The Daily {W}rite August 2019 wk. o3

Hmm. A bit slow starting the 3rd week of August's Daily {W}rite. My friend David went off to see his son in L.A. My sister is taking off tomorrow for Minnesota to visit with one of her daughters. I'm alone for the first time. Really alone with no one to talk to, go to the store with, to the movies. I don't like this . . . this . . . feeling of being alone.
And I'm not feeling extremely well physically or mentally. Haven't for a while . . . but it just seems to be getting worse. I've gone nowhere since David left . . . except for dinner with my sister yesterday. I keep giving myself the excuse that it is too hot out there to do anything . . . and yeah, it is, but I could go out a little during the day. Or I could at least wait until the sun goes down and head for the grocery store or, or Braum's or somewhere. But not much into going out at night . . . which is probably just another excuse.

Sunday, August 18, 2o19

So, didn't get out today . . . "Oh, what a big surprise!" I've decided to spend the day writing on the blog, on some poetry . . . Oh! This one poem that I started writing on in 2o12, Lighter Than Gravity, is getting a few hits on Facebook. Thought I'd use it in September's "poetry project."

The pic on the left (actually, above!), one stick figure turning into two stick figures falling through the void. That's how I feel most days . . . split in twos, falling . . . apart . . . yes, nice image. Both MEs falling away and apart from each other  . . . only to come together at the end of a series of movements and . . . {smiles}No. So, I'm still here at the computer . . . a gentle sip of coffee . . . across the lips . . . a caffeinated kiss . . . dark and delicious.

2:30am

Actually, it's 10:38pm on August 18, 2o19 in Norman, Oklahoma as I write this entry. It being 2:30am is more metaphorical than exact . . . for in less than 4 hours it will be (actually) 2:30am, August 19, 2o19 . . . in Norman, Oklahoma. But at this moment it is exactly 10:41pm, o8-18-19 . . . but it feels like (to my poetic self) as if it were 2:30am . . . in fact, every hour of every one of my days feels like 2:30am . . . it's routine I guess . . . repeating the moment that you just left . . . repeating it over and over again . . . like the directions on a bottle of shampoo: lather, rinse, repeat . . . which I'm not exactly sure IF they put that on shampoo bottles anymore.

Anyway, what difference does it make what time I say it is? Time is a manmade construct . . . according to my few science friends . . . time only exists because man created it in a perverse desire to control time . . . which doesn't exist. Okay, okay! I believe (I say I believe because I don't really know for sure) that what we call time is only a measuring device  . . . to measure . . . universal time, which is nothing like what we perceive time to be like . . . Sometimes . . . I even confuse myself.

Monday, August 19, 2o19

Well, Monday. Monday is always the beginning of a week . . . except when you are retired and don't work at all . . . except for what work you create for yourself just so you can say, "I work for a living!" Ha! Old Marine Corps joke. Any tome you call a staff sergeant "sir" they fire back with, "Don't call me sir! I work for a living!" Of course there are a lot more "colorful" ways to answer that question about being called sir along with one that makes reference to the sir-sayer's parents not being married!

The cop found guilty of killing Eric Garner was fired. The NYC Police Commissioner basically said he hated to do it but he "had" to. Which made the POOlice union really pissed off because they say the cop was just doing his job.

Kareem Abdul-Jabbar accused Quentin Tarantino of racism today with QT's depiction of Bruce Lee as an "uppity Chinese guy" in the movie Once Upon a Time . . .in Hollywood.

Racism. There's more examples than what I posted above of the thorn in our country's side . . .  American racism. My only point is we still as haven't figured out the solution to the "racism problem" in this country. And I never see it ever being figured out.

9:27pm

So, I had a shower at nine and now I'm all clean and . . . ready to get out to Walmart tomorrow . . . on the bus. Yeah, I know. You have heard that one before . . . "Off to Walmart tomorrow! Yeah, right!" But I really do have to get to the store and I've been apartment celled for thre days! Something's gotta give.

