The Daily {W}rite The Birthday Month Edition May 24, 2019 wk o4

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NT3zp2vYMvo
Well, my birthday was yesterday and . . . it was a kicked back but truly lovely celebration. Went with friend David and his family to a Japanese restaurant, which I chose cause it was  . . . . MY BIRTHDAY! AND I broke my rule and let David pay for my meal because it was . . . MY BIRTHDAY! AND I was feeling adventurous and had for the first time ever . . . fried eel. Yuck! Yes, it sounded like it would be yucky and . . . it wasn't. Very delicious! Mmm. Better than chicken. Okay NOT better than chicken. As GOOD as chicken. {smiles} Oh! the birthday song above is on YouTube. My friend Timothy Croom tagged it on my Facebook timeline MY BIRTDAY . . . day.

Saturday, May 25, 2o19

I am often enough lost somewhere between here and now and the gray lands where memory wanders. I wander there too looking for a sense of reality, and understanding that this way or that way are only arbitrary directions with no specific direction to follow. I do look for the memories that will set all of this . . . of this now . . . whatever this is  . . . set it all straight, a logical straight line that leads to an answer that will make the moments yet to come worth the wait. And every time I get close to the ghostly memories that make up my life . . . they melt away  . . . like snow under a sunlit sky in May. There for an instant and then . . . not there at all.

11:01pm

I feel abandoned by friends . . . sometimes. Left on the barren shores of my personal island. Sometimes  . . . I hear whispers aimed at me, trying with that light, noncommittal whisper  . . . ("It would be best if you didn't say this about that or that about this . . . You understand.") to make it seem as if my "friend" didn't really say it. I don't know what to do about it. I think maybe I need to dump them all and just start over. See if I can locate friends that aren't as "embarrassed" by my existence.

Then again, is there anyone who will accept me as I am? Probably not. I could just keep my mouth shut. Say nothing  . . . ever . . . as quiet as an open grave. Even the tombstones would sound like blabber mouths compared to the stoic state of my lips and vocal box. {smiles . . . sort of.}

Sunday, May 26, 2o19

It is Sunday and I'm already mourning the end of Game of Thrones. There is a goodbye, last show on tonight with mostly interviews with actors, writers and behind the scene looks at how it all came about. BUT it doesn't help much in easing the loss . . . or will it? This may well be the eulogy for a show, the final bow before they put it in the ground . . . and then . . . resurrection? Maybe. I don't think they can let it go quite so easily. Pretty sure it will go the way of Deadwood with a movie or two for HBO.

11:55am
My mind is too busy trying to convince me that I should just give up and spend the rest of my life on that personal, private island I've created on this blog and through my poetry. Be nothing more than words on a page. Let no one see behind the curtain, behind the Venetian blinds of the window that faces Trout Avenue. A little melodramatic? Maybe. But life is nothing more than . . . words on a page . . . nothing more.

Monday, May 27, 2o19

Today was . . . . well the animation on the left says it all. I do sometimes get redundant. Facebook is an interesting place to be on Memorial Day because folks post pics of their relatives who were in the military and are no longer with us. Grandfathers, grandmothers, uncles, aunts . . . father, mothers and brothers and sisters . . . everyone that died during "The War" or who served in "The War" and died in civilian life.

10:31pm
My life . . . I'm still struggling with that . . . my existence. What do I do with myself? Anytime I did something stupid (like tracking mud onto the front room carpet), Mom would just look at me, shake her had and say something like, "Robert Ray Woods. What are we going to do with you?" Since Mom is no longer around to tell me, I guess I'm on my own figuring that out. What am I gonna do with . . . me?

Tuesday, May 28, 2o19
Well, 8:24 in the morning . . . and I'm already up. Not sure if I got more than 2 hours worth of sleep. The heat is starting to keep me awake at night. I've got to get the air-conditioner fix before it gets way too hot. Need to get on the landlord about it even though he just replaced the air-conditioner in my apartment last summer.

