The Daily {W}rite November 2018 wk o4

If you are at all into the Christian religion and you wondered what the world would be like after the Rapture, you should have seen Norman yesterday, Thanksgiving Day. All the shops on The Corner were closed. Not one car parked on the street and only a handful of cars on the roads. Scary spooky, a ghost town. David and me went to a lunch for people who didn't have anywhere to go for Thanksgiving. We got there and I noticed that most of the people going in were, well appeared to be homeless. I got knot in my stomach. I thought it was because I felt like was sort of cheating, getting a free meal when I could afford to go to a restaurant and buy a meal. But I realized that the guilt I was feeling was only psychological and that the knot in my gut was because I was damn hungry. So, we went in and and had one of the best turkey dinners I have ever had.

Friday, November 23, 2o18

I wrote this on Facebook today:

"Maybe I am, like so many of my Facebook friends, suffering from holiday depression. But I'm aware of it and say to myself . . . get to work on living and screw your feelings. But if I can't just forget it . . . write it out in a blog, into a poem or on my Facebook timeline, or go for a bike ride! DO something other than fret about how sad I feel."

I find it difficult sometimes . . . no, a lot of times . . .  to be around people . . . on Facebook, in public situations. Some of my "enemies" that I am forced to "socialize" with (because they are friends with David) just don't get it . . . "You need to stop putting me down in public IF you want me to remain civil to you when we meet." I've talked to David about it, about some of his friends that "mess" with me . . . but I don't think he believes me. So, I stopped talking to him about and just "deal" with these idiots but just cutting off all communication with them.

Saturday, November 24, 2o18

A little under the weather today, tonight. Under the weather:
"This phrase possibly has nautical or seafaring origins. commenting on the origin of this expression, a website called the Phrase Finder mentions that in the old days, when a sailor was feeling sick, 'he was sent down below to help his recovery, under the deck and away from the weather.'" -KYPhrase
That's me. "Under the weather." I've been getting sick more often these days. Tired . . . mostly . . . have a hard time concentrating . . . staying awake in a movie or at home watching TV. It's a struggle for me to even sit here at the computer desk and type this blog out.  Maybe I'll write a little bit more later on tonight or this morning.

Sunday 25, 2o18

My depression has a strangle hold on my conscious mind. It has developed the technique that a boa constructor uses. IF you try to wiggle out of it's grip, it just gets tighter and tighter until . . . So, I've learn to NOT fight my depression. If I just accept that it exists and I am in its grip and there's nothing I can do to free myself . . . I free myself. Or at the least, it just gets tired of me not responding to it,  and goes away. Writing, too, seems to be its Achilles' Heel. It doesn't like me talking about the pain, the headaches, the sadness it causes me. It would prefer that I didn't talk about it at all . . . but knowing that, that is never going to happen  . . . when I get too personal with my readers about the torture of never being able to sleep because of this or that horror that happened to me or that I delivered onto another . . . it slowly recedes back into the dark memory closet from which it was born. It's true. I can feel it unwrapping itself from my brain and slithering away.

Tuesday, November 27, 2o18

LIFE IS WITHIN DEATH, death is within life; you must exist right here, right now. -Morihei Ueshiba

Went with my sister to OKC for her to prep for her shoulder surgery. I was her navigator and I got us lost in Oklahoma City. I got extremely frustrated. "Don't worry," my sister said trying her best to calm me down. Worked a little and we turned around, went in the opposite direction . . . . one more missed turn . . . and finally, we found the right hospital. "See?" Judy said. Yeah, I saw. but still I get angry when I get lost.

ALWAYS KEEP YOUR MIND bright as the vast sky, the highest peak, and the deepest ocean, empty of all limiting thought. -Morihei Ueshiba

Lost. Too many times, lost in the darkest alleys. Always stumbling along until I bump into an old memory that makes me even more lost than I was before. I've a bit of something tickling me in the back of my throat. My head full of unused sleep . . . a yawn draws me a bit closer to the couch. I may go there soon. Perhaps I will travel to a dreaming drug store and purchase a remedy for my absence from the living. "I wonder if the dead ever see the living?" 

2:41pm
Noir. Pronounced: nwar. A French word meaning black. Some English speaking critics believe dark is the better English translation. I know that kind of blackness. I live in it, it lives in me . . . I watch the stars borrow through the thinner area of the nights skins. I don't smile at them, not even the brightest star can make me hope . . . the darkness always finds its way inside . . . my head. 

