The Daily {W}rite Septmeber 2019 wk o4

Hmm. Last week of the month! And my medical journey has just begun. I watch TV at night wearing headphones. I keep my cell phone on my lap so I can feel the vibration if someone calls. Unfortunately, my Cox phone is too far away for me to see it lighting up. Besides, I rarely get a call on it anymore which is why I'm going to get it disconnected. I hope that will bring my cable bill down. Anyway, I was watching American God's  and I  barely heard the Cox phone ring, and when I got to it, whoever was calling hung up! I looked at the digital readout for the number and I caught the name Regional Hospital, which would be my doctor calling about this cancer thing. So, I was a bit unnerved by it. I mean, it was 7:30 at night. Why would the hospital be calling me at 7:30 on a Saturday night? I'll call them tomorrow and find out what's going on.

Monday, September 23, 2019

Mystery of the Saturday night phone call from Norman Regional Hospital . . . it was a survey for the lab work (blood sample) for my CD (Cancer Doctor) I participated in last week.

I'm getting clausterphobic. Staying inside the apartment for two days now. But I can't walk very far. I mean, I took a walk down the stairs to the mailbox on the porch . . . really winded  when I finally got back inside. And riding the bike? Not sure that I'd get very far.

Tuesday, September 24, 2o19
Finally got David up and we went about to Stella Nova for coffee . . . I had a sandwich and water . . . then went grocery shopping at Sprout's and Walmart and . . . I was so out of breath the whole time, damn it. The transfusion was suppose to fix that. It did for maybe two days and then the shortness of breath came back with its definition of vengeance.

Two more days and I go in for the bone marrow biopsy . . . and it doesn't sound pleasant . . . and it's suppose to hurt like hell.

Wednesday, September 25, 2o19

Getting a little uptight, a bit edgy with David because of this biopsy coming up in the morning:

David: What part of the body are they extracting the bone marrow from?
ME: The spine, I think.
David: The spine?!Are you sure it's the spine? That's a tricky area.
ME: Well, I don't know. They said it was the spine . . .
David (Looking up bone marrow surgery on his phone.):  It says here the chest . . . the arm . . . are the best spots to take a bone marrow biopsy . . .
ME: Well they said the spine. Maybe I didn't hear them right. I'll let you know tomorrow.

David: Tylenol. You're getting a brand name. Why?
ME: Because they told me to get extra strength Tylenol. Okay?
David: Sure . . . but it costs more.

David is my best friend and he is doing all kinds of wonderful things for me. We went to see the Brad Pitt lost in space type movie. Interesting.  And tomorrow he'll drive me down to the hospital at 8:30am, and me calling him at 7:30am . . . meaning also that I got to get up at 6:30 am. Yeah, David is a great friend.

Thursday, September 26, 2o19
3:02am

Okay went to bed at 12:30. I figured if I fell asleep that would give me 6 hours before I needed to be up . . . 2 hours after I fell asleep . . . awake. Nervous I guess. What's gonna happen today with this biopsy? What's going to happen to me once the biopsy is over? A bit scared, yeah. That's why I can't sleep I guess. Well, I'll try to get back to dreamland and hope it cooperates with me and doesn't conjure up a fantasy about people who I don't like very much. {trying to smile}

11:28am
So, I don't trust people who smile at you. Professional people, I mean, like doctors and . . . well, doctors that deal with real "life or death" diseases like . . . well, cancer. These guys I'm going to do smile a lot but . . . that don't bullshit you either. Sometimes that make a procedure sound worse than what it is. The truth is for me the bone marrow biopsy was easy. Yes, a bit of pain but not what I was expecting . . . Pulling the bone out, a little piece of bone along with the tissue did BITE a bit but not much.

So, one scare defeated . . . and then the blood guy came in with more scary news . . . I need another transfusion. Damn. Everybody in the room, the nurses, the guy who did the procedure on me, and his assistant . . . seemed a bit freaked out by the news. The biopsy guy made sure to tell me IF this next transfusion doesn't work I need to contact the front desk as soon as I'm feeling out of breath. Well, damn. So I had some relief from thinking about this shit. But that's not the way it goes when your fighting a big time disease . . . right?