4:49pm

So far, so good. Haven't passed out yet. David and I went to have coffee earlier. He started complaining about the landlord not returning his kitchen drawer he was supposed to fix about a month ago. "And what about your air-conditioner?" I told him I hadn't called him yet. So, we get coffee and sit down . . . I open my book to read and David is on the phone . . . and then, "Hey, what's wrong with your air-conditioner?" Not looking up from my book, "it's not cooling the apartment." "He says it's not cooling off the apartment." Oh, crap! He's talking to the landlord! David finally hangs up, "Yeah, Kirk will go to your apartment now and see if he can fix it." {Gasp}

Wednesday, May 29, 2o19

My landlord is out getting me a new air-conditioner. Hope he doesn't take too long. The window is open where the air-conditioner goes . . . no screen on it. In fact, none of the 9 windows in my apartment have screens . . . so, just one open isn't bad but . . . anything  . . . wasps, mosquitos, cats (they climb, you know) and hawks could get in through that open window. Could I shut it, the window? Yeah, but then it would be unbreathable in here because of the heat.

Last night, I was falling asleep to this cable music station, Soundscapes. Really cool music for writing my blog to. Plus, it can also be soothing, comforting . . . music to fall to sleep by . . . but not last night. Just as I hit that dream stage of sleep . . . I woke up to this strange music that was coming from the TV. No, I wasn't dreaming. It was this song. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gyp7Atr4oNg&list=RDGyp7Atr4oNg&start_radio=1&t=32&fbclid=IwAR2jYK8nZAxJrEPrn-RIs9OjlKzLzU08gPDbROTp7eEoP9LuURQ1EIRavxg

Thursday, May 3o, 2o19

I cannot live in a world of people where I am the accessory, the sideman, that character whose backstory is invisible . . . not a fully fleshed out . . . a shadow of a person, a mist in the shape of a man . . . a human incomplete. I don't desire to be a cartoon . . . black & white . . . in plasmatic colors . . . deathly colors . . . a tombstone on a meat stick.

I can perceive this world as mine. All this surrounding me is here solely to interact with me . . . an impromptu existence . . . all of you . . .  all of this . . . orchestrated, put in motion by me . . . because of me . . . I like that better than being the sidekick, a minor player, the last sword-less soldier on the left . . . supporting caricature . . . roll credits . . . the end. Not for me. I choose to live forever. All of you can choose your fate . . . die the way you wish  to die . . . I well mourn you, remember you, laugh at you . . . but I won't be joining you in the grave.

10:40pm
A good day today. Got out of the house. Rode the bike a good bit . . . part of it on purpose . . . the other part  . . . necessity. So, started off good taking the bike down Brooks St., across campus to the library and then back tracking to the Corner for coffee at Starbucks. After that a bit of chocolate at Apple Tree Chocolate . . . Apple Tree has an awards program. The more chocolate you buy, the more points for . . . well, I don't know what for. I'm guessing you get more chocolate. Anyway, they have your name in a computer and you add the price of what you bought by using your cellphone number . . . which I refuse to memorize, but I do have it on my phone . . . I look it up, and transfer the number to their computer setup. I eat my chocolate (which is the best chocolate I ever ate) and decide to take the long way home: North on Asp., a right on Main St., and then down Classen to . . . I stop at the motorbike shop to see the vintage  Harley they have in the window . . . Fuck! I look down and my cellphone is gone! It was not in the little pocket on my bag . . . it was gone! So, I turn around retrace my ride from the Apple Tree to where I was . . . slowly peddling along, checking the sidewalk for my phone WHICH if it did fall during the ride I didn't hear it fall or feel it fall out of my shoulder pack . . . and fortunately, I had left it at the Apple Tree counter when I had finished putting my phone number into computer. So, I rode much farther than I had planned, and I felt very good physically afterwards. And though they say there's no cure for COPD, my lungs seem to be getting stronger.

