we needed rain. Not much more to write about this week. I think I spent enough time showing my manic side . . . at least for now. So, see you next week.