Friday, September 27, 2o19

The Enlightened. I know many of them. Cool people. They know exactly what to say, how to say it. My dad used to say about the Enlightened, "They know their onions!" Hmm. I agree with my dad's point of view . . . although I don't know what the hell onions have to do with enlightenment. But my dad has passed on and . . . I never contradict the dead. The Enlightened do know their onions, I guess. I mean, they know everything else . . . why wouldn't they know their onions? I listen to the Enlightened anytime they choose to speak, and they usually choose to speak anytime someone else is speaking. You see? The job of the Enlightened is to educate anyone who doesn't think the same way as the Enlightened folks think.  That's why I'm not all that sure that the Enlightened are as enlightened as they want you to think they are. To me when I listen to one of them talk, when I listen reall close . . . all I hear is someone else's voice. Something that the Enlightened who standing in front of me has memorized . . . something they heard . . . not a thought that they have come up with . . . but something that they . . . a parrot! That's it. Most of the Enlightened that confront me with their "wisdom" sound like parrots repeating the words of their owners.

3:53pm

Artists. Peculiar. They're not much interested in the opinions of others . . . except when "others'" opinions spark a poem, a painting . . . a song within the creative soul of the artist.  I remember a quote by Samuel Beckett that went something like, "I can't tell you what my plays are about  . . . but all you need to know about them are in the scripts. Figure it out for yourself." That paraphrased quote had a significant effect on me and my art. I want people to read my poetry . . . but how they react to it is none of my business. That's sort of the idea behind my "secret" poetry project. Yes, I want people to see my art. In fact, them interacting with my art IS art in itself. But I don't need to know how they felt, what they felt, why they felt the way they felt when they encountered one of my picture/poems. Art is existence. And as existence is not always acknowledged in a communal setting. Not everybody knows art when the see it.

Saturday, 28, 2o19

One more test on Monday then I should know where on stand on this cancer scare. I went out for game day today. The second transfusion seems to be working. The shortness of breath was still there but not as heavy on me as before. But there's no telling if it will hold.

Game day was a bit lackluster. Just a few people there . . . well, relatively speaking. And the game? Well, OU just beat the opposition into the ground. Yeah, OU won but it wasn't even close.

Girl on Bicycle. To my left. Picture taken two weeks ago from inside the Boyd St. side of  Starbucks. I used an painting app. on the pic, Dreamscope.

If I could conjure up  a dream, a dream with you in it  . . . why would I want to do that?

Sunday, September 29, 2o19
I can't eat or drink anything after midnight tonight. Having a sonogram on my abdomen. Nothing to drink or eat after midnight. I feel like a gremlin.  Soon I should know about my health . . . cancer . . . no cancer . . . maybe something else. Tired of talking about it, actually.

Twilight burns its exit into the hide of the sky . . . tattoos its initials onto the gathering clouds' wet and tender flesh . . . no worries. No damage done. By tomorrow this night's end of day will be a memory . . . and we will have forgotten its existence all together by the time a new sunset shows it artistic sensibilities on the sky canvas. 

Monday, September 3o,2o19 

Putting this month to bed. Good night, September. I hope I live just long enough to see your face again. In fact, I would love to live long enough to you, September, and all your sisters finally grow old and tired as me. 

The sonogram went great, I guess. I slept through most of it. The girl who  . . . I mean, the technologist, really knew what she was doing. The procedure took about 30 minutes, WHICH means I went with out food or water or coffee for over twelve hours! Twelve hours! As soon as it was over, I ran down to the little coffee shop in this part of the hospital and  . . . . drank whole bottle of water. Actually, it wasn't a whole bottle. I gulped down maybe two big swigs and tossed it away. Gues I wasn't as thirsty as I thought.

