I find myself smiling as I write. Why? I don't know. For a second I allow myself to feel sorry for . . . myself. That makes me laugh . . . no not laugh . . . just smile. I have a good life. I have things to do to make even better existence for myself and my friends and the occasional stranger, I guess. THAT makes me shift from a smile into a full-throttle grin. AaaaahahahahahaHA! Life is often better than we know.
Thursday, April 16, 2o2o
I have to, I must get this anger of mine under control. I can't control anger, yeah, I know that, but I can learn to express it a bit more . . . quietly. Amiable. Look, I don't usually post other's work . . . but this piece really said a lot to me today when I heard it recorded on YouTube.
we are always asked
to understand the other person's
viewpoint
no matter how
out-dated
foolish or
obnoxious.
one is asked
to view
their total error
their life-waste
with
kindliness,
especially if they are
aged.
but age is the total of
our doing.
they have aged
badly
because they have
lived
out of focus,
they have refused to
see.
not their fault?
whose fault?
mine?
I am asked to hide
my viewpoint
from them
for fear of their
fear.
age is no crime
but the shame
of a deliberately
wasted
life
among so many
deliberately
wasted
lives
is. -Charles Bukowski
Bukowski said it better than I could ever say it. What a very "contemporary" exploration of what we are going through right now. I tend to be less than tolerable of conservatives. I consider them to be the enemy of democracy, of the U.S. of the Constitution of the United States, the Bill of Rights, and of we the people of the United States. I've called them evil on Facebook, and I got smacked down for it. How could you say that? How can I say that? Because they are. Still, after his debacle with COVID-19, the conservative party supports Donald Trump. How could anyone who is NOT totally evil support this tyrant?
10:15 p.m.
I don't have the temperament to be a politician. David is better suited for it. A mild manner but not a pushover. Me? I'm an old, very tiny bulldog. I get angry so fast. Stressed out. I'm a screamer, a shouter and cuss like a live wire. Better for me and the people who decide to fuck with me to just NOT talk about politics. AaaaaaahahahahahahahaHA! Yeah, that'll happen.
Friday, April 21, 2o2o
Wow! Life just took off and again . . . I didn't get much written done on the blog! Well. Anyway.
1. I think I am depressed because this murderous POTUS, Donald Trump is going to get away with it. 32,230 dead in the U.S. as of today. More, of course, will come along tomorrow. For me, Donald Trump is guilty of the murder of these Americans. He either stonewalled getting out there and trying to stop it either because of politics (he wanted to brand COVID-19 as a hoax created by the Democrats and the "Fake" newsmedia to keep him from being reelected.) or because he is just too inept, unqualified to deal with a pandemic situation. 32,230 American citizens died because of this homicidal idiot.
2. Darkness is just now taking over the sky. Where I live in Norman, OK right next to the OU campus, during the day it's beautiful a wonderful place to walkabout. The campus especially is nice. Lots of wonderful lawn art, beautiful buildings. But at night, just when it gets dark? It turns into a rather disturbing place. Lots of nooks and crannies for dark things to hide, to watch you. Still lovely but always good to not walk across campus at night . . . alone.
3. Think that's all from me tonight. As dark as it is outside? A deeper, darkness is shining inside my . . . heart? No, it seems its blackness is slipping like a veil over my mind, my consciousness. Sometimes disappointment comes calling in the shape of old memories . . . My life. A life, I guess. Like any other, I suppose. But that's not the way it's supposed to be, is it? Isn't each life supposed to be unique, exciting, worth the effort that it takes to live it? I think this is it for me tonight. HA! I just looked and these entries are not the end of the second week but only three days into the third week! Lots of time left to write tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow! {smiles}
Sunday, April 19, 2o2o
Death. Life. Beckett was the man for me in examing the idea of birth and death. The quote above, They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more . . . is from Beckett's Waiting for Godot. I think that Beckett considered "life" that time between birth and death as being . . . absurd, silly, a waste of time because no matter what you do . . . sooner or later you . . . you die, bite the big one, the big sleep, the eternal land of Nod, dust unto dust. The closer I come to death the more I think about it.