Friday, May 31, 2o19

A bit sad, or I'm feeling a tiny happy sort of sad because today is the end of May . . . the last day in my birthday month. It was empowering to take the whole month to think about and celebrate this 71st year of existence for this pound of flesh known by many who know him or of him as Woodie. Oh! To the right of you? Is my logo for my first book of poetry . . . IF that ever happens. Shijin Uddi is Japanese for The Poet Woodie . . . or at least, it's the best bastardization of the Japanese language I could come up with.

I'm not going to write more this time around . . . later on in the day, maybe. But I do want to throw this observation of myself out there for you to think about: I'm always asking my friends to forgive me my many faults . . . and yet I'm never forgiving of their perceived trespasses against me . . . ever.

3:57pm

To continue with the topic I set up in the last entry. I get very angry with my friends when they start trying to prove they're smarter than me. In their defense, they are probably a lot smarter than me . . . in their way. They know facts pretty well, they definitely know all about grammar and are right there to correct whatever term you use IF you don't use it right. Yeah, they are smart . . . they're what I call Jeopardy! smart. They know a lot of facts, grammar, pronunciation, history, etc. and they're always around to tell you that you're wrong about something. But a lot of them take it further than just teaching you something that you didn't know . . . they love the extra pleasure of ridiculing you, making sure you realize how much more knowledgeable they are about any and every subject than you. Not only that, they are just so damn vindictive about it. It's like they want to punish you, ridicule you because you're not as "smart as them." And it's painful when people, friends and strangers, do that to you. It's like the only way they can legitimize their personal existence is to reinforce to you the basic rule of the intellectual mindset . . . "I AM SUPERIOR TO YOU." That's the big thing that really gets me angry. AND not only do they ridicule you for NOT knowing something, they've figured out a way of putting you down when you DO know something that they don't know. Amazing. But what are you gonna do? Not have friends? Anyway, that's all from me this month. And tomorrow IS another day . . . and the start of a NEW month of blogging. (smiles}

The Daily {W}rite The Birthday Month Edition May 15, 2019 wk o3

I bought a copy of Roy Hill's The Warriors. One of my all time favorite films, and I watched it this morning and . . . yeah, still a campy, comicbook reality . . . and still wonderful to watch!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NwwY9y6O3hw

Hard to drag  my body from that "little death" this morning. Did get up long enough to call David. He wanted to get up at 11. But he decided that getting his new phone back (he broke the screen while playing Pokémon on the streets  . . . at night!) right away wasn't that urgent . . . although he's been bitching up a storm about having to relearn how to use the old one, which he used as his new phone got itself fixed. Ha! Sounds like I'm talking about a dog instead of a phone.

10:45pm

So, my apartment is beginning to reach burning hell temperatures. Man! I'm  in shorts, a sleeveless T-shirt, sandals, air-conditioner set on high! And I'm sweatin' like'a sophomore going to his first prom. Yeah, it's THAT HOT! I need to call the landlord and get this air-conditioner working. Right now it's like a glorified wall fan. I mean. I just got the thing last summer and it worked great! But not now.

So, big day tomorrow. The OU Theatre & Dance 1970s reunion starts tomorrow night. AND after that . . . off with the boys to see John Wick 3 at the Regal 14. Not sure if I'll make dinner with David and his family tomorrow before the reunion . . . not sure I'll make it to the reunion . . . tomorrow night at 7pm is the final episode of The Big Bang Theory and I really don't want to miss that!

Anyway, out and about yesterday on the bike and it really felt good, my lungs did okay, body was holding its own . . . but when I woke up this morning . . . uuuuugh! I could barely stand up. Still, not quite over it either. I may write later.

Thursday, May 16, 2o19
Here's a poem I wrote last night for the reunion that, if I got it right, starts today.

If the poem is too small to read, try clicking on it with your mouse and that should open a larger window for it.