So, all the tests are done (I hope) and with a bit of luck I should know what's up with my body sometime this week. Keep your fingers crossed for me. {smiles}

The Daily {W}rite September 2019 wk. o3

Maybe He Got Cancer Maybe He Don't Masscre 

Well, if you have been following me at all, you know that I wound-up a few weeks ago with a bad case of shortness of breath. Started off with being a little winded after a long walk or climbing the stairway in my apartment building  . . . and then it progressed to the point where I couldn't walk ten steps on a flat surface without having to sit down afterward and wait for my breathing to slow down. The worst symptom happened a few days ago when at Walmart with my Sis I tried to put a large, REALLY Large bundle of water bottles (filled with water, of course) in Sis' cart and . . . afterwards I walked over to sit down on a bench and . . . pretty much collapsed onto it.

My regular doctor (when I went in to see him at the beginning of this  . . . dilemma) confirmed through blood tests that  . . . I had very little blood in my body and that this lack of blood was causing the problems with my breathing. The COPD that I was seeing him for appeared to not be the culprit. It was suggested that it might be . . . cancer. Fuck! Okay, well, I can deal with that . . . can't I?

Anyway, this week's blog, and blogs to come will focus on my medical journey through the realm of human cancer. No one has yet said it is cancer that I' have but the chances are that it is. So, this my adventure, my mystery to be solved . . . Do I have cancer . . . or what?

AND don't be shy about reading it. This is just another journey, a path that my life is forced to go down no matter where it leads, a path that a lot of my friends are also traveling down. I'm NOT going to be crying in my beer . . . 'cause I don't drink beer anymore. Look, I'm just gonna write about this episode (and other things) and see where it goes. {smiles}

Monday, September 16, 2o19
So, the phone rings and it's a bot call from my specialist in cancer asking me to survey the treatment I'm getting from this new doctor. And it tells me the questions  . . . all of which are multiple choice with the number 1 on my phone being "very disappointing" and the number 10 being "extremely good", and the only number one I had was about time. Was I in getting treatment (a transfusion) at the time the doctor told me? No, that was a big NO! I got to the hospital at 7:40am. My appointment wasn't to start until 8am but they needed me there twenty minutes early before my treatment started to do some kind of paper work. So, okay, cool! Got there at exactly 7:40 and . . . the door's locked to get into the office. I look in and there's a person in the receptionist's office but I can't get her attention. So, I go back down the hall to the front receptionist's desk, and she says, "Oh, they never open BEFORE 8am!" Okay, still cool. I go back and tell David that we are early, which he doesn't take well. But then 8am rolls around and the door is still not open. I sit back down, twenty minutes later I try the door and "Click!" it opens when I turn tha handle and I go in to get my first transfusion ever in my life.

Tuesday, September 17, 2o19 

It's Tuesday. I take the time to breathe Tuesday in. And breathing, consciously. I take air into the lungs and then expel it after a hold count of 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . 4 . . . 5 . . . ah! It feels like I just sucked in and exhaled the entire universe . . . I'm ne with all through, one simple taking in of air, the holding of it in my lungs . . . and then letting it all go in a lengthy sigh.

The trip I already told you a little about, the trip to get my first ever transfusion ever . . . was interesting once I got into the room where it all would happen. The nurse was a bubbly L.A/ sounding girl only she had lived her whole life in Oklahoma. She plugged a needle in my arm and the three hour long transfusion began. I got a blanket, coffee and water brought to me as I sat in the very comfortable recliner they slapped me into . . . there was my own personal TV set on a swivel arm attached to the chair. I felt like I was on an airplane!

Time passed and people started hustling in. Some were there for some kind of treatment . . . they do chemotherapy here also. And for every person that came in there was a person with them who sat in another comfortable chair and read . . . a family member, a friend there to be supportive of the patient receiving treatment. David was there with me after he got his coffee from the fancy coffee shop in the hospital. David: Hey! guess who I saw in the coffee shop. Me: Who? David: Toby Keith. And guess what? Me: What? David: No one recognized him. Me: That's sad. David: Yeah, I'm the only one who recognized him. But I didn't say anything to him. David: So, how's the transfusion going! Me: Fine. David: Good.

Wednesday, 18, 2o19

Up early with enough energy to sit at the computer and write a bit. Already to go to the doctor's appointment (the cancer thing). I need to do something for David. He's been my "driver" and good friend throughout this  . . . uncertain times. Funny phrase: uncertain times. Doom-doom- DOOOM! Ominous mysteries of life and death to be unraveled as we go from one doctor's appointment to another.

