The Daily {W}rite March 2019 wk o4

A long but very fun day. Went to see Us and yes, I think it's pretty damn good! I need to see it again before I write a review on it. Oh, speaking of reviews I got about  five to write for this year including one for Us. Let's see, tomorrow I start a review for Captain Marvel, then one for Glass, Happy Death Day 2U, and Alita: Battle Angel. Yep that's five! Better get started on it pretty fast.

You know I have a temper, right? I mean it's no big surprise, right? If you know me at all, you know I sometimes  fly into a rage. And when I get into that thunderous disposition, I just gotta get away from everybody until it subsides, it's sort of like an emotional tsunami. There's no stopping it until it stops itself. More tomorrow.

Sunday, March 24, 2o19

Ugh! Been a couple of days since I got the chance to add an entry to The Daily {W}rite. Oh, I was talking about my anger issues. Tonight, David and I stopped at Braum's for ice cream after grocery shopping. I know, it's not good for me, ice cream. But once a week?  Anyway, I ordered a strawberry malt from the girl behind the counter:

Me: Strawberry malt, please.
Girl: A what?
Me: A strawberry malt.
Girl: You mean a shake?
ME: No, I mean a strawberry malt! Strawberry malt!
Girl: Hang on a minute.
                (Girl goes to girl  #2 and the talk. Unintelligible.)
Girl: (to Me) What size?
Me: What size malt?
Girl: Yes.
Me: Large will be fine.

So, that may not sound like much but I was so angry with this poor girl who, I found out, was fresh on the job, first day. And I know that she could tell I was getting angry as we talked. And I could feel myself just getting madder and madder at her for working at Braum's and NOT knowing what a fuckin' malt was! And now I feel depressed and sad about my "yelling" at her, and me not at any time able to control my anger. I keep trying. I'm reading books, meditating, praying and . . . it's working a bit, I'm able to get out of my anger faster than before but I just want to end it, this repetitive, emotional instability that I always get caught up in.

Monday, March 25, 2o19
I wrote this poem the other day. Not sure I or my readers actually got the meaning of it.

Or Did it?

One pop of thunder
that shook the windows,
made the cats next door
howl like stray dogs. One
pop of thunder and then
a barrage of raindrops
pounding the shit out of
the driveway, stripping
the Bradford pear of its new
buds, smashing the tiny, white
bodies into the asphalt street below.
And then . . . gone . . . as if
it had never rained at all.

Not much to the poem. Pretty straight forward story about a flash-flood like rain that came and went so fast you barely noticed it at all . . . except for the dying flower buds lying in the street. The rain puddles were dried up after no more than a half an hour of warm sunlight . . . all evidence gone . . . as if the rain had never happened.

But when you start to think about poetry, how it always seems to have some sort of subconscious layer of thought that you don't notice  . . . unless you really look for it. So, a simple poem about a sudden rainstorm becomes a poem about that flash of anger I seem to always get into when someone says the wrong words to me, those words that trigger my rage against a life that has a super-human ability to be extremely unfair to me . . . or art least that's what I always seem to talk myself into believing.

11:11pm
My depression, my anger, waves of it tumbling through my head, twisting me into some  . . . thing unrecognizable to the rest of me . . . that part that's sane runs away into the darkness  . . . it doesn't have the strength to battle the insanity.

Tuesday, 26, 2o19

I learned a new world today: ennui. Definition: a gripping listlessness or melancholia caused by boredom; depression. Yeah. that's pretty much how I feel after one of my anger seizures. Not much I can do when one of them hits. I can get away from people and let it just flow through me away from people. The aftermath of one of my "seizures" can be physically debilitating. I just want to crawl up in a ball and just . . . sleep. Ennui is a good word the feeling after one of my "fits." But I've said all this before . . . hacen't I?