Wednesday November 28, 2o18 5:28pm

Did I say something about a fever, sore throat and coughing up phlegm the other day after I got back from OKC with my sis? Well, a good night's sleep and I felt really good, at least, good enough to go with David today to a coffee shop. We sipped coffee and David worked on his play and I got back to teaching myself how to draw. I bought a book to sketch in and maybe write a poem or two. I flipped through the pages a bit and realized it's been three years since I wrote or sketched in this book. Sigh. Anyway, I found a few ideas for poems in those old pages and created a few new drawings. After that, we went to Walmart and the grocery store on Lindsey and 12th. And I made plains with David to take me to the laundromat tomorrow. I haven't washed clothes in a very long time. Anyway, got home, put my groceries away (still didn't get everything I needed like paper towels), use the nebulizer and took a bit of a nap . . . woke up feeling even worse than I felt a couple of days ago. Damn it. I called David and told him tomorrow I'm not going anywhere and would he pick me up some Nyquil. {a very SAD, little smile}

Friday, November 30, 2o18

Okay, I don't want to underline and bold this . . . but DAMN! I really was very sick. All night last night, headache, fever, the chills. I'm feeling much better tonight but I can tell the sickness is still crouching in the shadows, waiting for me to go to sleep . . .

10:09pm
Anyway, I'm at home, writing this final bit of a bog entry, and I'm realizing for the first time that this year is about to tab out and we're going to face another New Year with all the sorrow and sadness, all the joys and disappoints we are forced to face ahead of us. Another year to try and get it right, treat the world better that it has treated us. Believe in something greater than our own petty desires. Another year to try  and be something . . . worth the amount of air it takes to keep me living. Be something. Something.

The Daily {W}rite November 2018 wk o2

Went to see a movie last night. I know! We don't usually go to the movies at night! But since today is Art Walk and we are old . . . er we thought that it would be good not to do the our usual matinee and then try to make it through 2 or 3 hours of Art Walk. We saw the movie The Girl in the Spider's Web and . . . well, not sure it was worth late night drive to and from the Warren.

11:51pm
Well, I'm pretty beat so I won't be writing much tonight about Art Walk except to say: It was BLOODY DAMN COLD tonight. More tomorrow about this month's Art Walk and Bedlam Saturday. What is Bedlam? Ah! Tune in tomorrow and find out. {smiles}

SATurday, November 1o, 2o18
As much as I am a true spirit of Norman-town, it is just too cold for me to be out celebrating Bedlam. Ah, I haven't forgotten my promise to you, dear reader. Bedlam is the annual match up between OU and OSU . . . you do know I'm talking football, right?

5:53pm
So, the Bedlam game? Wow! Right as I'm writing this it's 41-41! Great game for watching BUT if you're a fan of either team . . . a nerve-wracking mess! Probably

gonna watch the end of the game and get back to you when it is over.

7:54am
What a heart attack of a game! Final score: OSU 47, OU 48! Yes! and to make it even sweeter . . . our defense, the one that everybody has been smacking around for not being any good, WON the game with forcing the only turnover of the game AND stopping a two point conversion with 1:03 on the clock! Yeaaaaa, us!

P.S. I've got a lot of pics of Game Day. Tons of them. The one on the right is from Sept. because . . . wait a minute . . . am I repeating myself? I mean, I already told you how COLD it was outside . . . wait a minute . . . did I say it was too COLD to go out? (Checks posts above.) Yes, I did and yes I told you that I didn't go out for the game . . . what was I saying? Oh! That's why I recycled this pic (on the right) from Sept. It was too COLD for me to go out today and take new pics.

SUNday, November 11, 2o18

Thick in it. No reason to fight as I've always fought at it when its giant, invisible hands grab me 'round the head, yes,  big hands crushing the inside . . . yes, from the inside of my head, they grab  me,  scramble my thoughts, my memory, neatly knead my consciousness into a dough . . . a soft, pliable, wet dough.

There's no reason to be found for this torture I do unto myself, no hat to wear against the rain, no coat warm and soft enough to ward off the chill to my limbs, my whole old body, my shoes too holey to protect my already blistered feet from the wraith the carpet wages on the bottoms of my toes.