5:27pm
Well went to the hospital again . . . this was for a blood test to see how my body is taking to the blood transfusion because I can't do the bone marrow biopsy if my blood levels aren't juiced up to  . . . oh, hell! I don't know. I mean, the nurse tells me what the hell is going on but I don't get it. David knows more about all these steps  . . . than I do. Ask him. {smiles}

Thursday, September 19, 2o19
Waking David up is somewhat of a Russian roulette phenomena:
David: (answering phone) Ragfragindagin . . .

Me: (at home on cell phone) It's noon! Time to get up! Greet the DAY!
David: Ragghaggin . . .
Me: You want another hour?
David: Yeah. 

END SCENE

Sorry about the bloody picture on the upper left. Yeah, it creeps me out a bit too. I should change it. It's a Halloween animation I made early on. Probably around 2o11 or so when I still lived in OKC, the first place I landed after leaving New Mexico.

Friday, September 2o, 2o19

I'm tired. Physically tired. I ate way too much junk food. Although the Popeye's chicken was delicious! Just shouldn't have ate so much of it.

My turn to accompany David to the doctor's. We went on the southside of OKC, passed the fairgrounds. It was such a beautiful,  cloudy day. Relatively speaking, a very cool day . . . so cool that I had to close the window a bit in the car, which has no air-conditioning! AND as we drove down I-40, a flock of geese flew over the freeway! It was neat! It was one of those days when I wished I had brought my camera along.

Saturday, September 21, 2o19
Oh. A bit draggy today. Did get up pretty early, 8:45am. Brushed my teeth, took my vitamins, used the nebulizer and the rescue inhaler and the one a day inhaler, got dressed, worked a bit on Facebook, and watched two more episodes of "American Gods" (my knew obsession), watched a bit of college football on TV, and . . . damn if I didn't fall asleep for a whole hour!
"Pushed my buttons!" You know that phrase, right? "Trigger Warning" is a friendly warning that I'm suppose say before I say something that I know is going to "push your buttons." I have only two buttons these days. Racism is one. Please, please! If you are a racist, that's fine with me but don't try to justify it to me. It makes me mad. I don't want to waste a lot of time trying to convince you that your thoughts about race are wrong because you won't accept my truthful definition of racism . . . you will try to, again, explain to me how your racism is "justified," and I will just get madder. My other button? Pretentious, academics who just know they are smarter, more experienced than you are. Which is total bull-shot. But don't tell an academic that their thoughts are just bull-shot because they'll just keep trying to prove to you how much smarter they are than you! In a way, racists and pretentious academics are the same kind of person. Both groups think they know something that you don't.

The Daily {W}rite September 2019 wk o2

Got The Beatles 1 blasting my eardrums through the Jlab, heavy duty headphones I bought at Best Buy a few months ago. With my aging hearing mechanisms and the fact I stay up way late (like 4-6 am in the morning), it's really nice to be able to hear music AND the TV set without freaking the neighbors out with Jurassic Park playing at on volume 60! Only bummer?  I can't hear someone if they knock on the door . . . which doesn't matter much because no one ever does. The real bummer is that I can't hear either of my phones ring! So, I got the flip cell phone sitting on the laptop next to me, face up so I can see the screen face flash when someone calls.

Been working on this poetry project- which I won't mention because it's a top secret Ninja Poet project- And I try to keep up on the work I need to do on it . . . write and rewrite a poem a month and create a visual to go with it and . . . NO! I've already said too much! I will say that I'm working on a piece called B.B. Siting on a Harley 1967 which is based on the famous Brigitte Bardot poster (in the animation above) that was real popular in Vietnam in '69. Yeah, I had one! And I'm writing a poem about it . . . which brings me to a point I've always wanted to make about my poetry . . . all my poems are based on my experiences in life, in the real world life and my imagined world life. You see, it's impossible for me to separate reality from . . . nonreality. I mean, are we not both a real character and an invented character in this storyline that we all call real life?  Think about that for a while . . . I'm going to get coffee.