Thursday, March 28, 2o19

So, yesterday I talked David into a trip to Target. I needed sweat shirts and for some reason my go to place, Walmart, had very few, I mean very few! But Target was even less impressive. NONE that I could find. What the fuck?! So, on the ride home down Robinson St., and out of the blue David says:
David: I think I'll stop at the 7-Eleven (on Robinson) and buy some lottery tickets.
Me: Hmm . . .
David: The big Powerball Jackpot is $768.4 million dollars!
Me: Ugh . . .
David: I'll give you a million because you're my friend.
Me: Yeah, thanks.
David: Are you mad?
Me: No.
David: I could give you more. I mean I should give you more . . . if I win.
Me: That's okay. A million's fine with me. (as they pass by the 7-Eleven . . . ) Hey aren't you going to stop and buy the Powerball tickets?
David: Nah, I shouldn't waste the money.
Me: (loud) But you promised me a million dollars! What the fuck! (Both laugh) Damn, don't promise me a million bucks and then not get it for me. Always thinking of yourself!

          (Both laugh even harder as David pulls into the 7-Eleven to buy Powerball tickets.)

END PLAY

Saturday, March 30, 2o19

Even though have one more day in this week's blog, the last week of March, I decided to cut it a bit short. Not really cheating because in of the month week always has more days in it. So, instead of ten entries I'll have a total of six. 

As I'm sure you've noticed . . . especially since I always say something about it . . . I'm a bit of a mental case. Seems like a lot of time is spent on my anger "seizure," more  than most people want to hear, I suppose. TMO. Too Much Information. I know what it means. But information, good info, is something worth having. Besides, this blog is mostly for me to write about my frustrations, my joy, my love fore life . . . Yeah, I know. There doesn't seem to be a lot of that floating through my blog entries, but it really is there. Even in my darkest moments . . . I'm still happy to be alive. I feel such joy when I realize I'm still on this breathing plane of existence. I may not always show it. But it is there. Anyway, another month down and one more to go before my 71st birthday. {smiles}

The Daily {W}rite March 2019 wk o3

When I finished las week's blog, posted it on Facebook, I turned on the news only to be greeted by the story of brenton harrison tarrant (no, I'm not gonna cap the bitch-ass punk's name!), the murderous, racist asshole pictured above. I'll tell the story fast as I can but everybody needs to read it in full. So, asshole decided that the "white" race in New Zealand and everywhere else was being screwed over by all the non-white immigrants. "white power" was taking a licking, white supremacy was getting beat to hell in the newspapers, the TV and social media. So, mister bad-ass decided to go out and kill a whole bunch of non-white immigrants. And he did. As I write this, the dead count is 49 with a whole lot of other people critically wounded. Before going on his shooting spree, punk-ass wrote a 74 page manifesto that went on and on about white supremacy this, what supremacy that, and

what a good dude POTUS Trump was for supporting white supremacy . . . something like that. Then he packed up a shit load of guns and drove off to a masque and opened fire on every non-white body in front of him. Woman, children, old men . . . dirt-bag boy didn't give a shit. When he ran out of ammo, he went back out to his truck, car, whatever he was driving, reloaded and went back to make sure he didn't miss anyone. I mean, I think that's the story. It's still a bit hazy. The local New Zealand cops are piecing it together. Oh, one thing I know he did? He video taped the whole damn thing with a mobile camera strapped to his forehead. He put it on social media. I didn't see it but my friend said it was really creepy. It looked something like a first person video game only these were real people and there was real blood being spilt.  So, I'm not gonna waste much more time on this fuck-ass motherfucker except to say . . . what a little bitch he is. Tough guy, bullshit. A punk with a gun. Yeah, yeah, yeah. He did kill a lot of innocent people for some racist bullshit nonsense . . . . but he's still a punk.

Saturday, March o6, 2o19

I've reached a philosophical conclusion about politics . . . I'm not discussing it anymore because it's like eating a hole pumpkin pie in one sitting . . . it doesn't agree with my digestive system. I may not be able to give up pumpkin pie all the way, but I can certainly not eat the whole damn thing in 10 minutes without making myself sick as a . . .  a pirate on a treadmill. Politics? Hmm. I do have political thoughts, people who I admire in politics and those that I really, REALLY hate. And there are those opinions posted on Facebook  by my "friends" that I just get raving lunatic crazy over, and I wind-up saying something nasty to that witless friend, or if what he or she says is really, REALLY suck-ass awful I might unfriend them. BUT I'm done with that. I'll read their nut-job, often uninformed posts on politics . . . but I will not answer back . . . not even with one of the standard Facebook emojis (like, love, ha-ha, wow, sad, angry). Nope. NO comment. But I will post my political point of views on my personal posts . . . and I might answer some of the comments my words provoke . . . sometimes. The blog? No more politics on the blog other than these last two in this third week of March.