5:16pm
The GOT battle is still going on . . . a fan petition  is being passed around the internet petitioning the Game of Thrones production team to fire the lead writers, hire new writers to rewrite the whole last season. I'd cuss at this point . . . but why bother. Beckett said it best, "People are bloody ignorant apes."

Saturday, May 18, 2o19

Yeah, I missed a day. Sorry. Spent more time with the reunion folks. Nice to see some of the crowd I used to run with, do plays with back at OU Drama. Most are no longer in theatre . . . but there are some still hacking out a bit of a living as actors and acting teachers. Good for them.

Through this reunion, I got back in touch with my friend Kimm. One of the people from my past that I've sort of stayed in touch with . . . a bit. Kimm was a dancer at OU. She's still a dancer. This animation I made from several pics I took of her when we went to a museum in Tulsa proves that she still gots the moves. We fall out of contact, me and Kimm, but we always seem to find ourselves back in each other's lives. Yeah. Good to see her today.

Sunday, May 19, 2o19 1:02am

Okay, I have got to STOP arguing with morons on the internet. It's just a waste of time to try and explain anything to people who won't listen. I give up. Stay stupid, my friends.  I'm done with you.

2:49am
I allow myself to get lost within the cracks of this existence. My mouth is the villain here. It just talks, talks, talks . . . a unquenchable wind that speaks in a tongue that I can't begin to understand . . . my friends too just look baffled when ever this unintelligible wind blows . . . thar she blows! The Moby Dick of gibberish. A dragon that shoots fire from its nostrils, and foamy spit from its lizard-like mouth!

I have forgotten in my old age how to dream. Sleep is no more than an empty, dark tomb, and I am so surprised when I open my eyes and realize . . . I'm still among the breathers, the fleshy things that scar and torment our dear Earth with such ferocity  that they even frighten themselves.

2:09pm

Me. I need to forget Me. The Me I am within the dirty memes of memory. Me. Abused, accused and found guilty of being alive. But don't get my mood wrong. I was never on the nice list. My abuses against the world are far more grievous than all the harms this world has laid on me. My sins are as many as my pains, my overall sadness for what has become of Me. Poor Me. {smiles}

5:50pm
To be. That is the question. Well, no it isn't, is it? A question? A statement . . .? Who knows. I need more foot time . . . out on the street . . . on the grass . . . in the mud with the other . . . creatures like me. I need rain. A good solid, steady rain . . . a rain a man can depend on. An honorable rain . . . a gentle rain that falls like feathers in the sunset . . . a tougher rain, a rain of strength and courage . . . when I wake up. If I wake up. A loving rain that coaxes me out of the dead dream and shows me all the suffering I've missed while sleeping. Rain, rain . . . do not leave me.

Tuesday, May 21, 2019
My dear friends, I must apologize for missing a day of writing on this blog. Please forgive me. I won't make excuses for my neglect. However, I do have a birthday coming up and I have put

myself in this responsibility box, which I can't get out of. I have sworn myself to the life long drudgery of writing at least ONE, long (excruciatingly long sometimes) poem celebrating me achieving one more year of age. Which at my age IS an accomplishment, and yes, I know, there are plenty of you out there that are older, much older in some cases, than me. You wonder why my longevity that I celebrate with such fanfare  should be the ONLY existence I should celebrate? But I don't just raise a glass of ice tea (unsweetened) in honor of myself . . . most everyone who I know on Facebook gets from me an animated birthday meme . . . granted, I have recently NOT made an individual birthday animation for everyone of you . . . but only because there are so DAMN many of you these days . . . !we are as a species living longer . . . much longer than most people think we should be living. But that is a debate for another day . . . So, I have finished this month's third week of blog entries. I shall now go on and work on the b-day poems and art work so they will be ready to post on the 23rd of May. {smiles}