3:20pm

Back with a half a cup of coffee. I usually only fill my coffee mug half full . . . or half empty. Wonder what that says about my moral character? I would like to think I don't have a moral character only a mortal one. I should write some sort of poem for this page before I leave it for the day:

All hail the lizard tale
he walked before he crawled
he sang before he could talk
he grabs at his fragile life
with hands reptilian but
then again don't we all?

I'm aware of her mostly
at night when the boiling
knuckles of the day
are far enough away
for me to think it'll
never rain again. And
always the day comes
and the  rain strolls passed
me as if I weren't even here.

Monday, September, o9, 2o19

Today, I waited all day for the doctor's to call me back. I called them twice (once at noon, once at four) asking them  to call me back and give me the message I missed on Friday. I know, it sounds confusing . . . but I'm hoping that it's not to them.

Had a Facebook fight with one of my Facebook friends about politics. I told him over and over if he didn't stop saying the stupid shit he kept repeating over on over, comment after comment that I would unfriend him . . . and he left one last comment o my post . . . "Here, let me do it for you, idiot!" I had to laugh. His unfriending me before I could unfriend him was the equivalence of "You're fired!" "You can't fire me! I quit!" P.S. As I'm reading these post for typos, I notice that spelled quit . . . Q-U-I-E-T.

Still feeling a bit . . . unwell. I like that word better than I'm sick. I don't know. It sounds more . . . more . . . delicate. A delicate touch to the miserableness of feeling dog-ass shitty . . . physically.

So, the plan for tomorrow is to go see a movie at 4:20pm with a wake-up call to David at 1:30pm . . . UNLESS the doctor's call early in the morning and want me to come in tomorrow morning, which if that happens I wake David up an hour before the morning appointment and he drives me to the doctor's. Life is so trying  on all of us.

Tuesday, September 1o, 2o19

Finally! I reached a nurse who was very friendly an anxious to help me out. She told me that the doctor was setting me up with a specialist . . . a blood specialist  . . . a hematologist . . . which is really good news  . . . I thought she was going to say, "A blood specialist. A vampire to be honest." Anyway that was good news . . . at least even if I had to wait a little longer  . . . ring! ring! And that was the blood doctor's nurse calling right after I finished talking with the nurse at my regular doctor's. So, tomorrow, 11am, need to get there early to fill out paperwork (of course), and I finally get to see a doctor who can maybe help me live a bit longer. The shortness of breath is getting worse every day. I hope this doc can help.

Saturday, September 14, 2o19
As you can see . . . I skipped a few days. The whole Does-He-Have-Cancer-Or-Something-Else? storyline is getting a bit thick  . . . it may go on a while. Hopefully I don't die before I find out if I'm gonna to die . . . The only way I know to deal with this fear that life may well be even shorter than I thought it was gonna be  . . . is with a sense of humor. And as serious as it all is . . . it has already started off extremely funny.
1. Filling out the paperwork. There's a section there that asks if I have some sort of will, which the receptionist tells me with no uncertainty in voice that "You really want to that, Hon." Well, that sort of took a bite out of my fantasy that this meeting with a specialist was just to get a few pills and told to call her in the morning. AND anytime a receptionist at a doctor's office  treats you to a soft and down home friendly "Hon" you are probably gonna see her a lot more times . . . a LOT more times than you really want to. Because the more appointments you have with a specialist, the more life threatening your sickness is, and that is never, ever good.
2. So, the doc comes into the examining  room, asks me to jump up on the examining table and lift my shirt. I do that and she looks at my gut and says in one of those astounding voices that you never want to hear from a doctor examining you, "Holy COW! You got a hernia! Did you know you had a hernia?!" "No, I didn't know." "Well, you do and it's a big one! See how your belly button is sticking out?!" "Yeah, I noticed that. But I just though that was from being fat." "NOPE! THAT'S FROM A HERNIA!!" I really think she was more intrigued by my hernia than she was interested in the possibility that I might have cancer. To be continued.