Sunday, March 17, 2o19
Well, it's just a smidgen cold outside . . . just a smidge. I went out on the bicycle today, a vest, short sleeve shirt (my Team Jesus shirt), sweat pants and my "work-a-day" tennies and I was just fine! Finally, not freezin' my buttocks off! Riding on the bike, though? A bit of a chore. Breathing to rough to go for very long, but I did feel better, and I'm sure that if I keep riding every day, my lung capacity will improve.  Hey! We went to the art museum today! Haven't been there in a while. Lots to see! There was a mirror exhibit that was really interesting. Sort of played around with dimensions. There were holes in the mirrors where a person could look in . . . and it was freaking as hell to be IN the mirror room with someone who you couldn't see but for their eyes staring at you.

New Thought
Sunbeams attack my right side, setting on fire the cotton blend, which radiates the sun's warmth at a disturbing Fahrenheit. Without a command from me, my hand reaches over, grabs the blind's strings and gives them a tug, and the blinds slam shut with a deafening THUNGH!

9:o7 am
A pounding sound. A thuggish sound, brutishly smacking  against the inside wall of my brain housing group. My eyes close and open then close and open . . . as if the magic of their repetition  will somehow end the pain. It doesn't. If anything the pain doubles, triples . . . even stretching the tension entrapped within my neck does nothing to stop the constant banging going on behind my eye sockets. A perpetual frown invades my lips. My breath kicked to the curb . . . each intake of breath accompanied by a mousy wheezy sound.  Not much can be done except bear the torture old age is inflecting on my beat down body. P.S. Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

Monday, March 18, 2o19
Always keep your mind as bright and clear as the vast sky, the highest peak, and the deepest ocean, empty of all limiting thoughts. -From The Art of Peace by Morihei Ueshiba

I wander off my . . . path? My trail? Too often to enjoy my life journey through . . . through . . . this thing, this endless, breathing world. Thoughts, my thoughts, the thoughts of others waylay, hijack my existence . . . my journey . . . and for what? For some unexplainable need to control life. But I'm no virgin to this robbery . . . at the least, I'm a coconspirator to this theft. Because they can't force me to do anything without  . . . my permission . . . and I always give it, give in to their need to destroy . . . to cripple me so my journey can no longer be walked . . . no longer a traveling dreamer.


Tuesday, March 19, 2o19

The trees that line the Energy Building parking lot on Felgar St. are beginning to bud. Well, at least one. Soon enough there will be bright white flowers sprouting everywhere and an ocean of green leaves will dance in the spring winds. Already the morning sparrows are out and about before the sun, jabbering like insane magpies about the  subtle change in weather, yes, still a bit cold in the early  morning air but spring is on its way . . . it's on the way.

Thursday, March 21, 2o19

Yes, I missed a day. I was very busy yesterday chasing down the Super-Duper Moon, the last SDM of 2o19 . . . they SAY! Anyway, I got David to drive me over to the Duck Pond around 6:3o pm, which was way too early according to David's "moon app." that stated not only when the moon would rise (7:3o pm) but in which direction it would rise. So, we started to just wait for an hour. I walked around the Duck Pond shooting the ducks, geese and tress, and what is left of the Duck Pond's watery body, which is really more a duck wading pond these days. So the sun started going down and David got cold and decided to head home for a second layer of clothing, and I wondered off looking for a place where I could set up my tripod and get some great pics of ol' Supie! That was a bit of a chore because there were trees in the way and a hell of a lot of phonelines in the way. I got to thinking that the best place to shoot the moon just coming up was near the road, so I headed for Brooks St. close to the railroad track and . . . found the perfect spot. The painted/animation shot was through the trees, but this one below (and a hell of a lot of his brothers) were shot just west of where Brooks meets Classen Blvd.