The Daily {W}rite The Birthday Month Edition May o8, 2o19 wk o2

The Bus Ride Massacre 

I rode the bus yesterday to the Homeland grocery. On the way back, the bus hit a pot hole or something hard enough to almost knock me out of my aisle seat. As I was falling, I reached back and accidently grabbed a man by his . . . KNEE! "Terribly sorry," I said. The man smiled and shook his head in the manner of one trying to say, "It's okay." After that I got to my stop. I grabbed my heavy, metal water bottle and clunked the lady (who was sitting in the sit in front of me) in the head. There was no smile this time, just a scowl as she rubbed her head.  Again, I said, "Terribly sorry." God, sometimes my life is like a Beckett play!

You know the term People Person, don't you?  A person who really knows how to talk, interact with other persons . . . people. A People Person always say the right thing, laughs in the right place at the stupid joke that the Stupid Person is telling him:
SP (Stupid Person)  . . . . because the monkey eat all the peenutses!
PP (People Person) AaahahahaHA! Ho-ho-ho-HA! Heeeeeeeeeeeeehee!

So, I'm sure you know where I'm going with this . . . I am NOT a People Person! I'm a stumble bum around them (see The Bus Ride Massacre above), my tongue can't articulate a simple word or phrase but when I do somehow find some words, a phrase or two to finally say . . . it's always the wrong fucking words . . . phrases.

Thursday, May o9, 2o19

So, David goes out at night to play Pokémon AND get in some exercise . . . walking and playing Pokémon on his phone . . . in the dark . . . what could go wrong? Do you remember the commercial that has an old lady in her house alone and she trips, falls down and says, "I've fallen and I can't get up!" Yep. He missed stepped on a curb and down he went. Now, granted, back in the day, you know, the twenties, the thirties . . . hell . . . IF you fell down, you just got back up and if anyone one was watching you just act as if you meant to do it. But at seventy plus? No, it don't work that way. You fall and, really, you can't get up. At least not right away. Yeah, some suck-ass things happen to you when you get old. Falling down . . . happens a lot.

Tomorrow is Art Walk! Snuck up on David. It creeped up on me too but I didn't say so to David, "Yeah, tomorrow's Art Walk! Everybody knows that."

So, I've been on my own for the last few days and it has been good for me . . . in a way. Two trips to Walmart, yesterday and today, by local transportation . . . the bus. Yeah, I'm feeling better . . however, I'm still feeling a bit like War's song Slippin' into Darkness . . .
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=syd3Kc8U68w
Enough for me tonight. {smiles}

Friday, May 1o, 2o19

About fifteen minutes left in today. Tomorrow is closing in on us . . . soon it too will no longer exist . . . as the future . . . it will be today. And
tomorrow, at this same time, today, this today, will be rehearsing its lines for its place in my yesterday memory file.

Went to Art Walk . . . not a great one for me . . . but what's new? I seem to be getting more aggressive with friends and strangers, still finding myself getting mad at people for what they say and do . . . without knowing why they are saying or doing  . . . whatever. The term "taking things wrong" really says it all about my temper. Ready to jump on anybody, friends, strangers, waitresses . . . anyone who I decide is "fucking with me." And though I did, as usual, jump all over my friend and with a waitress that wasn't waiting on us fast enough . . . I learned a bit more about myself . . . about others . . . that might help me recover from my insanity. Picture above. David's Face in a Light Bulb. You see? A light bulb has an idea and all of a sudden David's face shows up! AaaaaaaaaaaahahahahahahahahahaHA!

Saturday, May 11, 2o19

Still cold outside. How can I tell if I haven't walked out into it today? By touching the face of the window glass. You see, a window that faces the outside will register the temperature outside the house NOT the temperature of the inside of the house. Aaaah, science. You gotta love it.