The Daily {W}rite September 2019 wk o1

It's 2:09pm and I haven't change out of my . . . PJs! Yes, You might say I'm a lazy lout . . .but in my defense I am going out tonight to watch the game at Louie's with my friend David Slemmons. So, I'll expect your apology for suggesting that I am more three-toed sloth than man. It's okay. You don't have to submit it in writing . . . A public pronouncement on Facebook will do.

The parking police are in position around the Energy Center. People may not leave their cars in the Energy Center's parking lots unless  . . . I don't know exactly who gets to park there on game days. But the parking lot cop turns some away and allows others to park on those hallowed grounds.  There may be some sort of secret handshake or signal that tells the cop that "this car shall pass!"

I always get upset when people tell me what to do, or when they try to define me. Makes me mad. And yet, I'm always telling others what to do and not do. Hypicritical? Perhaps. There's a fine line, isn't there, between standing up against the tyranny of the group and/or individual or trying to make others do what you think is right . . . that line is very thin and I think I cross over it way too many times. I need further discussion with my . . . self about the matter.

I spent a big chunk of my yesterday watching The Thing From Another World. I have two copies of it on DVD, one I bought and one that was sort of willed to me. Well, my friend that died, my ex-roommate didn't leave me the DVD in some formal will. But his brother had inherited everything of his brother's including a BIG collection of DVDs, particularly a BIG pile of Horror/sci-fi movies, and since his brother knew I was Jim's friend and that I loved horror films he let me come in and take my pick of the collection! And I did. That's how I wound-up with two copies of The Thing From Another World.

Becoming one's self. That's our "duty" in this life, isn't it? Become your . . . self, be your . . . self? I guess that what is meant by that is to "choose" your way of seeing things, experiencing things in this physical/spiritual world without all the subconscious baggage that mom, dad, and the entire world has laid on you from the day you were born. And also nature. Yes, I said it. Some things you were born with, instincts if you will, are now obsolete in this world you find yourself a pilgrim in.

Monday, September o2, 2o19

Let me tell ya, this has been one hell of a weird-ass couple of days, this past Sunday and Monday! I mean serious mind trauma to my brain housing group. Let's start with Game Day! Yeah, that's right a Sunday OU Game Day, the first game of the season. And I'm well aware that Game Days are always a necessary chaos if any business on The Corner is going be in business the rest of the year. But this opening Game Day? Crazy wild . . . and all of it in a good way . . . at least that is the way I dealt with all of it.

Like I was saying it was crazy crowded out there on Asp! People flocking to the stadium to see the first game of the season. I was trying to take a pic of a OU helmet display they had and this girl steps into frame just as I was shooting. Her look in the first pic seems very stern, which I often get when people realize I'm shooting their pics. But look how she changes (photo right).

And then there was this dude, big muscular dude maybe in his forties, wearing a red shirt that said, "You're in Lincoln Country" and I asked what that meant . . . He may have told me but we were in Louie's waiting to watch the game and it was noisy  . . . and then he said, "Let me buy you guys (David was sitting with me) a shot!" I said, "No thanks. We both don't drink." That seemed to offend him for some reason. Waitress came over and told us that the guy was sorry if he offended us (like we were offended by a guy wanting to buy us drinks), "But," she said, "he thought you guys were cute." Cute?! We are cute?! Of course I didn't say that out loud. But it did kind of throw me. I mean, I don't think I ever heard a guy call me cute. Come to think of it . . . I don't remember anyone ever calling me cute! the only time someone might have called me cute  . . . it would have to be when I did or said something real stupid, and a friend might have said, "That's cute, Woodie, real cute."

Tuesday, September o3, 2o19

So, I'm going to leave off The Once Upon a Time . . . In Hollywood Ice Tea Massacre  story for another day because I got a call from my doctor's office . . . a rather frantic call . . . "Doctor What's-His-Name needs you to come in for another blood sample because you are extremely anemic . . . you're like one stop away from needing a transfusion." Well, what the fuck? That sounds pretty damn serious . . . plus they want to have a colonoscopy . . . holly fuck! So, anyway I got an appointment for tomorrow to have the blood test . . . and I'm freaking out a bit because the receptionist sound pretty freaked out herself.