Okay, so my dark, creative impulse has dried itself out. Sorry you had to see that and the picture that goes with it. But it is necessary sometimes to allow the evil to "exorcise" itself out of my POEtic mood (see what I did there?), or should I call it my LOVEcraft crush on the morbid side of my artistic-self.

MONday, November 12,2o18

It's a sad day but a glorious day . . . Stan Lee died on this November 12th at the age of 95 (1922-2o18). Well, you can figure out IF you were ever a kid why the "sad" in the beginning statement above. Stan Lee was Marvel Comics, at least to me and billions, may I say that, of kids who just ate up Spider-Man and all the other super hero characters AND super villain characters that Marvel produced.

It was always Stan Lee at the head of it . . . I felt that way because he was in every Marvel Bullpen Bulletin that I read as a kid, a little treat from Stan. Every issue Stan was there answering questions from fans and telling us  all about up and coming issues. Stan Lee was Marvel Comics to us. AND do I dare say that Stan Lee has more appearances in the Marvel movies of the 21st century than any other actor in the Marvel Movie Universe? Stan Lee was my literary father. He guided me through "kid" years, gave me hope that even though I was always the kid that the school bullies would pick on whenever they felt a need to torment someone . . . sooner or later I would grow-up and become Spider-Man. Of course, that never happened, and if I became a Marvel character at all I would be a minor, minor villain. But that's not Stan's fault. He tried to show me the would to adulthood by creating characters that were not JUST super heroes but human beings my age and going through the same types of things I was going through as a child living in L.A. Yes, Marvel Comics brought humanity to the super hero character. They weren't just super heroes, the were human beings with human problems just like me . . . us.

Oh, the glorious part of my opening statement? What a wonderful life Stan Lee shared with us. Stan WAS a super hero to us, us kids, we adults. If I could accomplish just one moment that I felt glorious about, one moment to stand side by side with the millions of glorious moments that Stan Lee gave to us in the form of comic book, bullpen pages, movies?! I would think of my own life as being glorious. Excelsior, dear friend, "Excelsior!"

The Daily {W}rite November 2018 wk o1

November is here. December stands in the wings. A shiver runs through both months when they think that soon, too soon the year, this year will end. And we will begin again a new life without sin. Yes, repent! We shall repent! Like an unfaithful lover caught in bed with another  . . . New Year resolutions will ring out like rock music blaring through the dark cold night that always accompanies change. Repent we shall . . . and then we'll sin again as we always do, as we are destined to do. But that's another time, a time to come. I mean. who knows if we'll make it to the end of the year? {smiles}

FRIday, 3:42pm
Got up early. Well, no, NOT early by a young man's perception of time. But an old . . . er man, 10am seems early . . . considering that this old . . . er man didn't hit dream stack until 4am.

David and I were suppose to go out a do a few things today . . . exercise a bit . . . when I say "exercise" I mean take a leisurely walk around Sutton Wilderness Park in Norman. Also, he had said something about going to Vintage Stock, which is one of my favorite places to go hunt old . . . er movies. But we didn't make it out of the house.


The Day Before (In David's Car)
Me: Okay, you want me to call at 11am?
David: Yeah. And if that doesn't work, call me again at 12."
Me: how about call you at 12 noon first, and then if you're not up for it I'll call you at 11am.(long pause)
David: WHAT?
Me: (exiting the car) Never mind.
BLACKOUT 

SATurday, November o3, 2o18

I don't like it when people treat me as if I'm stupid. However, it's true, I may well BE stupid,  and maybe I'm pretty close to being the stupidest person to have ever graced this . . . this existence . . . . but it's no one's job, no one's responsibility to point it out to me, or gossip about it with my friends when we're at a party and I go to the restroom . . . allegedly. Snooty people. I dislike them too. Always correcting my speech, telling me how I'm suppose to pronounce their names, speak their names in the same accent they are using. Oh, please, snooty people. Do I tell you how to pronounce my name? Am I the one that goes to one of those fancy coffee houses where it takes about three days to tell them what kind of coffee you want, Latte this, Half and Half that, a foam flower on top, or maybe a detailed rendering of The Last Supper  or . . . The Scream by Edvard Munch! Ah, but which version? AM I the one who can't make up their mind even when the line to the counter is already 3 miles long? No, I just want fuckin' coffee WITHOUT The Picture of Dorian Gray etched into a layer of hot, milky foam. Although . . . that would be cool.

