The Daily {W}rite January 01, 2019 wk o1

Hey, Long time no hear your laughter . . . seems like we haven't seen each since . . . oh, I don't know, last year, maybe? Instead of a New Year's resolution, I'm borrowing the idea of just a single word, one word to live by during this year. Can you guess which word I've chosen? Give you a hint: CRE + ATE. Yes! You got it in one try, so proud of you. Yes, my word to live by is CREATE. What not active enough? Well, maybe it's not but it is a powerful enough word to get me up off my ass this year and start tossing my art works out there so the public can see and hear what the hell I'm up to.

Wed, Jan. o2, 2o19
Talking to a local musician I like a lot. I can never remember his name. What a life this cat has had. Makes me ashamed to not have made anything out of my creative life. This guy is genius. Taught himself to play guitar, harmonica and drums. Probably so other instrument he plays too. And sing! Yeah, the guy sings too! He's a regular one man band.
6:18pm
Winter snow and ice alert in Norman tonight and into tomorrow, which means I won't be going anywhere . . . other than to the kitchen, bathroom . . . Yeah, that's all there is to my apartment except for the living room which also takes on the guise of a bedroom when I need to go . . . to sleep.  Although the heater is out in my apartment, the stove and the large space heater (which gets too hot and no kind of thermostat on it) that  the landlord brought keeps the apartment fairly warm . . . but I'm afraid of starting a fire so I shut the hole thing down when I get ready for bed.

Thursday, January o3, 2o19

What did I accomplish today? It would be easy to say . . . nothing. but would that be true? No, in fact I could say not true at all. I worked on 5 poems, yes, 5 poems and I did a lot of creating on Facebook. Developed a few memes, responding to folks in some of the different sites I'm on. I don't try to stir up controversy, but I'm not above speaking my thoughts. And there's a lot to say because quite a few folks on Facebook are very closed minded. Not that I know everything, but I know enough to get me in trouble with the internet trolls that stroll onto sites just to stir up some trouble.

It's still ruthlessly cold out on the streets, but not enough cold to keep me inside my apartment. Granted, I didn't go farther tha a door down from my complex, but I did manage to get a few shots of what the icy weather left on the trees as it left town.
11:31PM
Well, what started out as just a cold slushy, muddy day turned into a rather beautiful snow filled night. Magical, in a way. My sister is probably disappointed that the weather gods decided not give her the pleasure of a white Christmas, saving it all up for this very lovely (but still cold!) January o3, 2019.

Tomorrow the sun will be out, Norman-town will heat up into the low 40s and most of this beautiful snow will be gone by noon, and before sun goes done it'll all be gone . . . as if it never snowed at all.

Friday, January o4, 2o19

I spend too much time alone with nothing to keep me entertained but my memories, which are often enough dark dreary, depressing. I wind-up lying on the floor, or curled up in a corner, fetial position. Memory is my death stalker, my private executioner. And some will say, they will easily say it's not your memory that haunts; it's you, yourself, your ego, your Igor mentality that you are inferior to anyone who stands up on two feet.  Yeah, that's probably true. I'm weak willed. Even a memory is stronger than me, can't beat down without lifting a fist.

11:58pm

But enough of this bullshit! Bullshit! Actually, a very interesting word, bullshit! Believe it or not, bullshit is a philosophy mostly employed by politicians, conmen, girlfriends. {smiles}

Saturday, January o5, 2018

I'm afraid of people. No, very true. I get around them in a social atmosphere and I can feel my legs going limp, my heart really start sprinting inside my chest. Sometimes I break out in a sweat. Makes no difference if it's winter or summer or spring . . . my hands start shaking and forehead turns into a waterfall of warm, smelly sweat.

Anyway, all this I've been talking about? If I want to get over my depression, I need to see past it. The book I'm reading, The Art of Peace, keeps telling me to stop getting involved with my past and start putting my attention's focus on the action that is going on, that I am involved in, in this very moment. And forget the future too. Let go of wondering about that. Just totally commit to experiencing the moment that I'm in right here and now.

Sun. Jan. o6, 2o19 3:30am

Three thirty in the morning and my mind is wide awake. I'm in a reflective mood. The last bit of coffee on my left, semi-warm. The TV's on, NCIS: New Orleans. Pride got his ass in a sling over something that was in the last episode and I missed that. Anyway, it doesn't matter because I'm really not listening to the TV. It's just background noise. Besides, I watch too much TV.

I wrote this thing yesterday, just a stream of consciousness thing about one of the new group of US House of Representatives, Reshida Tlaib, the first Muslim woman elected to the House, who held a press conference (on her first day) and bad mouthed Trump with a hardy, "We are going to impeach that motherfucker!" And of course, a lot of people had something to say about that! Most of it bad. I mean how could she use such language on the steps of Congress?! So shocked we are by language LIKE THAT?!Well, I was so inspired by there wholesome, all-American sensibilities that I wrote this:

11:35am
I turned off the TV. Nothing but the ambient sound of the fan pushing the hot air from the stove into the living room, and the occasional sound of cars one by one passing by my apartment. I thought I heard a voice outside somewhere, somewhere so far away that his/her screaming seemed more a whisper than a scream. It's nice to have relative quiet with only the mumbling sound of my voice mouthing the words that I type as they appear on the computer screen. Everything is calm. I think of nothing but what I'm doing right now . . . . communicating with you, my beloved readers of my thought through the chosen words. {smiles}

I accidently found myself on the street in direct eye contact with a person I had known quite intimately in another time line. We decided that we would go to Starbucks, drink coffee and "catch up" on the other's life since last we met.
FRIEND: So, don't you get a bit tired of it?
ME: Of what?
FRIEND: This life, this existence if you can call it that.
Me: (shrugging) Well, as all my friends tell me: it beats the alternative. (laugh)
FRIEND: You must have some stupid friends.
ME: Yeah, but I like 'em that way. Makes me feel superior. (smile)
FRIEND: I thought about killing myself today. Before I ran into you.
ME: Really?
FRIEND: (irritated) Have you ever heard me lie? I mean, ever in the times in which you knew of me.
ME: I never have. You've always told the truth in my presence. However, what you do when I'm not around . . . (both laugh) END PLAY 

Monday, January o7, 2o19

The last day in the official first week of 2o19. We should celebrate . . . or something.

I am confused sometimes by my reactions to life, to people, to moments. I do things, act in ways, express myself to other people . . . not as me. Or at least not as I want to express myself to others. This afternoon, we went to this sign shop to drop off a present had for one of the people who works there. That person off on a job, but the boss wanted to talk to David, it seems. Anyway, I'm looking around the business and I see all this political yard signs, you know, the ones with the thin metal legs that you can stick into the ground? Any, I asked the owner of the shop, "Hey, if you got some trump guys come and ask you to make political signs for Trump's re-election, would you make those signs?" The owner paused just briefly and said that he would. We talked about signs and politics and then we left.

But when I got home I started questioning myself. Why the hell do I always do that? Why do I go somewhere and out of the blue start a political discussion? It's something I want to get away from, my starting a conversation that I know could end in yelling, screaming and maybe someone getting punched in the mouth.

10:33pm
Last entry for this week. I'm not liking my writing these days. Too ordinary, too trapped to this world from my remembrance of it. Too angry I am. Not at all poetic. Maybe it's my aging, my losing my artistic focus with my ability to think clearly . . . age it's away at me. Time devours me with long black arms. But I won't worry about it anymore. I'll look for that creative spark, that single gear, revved-up, ready to jump out of the garage, creative tires squealing, laying a thick smoke of burning poetry across the keyboard. Goodnight, good friends. Tomorrow starts a new week. {smiles}