The Daily {W}rite March 2019 wk o2

Art Walk yesterday after I did a movie with the sister, Captain Marvel. Long story made very short by age, the day, yesterday just about did me and my 70 year old body in. No mas. Phew! Got home crawled up the stairs breathing like a coal train rolling up a steep mountain grade. Oh, brother. Finally got into the apartment and just collapsed like a wadded up paper bag.  Laid on the couch for about 40 minutes or so just trying to get my breathing back to normal.

Oh! The fun part? We ran into an old racist guy siting with his son-in-law, who was selling a book he wrote about the music of the '60s ("rock and roll," the old racist informed us just in case we didn't know it.) I hate it when young people write about the '60s. What the heck do they know about the '60s?

Anyway, David started talking to the old racist and somehow or other as it always is with racists the subject of racism came up. And I tuned out, watching the cute, old . . . er woman walking down the street . . .  most of them dressed in winter garb just it case the night got colder than they . . . "Well, back in the '60s that's just the way it was. I'm telling you the South had a better handle on how to deal with black people than the North ever did . . . " that's kind of what he said, and I laughed before the old racist could finish his friggin' racist remark. "Okay, well, good luck with the writing." David said to the young author selling his book. By the way, David bought one . . . of the guy's books. {huh?}

Sunday, March 1o, 2o19

Some mornings it's a hell of a lot harder to get out of bed than on  . . . other mornings. That's not true. Every DAY it's a chore to find my way out from underneath the covers, to open my eyes. But somehow I do. Today, is a productive, lazy day. I know. A bit contradictive, productive . . . lazy . . . but that's how I'm describing this cloud covered existence we here in Norman-town are experiencing on this "still-life" winter day. Yes, spring is coming. David commented yesterday that though it was still a "bit" chilly during Art Walk last Friday, it was sort of a "spring like" cold and not a winter cold. David should be one of them meteorologists on the TV news. {snicker, snicker}

I'm feeling better than usual these last few days. Even though on Friday I pretty much exhausted myself with not getting much sleep, a matinee showing of Captain Marvel (11:30am) and a vigorous Art Walk, I still feel pretty good. Maybe getting out and pushing myself a bit physically would be a good thing for my rapidly deteriorating health. The phrase use it or lose it is starting to make sense to me. David's been trying to get me to "workout" more at his gym. Maybe I should consider doing that. {smiles}

Monday, March 11, 2o19

I saw a murder of crows chase a hawk away from my neighborhood. Thrilling! What a sight, and the sounds? The hawk said nothing but the crows! They were screaming, yelling as they dive bombed the "helpless" hawk. I had to laugh. I just wonder what the crows would have done if they had actually squared off with the hawk. Well, I believe that the crows were very fortunate to have scared that hawk off with their screams. Brave crows, scaredy-cat hawk.

Tuesday, March 12, 2o19

Aging sky, my eyes watch the march of March across the muddy streets, the wetness of sparrows, the sorrow of majestic hawks degraded by the angry scream of killer crows. White on white on gray dreams, the sound of rain-soaked shoes against the pavement, steady, soldierly strides, a purpose to his movement. Maybe no more than a desire to get home as soon as possible, out of the cold, away from the graveyard day of this third month of this new beginning. Last year this time we talked with Alpacas outside the student union with nothing more on than a t-shirt and shorts and Walmart sandals on our tortured feet.