I wrote a Mother's Day poem. Already posted it. It would be redundant to post it here, also. I'm not the biggest fan of writing Mother's Day, or for that matter Father's Day, poems. Don't know why . . . but I'm sure there's a real awkward reasons for not doing so . . . hiding away, I suppose, in one of the many boxes in my subconscious storage space . . . somewhere . . . that's what I've been trying to do these last few days before my birthday . . . sorting out all those subconscious thoughts that clutter my  . . . existence. A spring cleaning for the mind . . . and if one exists . . . the soul.

10:27pm

There's that feeling, that sense when I'm sitting in the dark on the computer at 10:27pm  . . . a sad, lonely feeling that just rushes through my body . . . making a metaphysical sound . . . somewhat like car tires speeding across the wet pavement right after a good rain.

Sunday, May 12, 2o19 12:11am
The TV . . . even on anime night on Adult Swim . . . isn't much help against this ghost feeling . . . yes, sometimes I feel like a ghost . . . haunting this body until the day it gives up, this body, breathing in its last breath . . . not staying alive long enough to experience its last exhale upon this plane of existence. Is there another other than this? Do we die and live again somewhere else, occupying some other form? Or is to die just that . . . dead, the absence of consciousness . . . the endless sea . . . the big sleep . . . the end to all that we once enjoyed, once hated, once loved. Death complete and endless.

1:58pm

Today. The sunlight crawls through the plastic slats of the window blinds. I'm blind too. My ears can see, though. The Soundscapes station on the TV (thanks COX) paints lovely pieces of colorful art for my mind. You don't need to see sound to see the mountains, the rivers, the ocean that music creates.

The reunion is coming up fast. Not sure I'm going. Oh, I probably will. At the least, if someone wants to "see me" I'll probably make myself available. But I have my own life. Most of the people who will show up at the reunion  . . . ALL the people except for David who'll show for this "reunion" has nothing to do with my life. Why bother with it? But still . . . there's that part of me that hungers for a little interaction with people . . . even IF that interaction turns out to be negative.

Monday, May 13, 2o19 4:13am

Yeah, tough night getting my eyes to stay closed long enough for me to drift off into unconsciousness. Oh! Yesterday was Mother's Day. I just wanted to show you one of my favorite Mother's Day animations. That's it above. {smiles} Anyway, that's all from me for tonight . . . I mean this morning. I mean, I gotta get to sleep. Will write more later on today. {yawn}

4:26am

SPOILER ALERT

Watched the fifth episode of season eight of the Game of Thrones and was so impressed by it I stayed up late to watch it again. Damn, a brutal example of war and how the innocent get murdered and killed off in the name of the gods of collateral damage. The heroin, the Mother of Dragons, turns out to be as cold-hearted and blood thirsty as her sworn enemy Queen Cersei Lannister. Because now Mama of Dragons is not fighting to free  the people of the Seven Kingdoms, she's out to settle a blood score because the evil queen had Missandei beheaded in public. Yeah, she had a chance to let the innocent people of King's Landing evacuate before she and her dragon laid waste to the entire city. And we the audience got a front row seat to the carnage through the eyes of Arya who gets caught in the city and is trying desperately to get out of the way of the rampaging Mother of Dragons.
For me, everybody who "had it coming" got just what they deserved. Particularly the evil Queen Lannister, who doesn't suffer an "honorable death," but dies unheroically, buried alive in a dragon fire cave-in in the lower levels of the Red Keep along with her brother/lover Jaime Lannister. Or did they die? I mean we saw them hugging each other as the city above came crushing down on them . . . but we never saw the bodies.

RANT TIME!

Okay, so I woke up this morning, turned on Access Hollywood specifically to hear what the response was by viewers and reviewers of last night's Game of Thrones episode . . . and everybody hated it! No, really HATED it. I mean, they were all over it on A.H. and on Facebook. Facebook was downright indignant about them making Daenerys an evil character because . . . well, because, by god, she's a woman and should NOT be portrayed as a monster! The other gripe about the show was that  Cersei's death was too anticlimactic. They wanted more from her death, not just accidently buried alive (allegedly)! No, something more . . . more . . . Personally, I just think all the anti-sentiment towards Game of Thrones is just a bunch of mass hysteria drummed up by a bunch of trolls! So, my answer to all this hogwash is:

REALITY SUCKS, DOESN"T IT!

