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