Wednesday, March 13, 2o19

Deja Vu

So, last night I went to see How to Train Your Dragon: The Hidden World with my friend Brendan. You may remember the story about me going to another movie a while back with Brendan AND there was someone in the backseat going with us to said movie BUT I didn't KNOW they were in the backseat until we got to the MOVIE! We had a good laugh about that. But this time BEFORE I got into the car I looked through the windows just to be sure . . . and there was no one there, no other person in the back, just the baby seat. Good! So, I got in the front seat, buckled in and off to the movies we went. As we drove along, we talked a lot about the new movie, Captain Marvel, which both Brendon and I had seen last weekend. Yea! was our consensus, and I was just going on and on about all the neat little twists and turns in the storyline. Especially interesting to me was finding out that the Krull were really . . . "Um, we probably shouldn't talk too much about details . . . " I had know idea why Brendan had said that . . . "Huh?" "Well,  Robin hasn't seen it yet." "What the hell difference does it make if Robin . . . " And with a cute little giggle behind it, I heard from the backseat Robin's fairytale voice sing . . . "Hi, Woodie." What the  . . . they did it to me again! Robin dressed totally in a black shroud of some kind was in the backseat all the time! DANG!

2:56am
So, my Facebook account is down. Hmm. Why am I having such a hard time with my account lately? Well, maybe it's for the best. I spend too much time on Facebook than I should . . . don't I? {snicker, snicker}

Thursday, March 14, 2o19

The sun goes down, which it really doesn't do. The night comes in an hour later than just a couple days ago . . . not really. We just set our clocks "ahead" one hour. That's our art. We express the world not necessarily the way the world really is . . . but how we wish to perceive it. Or we force upon it our own image, we create the Earth to our individual specifications,  our ways of life that we say are true, honest . . . but rarely are either. "Life is not always fair." Well, no . . . again. The world is always fair . . . it's we human thingies that are not fair. We create everything. We say the Earth is flat if saying it's flat is an advantage to us, gives us the  "upper hand." We are terrible creatures, we human beings. Even when we do the right thing, it's only because doing the right thing in this moment or that benefits us. As the dominant creatures on this planet, the ones with all the power to make life here a living heaven . . . we suck!

Last day of the week. Hope my typos aren't too bad.

The Daily {W}rite March 2019 wk o1

The first day of March and it's cold as hell outside . . . that can't be right, can it? "Cold as hell." A curious saying that I know for sure I must have picked-up on from my very verbal minded parents along with one of my father's favorite exclamations after drinking beer all night: "I gotta piss like a Russian race horse!" I understood that even though I never knew exactly what that  meant. I suppose all male kids heard their dads say that . . . okay, maybe not all kids . . . but I'm sure all male children understood the phrase without actually knowing the reference. Probably genetic knowledge passed on from father to son since human time began. Anyway . . . Oh, yeah! My original sentence concerned the simile "cold as hell." Yeah, how did cold as hell become a thing when the mythology is always hell is the hottest place . . . ever! I mean, you don't go barefoot in hell, right? Cold has always had a metaphorical relationship with hell. " . . . A snowballs chance in hell." "When hell freezes over!" Oh, and my personal favorite, "Check the weather station  because it's gonna be a cold day in hell . . .!" But probably the best answer is from Dante's Inferno. The Ninth Level of Hell has an icy lake where traitors are incased in ice! I don't know how many people know of Inferno, but that is probably where we got the idea . . . "cold as hell." {smiles}

Saturday, March o2, 2o19
Here's the poem I wrote the other night and pasted on Facebook.

Okay, this is the last poem I post on Facebook . . . ever. I write this shit, think I'm saying something about something and . . . nobody gets it. What do they get from it? "Oh, you're dissing Joni Mitchell!" "Joni Mitchell doesn't live in Canada, she lives in California." "Oh, Joni Mitchell didn't go to Woodstock because her manager wouldn't let her!" "I got every Joni Mitchell album!" What the fuck is wrong with you fucking brain dead fuckin' PhDs in whatever you fuckin' studied? I didn't write a poem about Joni fuckin' Mitchell. I didn't write about Wood-fuckin'-stock! I wrote a poem about what I thought about Mitchell, Woodstock and the way some people think about Woodstock/fuckin' Joni Mitchell from the perspective of being inside and/or outside the actual experience of WOOD-the fuck- STOCK. Fuck it. Me and my poetry are done with you fuckers. You'll never see another poem from me again . . . assholes. {no smiles for you}

