So, starting up the second week of a lovely June. Too much rain lately. Flooding through out Oklahoma . . . OKC got hit hard. Too many people trying to drive through the flooding. The weather folk were worried that people would drown . . . they came up with a catchy phrase that the said over and over and . . . "Turn around, don't drowned." It was scary . . . at first. But after it was said over and over and . . . people started to laugh at it.
Sunday, June o9, 2o19 8:45am
Up early! Yes, it's SoonerCon today. Not going to talk much right now. Got to get ready to go! Later, friends!
. . . and how depressing. Damn. First off, new rule. No taking pictures of anybody at SoonerCon unless you ask permission. Well, damn. I mean, most of the shots I take are non-staged, natural . . . but now I've got to ask permission? Fuck that! Done with SnoozerCon. And the hotel lobby that the venders are set up in? According to the venders they have to pay outrageous rents for an area to set up in and peddle their wares. AND one vender told me IF they wanted to use the hotel's Wi-Fi, they had to pay for it, $75.00 a day. AND the hotel set up security guards (in full security guard uniform, looking very suspicious of people dressed up as . . . comicbook characters? I mean, what "normal" human being does that?!) to check what . . . people coming in with bags filled with what . . . for . . . weapons, bombs, knives?! No. To protect us from people bringing in food from other places than the hotel. Yeah, it seems that IF you are going to eat at your vendor's table you need to buy your food from vendors IN the hotel. I don't know.
It makes me sad. I mean, I take pictures as a hobby. I don't sell them. I just edit them and post them on Facebook so that the people I do take pics of can copy them off Facebook, no charge, no nothing. Plus, I used the pics to promote the artists, the book writers, the vendors who are there trying to sell something. Anyway, I'm done with SnoozerCon. Not like it matters.
Monday, June 1o, 2o19
"
Woodie, you've gotta to stop thinking about all this . . . you KNOW how depressed you get?" Yeah, I know that's exactly what you are saying, my brain duster reader, and I DID exactly that . . . wind-up deep in the back of the depression locker. Not a place I like to be . . . but I do go there often enough. "
See, I told you . . . !" alright, enough from you, Sigmund! I know, I know . . . "
Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar!" Yeah, yeah, yeah! I get it . . . no I don't get it. I never understood what the hell you meant by that.
I decided to give up taking photos of people all together. No, I wanna focus on my art project and for get about recording in images the different events that happen here in Norman. It's no big thing. It's not like anyone actually appreciated what I did. I'm just tired of people telling who I can and cannot take a picture of. Okay, you don't like me taking pictures? No problem. I'll just stop doing it.
2:52pm
My mind is beginning to slow down . . . thoughts in drift mode . . . the shores where memories are stored . . . where memories have decided to live, sleep and dream . . . a thin line . . . blue and straight . . . I leave it all behind before those "thoughts" that bind me . . . most times . . . can find me. Out of sight, out of mind . . . the both of us.
Besides, there are other horrors awaiting me . . . no need to drag the old crew along with me. Surely there will be some monster will surface from beneath the surface . . . subconscious submarines . . . silent but deadly . . . a brain fart . . . it's here before you know it . . .
Tuesday, June 11, 2o19
So . . . I keep focusing on the same question . . . why can't I just be sane? Why can't I just accept life as it is? As it is. Going out today on the bike . . . ride around . . . pic up something I need for the top secret art project. I'll talk to you later.
4:36pm
So, walking my bike across Porter on Main, in the crosswalk, light flashing its red lit count down, and I'm walking across . . . and this fucking kid in a SUV, this fucking kid couldn't have been more than 18, she makes a left hand turn off of Main onto Porter, and she's driving damn fast and she almost runs me over. I just stopped, just stopped dead in the center of the crosswalk . . . she slams on her breaks and I start yelling at her, "
You stupid motherfucker!" Start shaking my head and mumbling to myself. Of course, she did hear me yelling at her . . . if she read lips, then she knew what I was saying. If I had not been so angry, I might have just yelled "I'm walking here!" like Dustin Hoffman in
Midnight Cowboy:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c412hqucHKw
Wednesday, June 12, 2o19
What I Learned when Almost Murdered
By A Teenage Girl Driving An SUV
So, I told David the story about the teenage girl in the SUV, told him how I cussed it out with "You stupid motherfucker!" And he had an odd look on his smiling face. "So what's the look for?" I asked. "Is it because of the story or because I yelled '
You stupid motherfucker!' at her?" David thinks for a minute . . . "
Both."
This morning I woke-up having a strange epiphany: That girl trying to "murder" me with her friggin' SUV yesterday . . . was a sign, a lesson from the universe. AND me telling David the story of the teenage serial killer of old people wannabe . . . also a lesson. See, I get extremely angry with David for over blowing his horn at people in traffic when they are in his way. "
Dude!" You keep that shit up and someone's gonna go all Road Warrior on you . . . and ME!" Okay, in short . . . I have been trying to change my . . . reaction to people who I feel threatened by. AND when I look at these to incidents, the girl in the SUV, and me yelling at David about his driving . . . So both events remind me that I am still living off the cuff with shouting, with anger . . . Thanks, universe, for the heads up.
F
riday, June 14, 2o19
Well, I missed a day . . . yesterday. Not feeling too much like writing. Not feeling like doing more than sit on the couch and watch TV. Depression is a soul killer. Just drives you pounds you down so hard . . . you wonder if you can ever get to your metaphorical feet. Ha! At Art Walk tonight, one of the owner of one of the art galleries n Main said to me, "
Hey did I see you the other day on Main walking across the street, and some goofball almost hit you with a car?" "
Yeah! It was some 18 year girl, I think." "
What the hell was her problem?!" It made me feel like I could finally stop fretting about what happened . . . someone saw it happen and had somewhat of the same response as I did.
So I started the "art project" tonight during Art Walk. We'll see if anything happens with it. {
smiles}
excellent, very interesting
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