I got to thinking about WWII. Millions of real people killed, soldiers as well as innocent civilians. And the allies marched together across Europe killing and being killed to get to Germany and stop the mad man, Adolph Hitler. And they finally got there. And when they did? They found Hitler dead, suicide, they say. Well, what a fucking disappointment THAT was! I mean, how anticlimactic! They should do WWII over again, damn it. We need a bigger better ending where the bad guy gets his comeuppance in front of everybody and so we can all feel like WWII was really worth the effort. I hope no one thinks I'm dissing WWII cause I'm not. I am, however, dissing the ignorant "fans" of GOT who get a shot of reality, a glimpse at what war, real war is like and just blow it off, because it wasn't "exiting" enough. {no smiles for you!}

Tuesday, May 14, 2o19
Well, I FEEL better after ranting about the Game of Thrones haters. I just want to write that. I'll wait until later on today to say anything else . . . except . . . nine days until my birthday! {BIG smile}

10:26pm

I really have very little to say today. I mean, I laid it all out in the rant about GOT fans. But they really aren't fans, are they? You don't diss a show that bad if you're are fan. Anyway, not going to say anymore about it. So, nine more days! {smile}

The Daily {W}rite The Birthday Month Edition May 01, 2019 wk o1

I know!  How pretentious! Taking the WHOLE month to celebrate YOUR birthday? Yep! You got it. Hey! This will be my 71st b-day and I plan to celebrate it every day I can. {smiles}

I think I'm changing in some profound way . . . I mean, I've been changing my whole life, right? Every day . . . I change . . . my thinking, I cut my hair, I grow facial hair, I fall in and out of  love . . .  sometimes change is painful . . . sometimes you're the victim and sometimes you're the victimizer. Sometimes evil, other times a saint . . . or at least not evil.

But yes, I am in the middle (or maybe it's just the beginning) of a tremendous change. I've been changing into whatever I am now since . . . I was 6o? That sounds right. Yeah, I'm just now realizing that I am not what I used to be  . . . in anyway.

Thursday, May o2, 2o19

But . . . the problem with changing years and years of bad habits . . . you still have to deal with people jumping out at you right when you think you're on your way to that moment of profound change.

The Garage Burger Joint Avengers: Endgame Massacre

Scene: The Garage. Brendan, Woodie and Mabry in line to order burgers for themselves and David and Marian (seated at a booth by the front doors.)
Brendan: So, I'm taking Robin to see Avengers in IMAX tonight.
Woodie: Oh! You get good seats?
Brendan: Yeah. I bought them a couple weeks ago.
Woodie: Me and my sister saw it on Sunday . . . it was really good seats . . .

Woman in line turns arms waving at Woodie and Brendan

Woman: No, no, NO! Don't say anything about the movie. I haven't seen it yet!
Woodie: We're not saying anything about the movie we . . .
Woman: (To Brendan) you know what I'm talking about, right?
Woodie: (loudly) Lady, I know what you're talking about but we are just talking . . .
Woman: I don't want to hear anything about it . . .
Woodie: (LOUD) LADY, SHUT THE FUCK . . . .!

END SCENE

So, for the rest of the time at The Garage, I was shaking with anger! So mad. Mad at that stupid ass lady, mad at myself for allow my anger to just pour out at her. FUCK. Oh, well. A few hours later after yelling and screaming at the lady in the privacy of my own home (I hope the neighbors didn't hear me) I finally calmed down. But still . . . damn it. So hard to change. {not happy}

Friday, May o3, 2o19

It's raining again . . . study, Gatling the asphalt road with raindrop shrapnel. The thunder rumbling around behind the clouds . . . nothing to see lots for listening. I'm drained, drowned by a flash flood of anger that still lingers inside my head. Just like that thunderous rumble sneaks about behind the clouds.