The poem on the right was written by me. I've written a lot of poems with death as the main character. Well, not exactly true. The main culprit in most of my poetry isn't death or time . . . but gravity. Gravity is the enemy of life. Gravity attacks you the moment you are born and slowly, very slowly drags you down into the grave.
Tuesday, April 21, 2o2o
Well, things change real fast sometimes. Or at least it feels that way. Been on chemotherapy for seven months. Yesterday:
Came out of the blood room ready to go home after they tell me if I need . . . "Look at your arm," David said. I looked down at my left hand, at the wrist a steady stream of blood. I went up to the front desk, showed it to the lady at the front desk . . . her eyes wide she hurriedly phoned the back area. . . and the blood nurse came out grabs a hold of my right arm and hurries me into her blood station. It seems that I got a "gusher." That's what she and the other bloodsucker said. They unwrapped the arm and right in the middle the elbow joint (the distal biseps tendon . . . yeah, I had to look it up.), there was a small ball of cotton just soaked in blood . . . my blood. They worked fast, the one who took the blood put a big chunk of cotton on the wound and the other bloodsucker wrapped it back up nice and tight. Problem solved.
A few minutes later, I'm in an examination room. A knock on the door, two seconds later the doctor entered. And the rest of this story? Well, I'm putting all that in my 72nd B-day poem. Don't want to leave you hanging too much . . . the diagnosis is not good.
Bukowski said it better than I could ever say it. What a very "contemporary" exploration of what we are going through right now. I tend to be less than tolerable of conservatives. I consider them to be the enemy of democracy, of the U.S. of the Constitution of the United States, the Bill of Rights, and of we the people of the United States. I've called them evil on Facebook, and I got smacked down for it. How could you say that? How can I say that? Because they are. Still, after his debacle with COVID-19, the conservative party supports Donald Trump. How could anyone who is NOT totally evil support this tyrant?
10:15 p.m.
I don't have the temperament to be a politician. David is better suited for it. A mild manner but not a pushover. Me? I'm an old, very tiny bulldog. I get angry so fast. Stressed out. I'm a screamer, a shouter and cuss like a live wire. Better for me and the people who decide to fuck with me to just NOT talk about politics. AaaaaaahahahahahahahaHA! Yeah, that'll happen.
Friday, April 21, 2o2o
Wow! Life just took off and again . . . I didn't get much written done on the blog! Well. Anyway.
3. Think that's all from me tonight. As dark as it is outside? A deeper, darkness is shining inside my . . . heart? No, it seems its blackness is slipping like a veil over my mind, my consciousness. Sometimes disappointment comes calling in the shape of old memories . . . My life. A life, I guess. Like any other, I suppose. But that's not the way it's supposed to be, is it? Isn't each life supposed to be unique, exciting, worth the effort that it takes to live it? I think this is it for me tonight. HA! I just looked and these entries are not the end of the second week but only three days into the third week! Lots of time left to write tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow! {smiles}
Sunday, April 19, 2o2o
The poem on the right was written by me. I've written a lot of poems with death as the main character. Well, not exactly true. The main culprit in most of my poetry isn't death or time . . . but gravity. Gravity is the enemy of life. Gravity attacks you the moment you are born and slowly, very slowly drags you down into the grave.
Tuesday, April 21, 2o2o
Came out of the blood room ready to go home after they tell me if I need . . . "Look at your arm," David said. I looked down at my left hand, at the wrist a steady stream of blood. I went up to the front desk, showed it to the lady at the front desk . . . her eyes wide she hurriedly phoned the back area. . . and the blood nurse came out grabs a hold of my right arm and hurries me into her blood station. It seems that I got a "gusher." That's what she and the other bloodsucker said. They unwrapped the arm and right in the middle the elbow joint (the distal biseps tendon . . . yeah, I had to look it up.), there was a small ball of cotton just soaked in blood . . . my blood. They worked fast, the one who took the blood put a big chunk of cotton on the wound and the other bloodsucker wrapped it back up nice and tight. Problem solved.
A few minutes later, I'm in an examination room. A knock on the door, two seconds later the doctor entered. And the rest of this story? Well, I'm putting all that in my 72nd B-day poem. Don't want to leave you hanging too much . . . the diagnosis is not good.
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