Sunday, March o3, 2o19

I'm so glad to get all that mind shit out of my head . . . and body. No, it was making me "wanna throw-up" sick. Anyway, it's a new day and my thoughts are more gracious than they were . . . yesterday. Hmm. I'm thinking about the word . . . yesterday. Just like that. Not just the word yesterday but the cliché sentence: You know, I wasn't born yesterday! Which means, as I understand it, I'm not naïve, stupid, uneducated, etc. I've been around, you know? But if we take the sentence I wasn't born yesterday literally, then yeah, you were born yesterday. We were all born yesterday . . . get it. {smiles}

9:22pm
So, I'm watching The World of Dance and this duo, two geeky looking teenagers come on wearing these sweaters that say on the front . . . FUNKi! And that sparked my mind for some reason and I came up with: WTF = What The Funk. And I laughed thinking what a great name for a band. But that I made that phrase up was too good to be true. I Googled it and . . . yeah, it was already the name of a song. Damn it!

Monday, March o4, 2o19

So, got up early and drove over to the Warren Theater in Moore to see Happy Death Day 2U. It was a slow starter. First ten minutes had me squirming in my seat because it was basically a rehash . . .  no, strike that . . . an awkward rehash of the opening scene of the first movie. BUT we sat through it long enough for it to change gears into something unique and extremely funny, AND better than the original! Well, at least as good as the original.

Wednesday, March o6, 2o19 1:47am
I've got something on my mind, no. I got something drilling tiny holes in my mind. Donald Trump and his supporters. I know you're not shocked by my emotional expression I may convey when I say . . . Donald Trump is the worst POTUS, the worst human being that ever called himself an American and . . . his followers are just as bad with their anti-American sentiments that they try to gussy-up in the American flag . . . conservative patriotism is not patriotism at all. It is at best a tasteless joke. They and their counterfeit president need to stop or be stopped by the true patriots, the real believers in the Constitution of the United States and the Bill of Rights. Did you see what Trump did at the CPAC convention this year? I came out with that shit eating grin of his that he calls a smile and HUGGED the American flag! Hugged it. That is so damn disrespectful. The flag is a holy symbol to true patriots, true believers in that symbol . . . and this dolt, this scum with legs dares to treat it like that? Shame on him and his disrespectful followers who HATE, HATE everything that is America. I can't take much more of this guy. We have to get him out of the White House. This punk doesn't belong there.

11:02am

I'm feeling an extreme tiredness today. I woke up an hour ago, I did breathing exercises and drank a couple cups of coffee . . . and yet I'm only barely awake. I feel like I'm reality dreaming, floating through consciousness while all the while feeling as if I'm asleep. Screw it. I'm going back to bed.




Thursday, March o7, 2o19

People say they like you. Well, not all the time. Actually, it's rather rare for me to hear someone just say for no reason at all, with no coaxing, for anyone to say to me, "I like you." But even if someone does come out of nowhere with an I like you, I hesitate to believe it. I mean, If karma is a real thing, if you get back two fold what you send out  into the universe, then more than likely who ever says "I like you" is probably lying because I don't particularly "like" anybody. Now, don't get me wrong. I do have "a" non-relative  and "a" relative who I consider my friends. I'm not an emotional Scrooge. I like people . . . medium rare . . . come on!That's just a joke. Let's put it this way, I "get along" with people alright as acquaintances, as those not too familiar other beings who also populate this Earth . . . like the girl at Stella Nova who always has a wonderful teenage smile on her face as she listens to my absurd coffee order (Could you not fill it up too high . . . oh, would it be a bother to put maybe four large ice cubes in it? The coffee here is just too hot for my old lips.) and never once does she frown or look at me with the dark tyranny that youth often radiates. Yes, people are okay . . . from an physical and emotional distance. But once you get close, they start seeing the faults in your existence . . . those physical (Oh, he's gain so much weight, why does he wear the sides of his hair so long when the top is so . . . not there?), those artistic (I'm sorry, but your poetry sucks!) and those deeper cuts below the ego-line (You're a rather terrible person, no personality at all). Yes, those friends I can do without . . . forever. My favorite line, which I may or may not have made up: It's nice to be wanted even if it is in three different states. {smiles}