September o4,2o19

So, David picked me up close to 1pm and drove me to the doctor's office. He talked about a bunch of stuff . . . I really don't remember what. To be honest I was still anxious about the whole "one step away from needing a transfusion" stuff that the receptionist laid on me over the phone last night. "Oh, she was probably just hyperbolizing a bit." David say that at some time . . . but it didn't make any difference. I was still . . . distraught. Anyway, we got there. David went to get coffee at a gas station and I signed in at the front desk. A few minutes later the male nurse came in, took me to the "blood" station, sat me down and . . . drew the blood. After that, David and I went to the stores for food! We've gotten to the point where we shop at three different grocery stores: Walmart, Smart Saver, and Sprout's. And I don't know if I was being overly sensitive to the idea I was anemic, but I was gasping for air a lot more than I have been. Even after I got home. Going from the Livingroom to the kitchen just wore me out. {no smiles}

Thursday, September o5, 2o19

My dreams, the few that I remember, my dreams
have wandered away from my consciousness,
the last of the memory leaves to float away
into that everlasting autumn . . . fall . . . that
endless winter that makes darkness seem bright.
Aware now, at this moment . . . my fingers are
the only survivors  . . . scratching at the keys.
A cat clawing at the moment as if it had food
in its bowl that it cannot see. Bat . . . cat blind.
You . . . a refection in the muddy pond. You.
We were lovers once, asleep I'd reach for you.
And you were always there until you weren't.

8:47pm
David and his kids went out for dinner. I wasn't up for it. Okay, I'm still not feeling well . . . but it wasn't just that. I just had my mind set on fixing myself a meal. I don't know why it was so important to cook. But I had these pork short ribs . . . potatoes . . . vegies . . . and A-1 Steak Sauce. Took about 50 minutes to cook it all and . . . Man! It was really good!

Friday, September o6, 2o19

Slow day. Snail day. The ol' sun crawling across the sky, on cloudy knees, lightning feet . . . a wonder if he makes it until sunset. I dreamt of you again. I don't know why. But that's not unusual. When I do dream of you, which is almost every night, I wake-up surprised that you would show up in one of my extremely uninteresting fantasies. A lot of standing around in my dreams, standing around in the dark, waiting for you to show up . . . and like a cramp in my typing finger you always do show up wearing that noncommittal smile that you had tattooed to your lips long before tattoos were fashionable. Yes, you were the original trend setter . . . always moving on to another look, point of view when everybody started looking, thinking like you . . . moving on even if what you had said was the truth. you always wanted to be new, fresh . . . You'd settle for a lie as long it was a lie that only you spoke about.

Saturday, September o7, 2o19

Just finished watching THEM! (1954) on TCM. Dude, I'm 71 years old . . . er. And please, Don't say, "You're only as old as you feel." Because if that's true, I'd be 2,000 years old . . . er. Anyway, THEM! is one of my all time favorite sci-fi/horror movies. I say sci-fi/horror because my movie geek friends (actually, geek is the right terminology because a "geek" is a fan of a subject and a "nerd" is a practitioner of the subject.) get upset when I call THEM!  a horror movie because they say it's a sci-fi film because it has "some" sci-fi in it. Actually, it has a lot of pseudo science in it . . . so, technically it may well be a sci-fi flick BUT . . . it has giant, man-eating ants in it, AND the primary action of the movie is for the humans to find the giant, man-eating ants and . . . kill THEM!, which makes it a horror film NOT a sci-fi movie. Besides, I was 6 years old . . . er when I first saw THEM! in a movie theatre by myself! AND it scared the kid right out of me . . . not solely because it had giant, man-eating ants! No, It also creeped me out because I was watching it in a little movie theater in Victorville, CA and Victorville, CA is smack dab in the middle of California's high desert . . . where most of THEM! was filmed! I wrote a poem about THEM! and me watching it only I changed a few of the facts . . . to protect the innocent . . . me. {smiles}

P.S. Hey! Last day of the first week in September and I've written quite a bit! Maybe too much? Hope not. I mean, I'm aware that I did write a lot . . . but I'm hoping it's not boring.
P.S.S. Oh! IF you can't "see" the poem, THEM!, click on the poem and it will get a little bigger. I hope. See you next week!