SUNday November o4, 2018

1. Difficult to write today, this day, which is like any other day . . . if at all true and not just a lie I tell myself, then it must be me that is difficult, hard to get along with, selfish and unkind. I'm unaware of any behavior in myself that would lead anyone to assume I am the villain . . . of my own life story.
2. The world is ambivalent to my existence, to me feelings. I hate the cage I've quarantined myself in, the corner of my room that I hide in . . in here . . . within the creases that the workmen made putting up the drywall.  
3. Yesterday. A reminder that I'm older than I realize while squinting at that bathroom mirror . . . admiring the

wrinkled flesh around my eyes. Nothing new, I sure. But I can't remember seeing it before.
4. If I looked more humanoid,  would people be less inclined to cannibalize my spirit? 

5. My eyes hurt. I saw too much of the truth inside the raging thunderstorm.
6. Her dark-sun eyes . . . I cannot force myself to look into them, they might drag me towards their dark waters. So, instead, I stare at that corner of her mouth, the only place where she shows her age . . . a deep, red scar carved there by the many hours and days and nights that had brushed by her life. When we met I mistook her for being much younger . . . even though at her adjusted age (30 something) she's still a kid. 

MONday November o5, 2o18 (3:47am) 
Almost 4 in the morning. Sleep is tap dancing on the fleshy edges of my eyelids. I'll fall away into the dark lake of dreaming soon enough. Dreaming. I've been doing a lot of that lately. Well, maybe not any more dreaming goes on inside my head than any other time asleep or awake . . . I'm just remembering my fantasies a bit more these days. Not sure why.

3:02pm
I feel a poem is necessary to explain the curious mood I find myself drowning in.

Alien

Sometimes I feel alien. 
Not quite a human being, feeling
more like a dwarfing star
devoured by its own heat.
Sparrows once sat on the
window ledge and sang sharp,
crisp songs for my ears, 
my ears alone. I vaguely hear 
them anymore.

Smiles, the few that I have seen
in this life seem vacant, lost uneven.
Even the most sincere face is just space,
empty space devoid of expression.

Is there any meaning to any of this,

this endless breathing, this existence

which no one seems to appreciate

beyond their own shallow lives?

It would be nice not thinking.

Be, instead, wind strolling mindlessly

through the dark green boughs

of early spring.

Or perhaps not even that.

Perhaps it would be best

to just rest, not move at all

like dirt in an open grave.

Woodie o5-14-12 (rewrites o1-1o-18, o8-1o-18)

TUEsday, November o6, 2o18

Yes, we voted today. Yes, we went in numbers, large numbers of people waiting in line just to cast their votes, and YES! It probably won't matter a bit. But we tried. People are anxious waiting to hear the good news! The conservative, white supremacy movement will be crushed and we true patriots of the USA will finally live in peace . . . or maybe not. I doubt we really have the numbers to change . . . anything.

At Sprouts, the very young, tall curly head kid was checking my groceries. "So," I asked, "did you go vote?" "Uh, no, man. I forgot to register." Probably not the best answer he could've come up with because the older cashier at the checkout line behind him reached over flicked his ear, "Idiot." He corrected his mistake (admitting in an organic food store that he didn't vote) by overcharging me for the groceries I bought. "$58.00?!" Yes, I was freaked out. "Oh, sorry man." He readjusted the total, "Yeah, it's actually only $18.00."  I got to thinking that maybe it was a good thing he didn't register to vote. {smiles}

WEDnesday, November o7, 2o18

Well, 2:37am on the last day of this first week in November and the last entry to this week's blog. I wish I could leave this week behind with a joyous entry . . . but it can't be that way. No, we didn't do well against the demons that lurk in out politics. In Oklahoma very little will change because the conservative gang is just too powerful. But there is a bit of good news. The Dems did take back the House and . . . that's something. Maybe not as n=much we think we deserve but it IS something. I doubt I'll write anymore for this week. And I may just post this . . . right now. No, let me say just a bit more. America? You listening to me? Don't be too bummed out by the votes this election period. We'll get you back, will never give up on you. So, you hang in there. Don't despair. Don't give up . . . and we won't give up either. {smiles}