5:07pm
David called. Wanted to know if I was alright. The conversation boiled down to . . . "Yeah, I'm okay." But am I? Well, I'll bounce back okay . . . no real damage down to my head . . . still a bit depressed. I'll get over it. But what about the next time? And the time after that? I can't keep diving into the deep end of the emotional pool forever. I know the equation by heart: It's not what the world does to you but what you do to the world. My response to people trying to control me, beat me down . . . I shouldn't be like them, the victimizers . . . I should respond with a positive action against a their negative actions that are aimed (or perceived to be aimed) directly at me.

10:47pm
Still, a little off balance . . . mentally . . .  spiritually . . . spiritually  . . . if there is such a thing. Still, I can't keep my mind from pulling up some decrepit memory about personal abuse by some unknown person, some slug I meet for the first time in a theatre, a restaurant, someone who has some self-serving reason for wanting to give me as much shit as they can. Why? Well, because I'm an easy target, I guess. It used to be that the hoods in the hood (hee) loved picking on me because I was a tiny, skinny little fuck that couldn't fight back even if he wanted to. A sort of joke. I always told myself that the neighborhood bullies used to have a day calendar: Monday, 3pm. Rob liquor store. Tuesday, 8:30am, catch the Woods' kid on his way to school, kick the shit out of him . . . Yeah, a joke that wasn't a funny fucking joke. It's the joke that's been pretty much the story of my life. {I'm smiling. Sort of.}

Saturday, May, o4, 2o19

Well. A little progress with the mental health thingy . . . Today, I did actually change from my "sleepwear" into something more . . . daywear . . . ish. Yeah, it would be a hell of a lot easier and faster if all I had to do to feel better about life was to change clothes. But maybe that really IS all there is to it change into some clean (almost) clothes and just . . . I did write a poem about the incident mentioned above. That helped a bit in getting me back to an emotional balance . . . of sort. Keeping that balance and not falling off to the right or left is where the real work comes in.

Sunday, May o5, 2o19

How people act towards me . . . has nothing to do with me. So, if I can believe that . . . well, then whatever way they act towards me, friendly, loving, hostile . . . that's on them not me. That's all them. All about them. So, If they are nasty to me, I don't have to be nasty to them, hateful to them. I can smile, be pleasant and, hopefully, helpful to their own mental health reform.

I got off this Facebook site for Game of Thrones. The people on their are way too negative about the show and other site members. Anytime someone disagrees with them in any way that fan gets reamed  . . . called stupid, a f***ing idiot and so on. I just had my full of the nastiness and "unfriended" the site.

Monday, o6, 2o19

Me. This is a copy of me from a photograph . . . of me, which is also a copy of me from a copy of a shadow of a stranger . . . a dream that refuses to dream. This is me being me dodging shrapnel from a shattered memory or two . . . perhaps three? I can't recall. This me. As I am, and am not. Schrodinger's cat in'a meat box . . . cold storage for the perishables. This is me. As I am, as I wish I were . . . as I'll never be . . . less than a thought . . . more than everything, the total sum of nothing at all . . . becoming what I never was, what I'm not now . . . rules. Whispered in our collective ear . . . our hole existence . . . not worthy of the dirt it takes to fill the grave.

Tuesday, May o7, 2o19 (2:37am)

I decided to go ahead and write this last paragraph or so . . . so I can post these beginning of the month blog entries. I'm still feeling a bit off center . . . still conjuring up a few hateful moments where I get a chance to tell off the mo-fos from my history who tried to beat me down . . . and I let them. I hate myself for letting people just treat me like an old dog . . . beat up on the old dog . . . all you want. I got to learn to fight back . . . without fighting back. That make sense? It does to me. {smiles}