The Daily {W}rite January 2019 wk o2

This book of Eastern philosophy says I can never find peace unless I spend more quality time with Mother Nature. Fuck. It's winter. Fuck. I mean, even during spring and autumn -the two most comfortable seasons of the year- I still don't dig on "nature" all that much. Now, I 've told this directly to the book, The Art of Peace, the book I'm reading to clear my mind . . . but the book (The Art of Peace) just stares at me . . . doesn't say a word. I hate it when literature does that!

Wednesday, January o9, 2o19

This winter's day slowly changes into its eveningwear, a dark blue, a black cloud of scarf around her neck. Soon she well be night. We will not recognizer. She'll no longer be that gentle day of light we love. The gossip is we'll soon have rain, a 100% chance! The odds are not in the favor of those soulless creatures who are annoyed by the waters from the sky. But don't rejoice you who love the rain, you worshippers of nature and all she does. I've no tolerance for either the sacred or the mundane. I distrust the both of you equally.

I wouldn't mind a thunderstorm! At least then I could keep a

suspicious eye open for what hides in those shadows the night creates.  You lurkers, you demons of twisted, human minds! I trust you even less than the holy and atheist.

I could wish if I wanted to because there is no law against secretively wishing . . . I'd wish for someone to share the night with me. Both of us frightened by the dark and what she bears in her breast . . . but never would we fear each other. We would be each others candle light, a smile of hope upon our faces.

Thurs. Jan 1o, 2o19
Have we not yet had enough? Enough of this? Enough of that, enough of enough already?  No. Never, I think. We'll  continue on . . . crawl if we must across the dried Earth if we must. Our legs and arms, our lungs will give up long before our spirits even think of giving in. All the flowers will die and we will still be here  . . . we will still have tears enough to mourn their passing. All the dreams will shrivel up becoming nothing more than forgotten memories . . . yes, we will be here, we will scream fare-thee-well . . . and long after our voices have quieted  themselves, becoming nothing but hollow whispers . . . we well still be here.

Friday, January 11, 2o19
The weather dude from channel 4 said, "Friday, 100% chance of rain." Well, it is no longer a prediction, it's confirmed  . . .  it's been raining all day. It's still going strong. {smiles} I do have a poetry site, but I decided to post this new set of poems (titled Short Stuff) on The Daily {W}rite. Hope you don't mind.

This are just little thoughts, little stories/ideas that pop into my head every now and then. Not a lot of words to them. But hope that because they're short the reader will take the time to contemplate the idea in each of the poems.
5:17pm

Damn! Sometimes my blog gets a bit prissy about what in place on its fine, white skin. I hate you, blog. I do.

Anyway, as was said somewhere above, 100% rainy day today! Not a mean-ass rain. But a gentle rain, a calm rain. a Chinese torture kind of rain that never appears to ever want to stop!

Saturday, Jan. 12, 2o19
{Note: poems and animations can be enlarged by "clicking" on the images. Smiles}
Last night our 2nd Friday Art Walk turned into a 2nd Friday Art Swim. A very cold wind blew at us a very cold rain. Ugh! Hardly anyone showed up. The one really bright moments of Art walk I spent at Resonator, a small "co-op" of young, very out there on the edge artists.

Really, an energy you couldn't believe. One "art piece" made up of two young men playing chess, was my favorite. But there were all kinds of "performance art" like pieces. One guy made pancakes that he gave away to the crowd to eat, or he'd throw them against a wall  . . . and we'd watch, hoping that we'd be there to watch as it slid down the wall and hit the floor. A great energy with this group. I wish I could be part of it.

Spending some time working up some of my poetry for this open mike poetry night at a local bar. I've done it before, once before, and it was a disaster! I had a difficult time, my legs were shaking, they wanted to run away, save me from a crowd that was rowdy and coughing all the while I was up there at the mike. And then the guy who ran the show, some punk-ass professor jerk, gave me the business about my material, it needed a "trigger warning"  for the audience . . . whatever the fuck that means.

I'm getting ready to call it a night, shut the computer down. Gotta a bunch of anime series on Cartoon Network designed specifically for adults that I like to watch. No, not THAT kind of adult stuff. Sheesh! You got a dirty mine. {smiles}

Sunday, January 13, 2019

Sometimes . . . no . . . most times . . . yes, that is better . . . most times during this life I find myself somewhat lost in the . . . in the . . . room? Yes, the universe is too large a word for me, hard to feel claustrophobic in something as undefinable as an entire universe. Ah, but a room, a simple, whitewall room, for walls surrounding you . . . the enemy inside and outside. THAT is something a singularity could easily become paranoid about . . . just thinking about confinement . . . external and internal . . . makes me want to rip out my hair and scream, shout so loud the world goes deaf!

Monday, January 14, 2o19

See, here's the thing. I know what I am talking about when it comes to politics. I know bullshit when I hear it and I can't help but say something about it when I hear it! But there's a problem. Most American folk like their damn bullshit-NO- they LOVE their damn bullshit. The believe there is a constitutional right to bullshit . . . The Inalienable Right to Believe Whatever BULLSHIT You Want to Believe! NO, it's true! The People don't give a flying burrito about the truth . . . especially if it tries to deter them from the bullshit that they choose to believe. You hear that? I mean, most folk KNOW that their bullshit is bullshit! But they don't care because as one Trump patron put it, "I don't care what the truth is. I believe what I want to believe." And that's it, straight up. So, knowing the truth doesn't get you very far. No one cares about the truth. They believe  . . . whatever they want.

But-but-but-BUT! I can't give up the truth because no one cares to believe me. I have to find a way to convince them that the truth talks and bullshit walks. Yelling at them doesn't do any good because they're not deaf! They ain't blind, they just pretend to be blind! They're not stupid, either. I mean, very rarely does calling someone "AN IDIOTIC MORON WITH THE IQ OF AN OVERRRIPE AVOCADO!!" do what you want it to do, change someone's mind about something that he/she has already made a decision to believe!