I'm feeling a bit less  . . . melancholy. Or as we said in the 20th century (and now the 21st) I gots the blues  . . . still. Yes, I know as you know that I always have the blues. But there are different types of blues. The sad blues where I don't want to do anything except lie down and sleep. The angry blues which makes me scream, shout at myself in the mirror . . . or the creative blues which muses me into a creative mood that, yes, is sad but at least productive.

Tuesday, August 2o, 2o19
Oh, boy! Did make it to the store by foot and bus and . . . son-of-a-bitch! I couldn't walk more than one to two hundred yards (if that) without stopping to catch my breath! Fuck. Need to get to the doctors and see if a rescue inhaler will help . . . and find out IF I can afford one. It's crazy. Damn it!

Wednesday, August 21, 2o19
Last day of the third week in August and . . . I've hardly written anything of merit. Some great philosopher-poet am I.

My lungs gasp and begin to shut down. And so I sit down my lungs grabbing at whatever little chunks of air it can find. My head joins in. Dizzy, thoughts in their container, a

madman's frantic waltz across the grey's linoleum. And my legs . . . comatose . . . but the feet are still alive scratching at the sidewalk . . . incased within the leaping figure of Spider-Man, which is  accepting with a stoic look at  whatever the damage to its face it might receive from such brutal actions, senseless actions against concrete.

I just noticed. I use the reflecting water app. a lot. I should look for more animation apps. Anyway, the last of this week's blog and I'm worn out from fighting with a very slow computer today. I'll let it go for now, and promise to you, dear reader, to get to the doctor's and see if they can, again, help me get physically better.  {smiles}

P.S. I DID take the time this week to proof read before I posted! Hope I got all the little no-noes! Don't need this week for the grammar police to be hassling me. "Attica!"

The Daily {W}rite August 2019 wk. o2

The Daily {W}rite. I have forgotten what this meant, what this blog was meant to be. I'm not sure I even know now exactly what the intent was when I started this blog some . . . seven years ago? My. Well, never too late to pick up the spiritual slack and get back to the original business of writing, printing myself on this non-paper space and . . . seeing where it takes me.

I don't remember the thrill, the soft, electrical shock of love. But I remember that I once was deep  in the sweet mud-bog  love disguises itself within. I remember, yet I don't remember the physical warmth of loving someone, the cool touch of a lovers hand braille touching my face, and her always smiling once her fingers brushed up against the coarse hairs of my thick goatee. I take back all of what I said. Her laugh. Her laugh I remember so vividly that I laugh with it whenever, wherever I remember it.

Sunday, August 11, 2o19

Art Walk. Extremely warm . . . not hot but an uncomfortable warm. But fun as always. The people. They're the real heroes of Art Walk for me. So beautiful in there humanness, individuality. I take tons of pictures and mostly of the people. The people. Bob and Dog on the right there. No matter how hot, Bob and Dog are there, Bob playing and Dog . . . well, dog watches the money that folks drop into the beat up guitar case next to Bob's chair. {smiles} Like I said . . . people.

3:28pm
Last Night's Dream
A large swimming pool outside a very ritzy Hollywood home, L.A. skyline a few miles away, bright and

shiny. A girl in a very sheer jump suit . . . like I Dream of Jeannie . . . a very thin girl talking on the phone, pacing back and forth. I'm talking on a cell phone on the opposite side of the grand swimming pool. I see the girl faint, I run over to her. Lay down beside her, hold her as smiles at me and says thank you . . . she dies . . . me holding her in my arms.

What is so important about this particular dream for me to mention it on The Daily {W}rite? Well, number one reason? I remembered this damn dream! Seriously, for the last few years I haven't remembered a single dream. No, really. For the last three years (or so) I haven't remembered a single dream. Just a fragment of an image, which is  . . . well, just enough to let me know that, yes, I dreamt a dream . . . but that's all I know about it! And as the day wore on, I would lose even that fragment Yeah, creeping me out just saying it.

So, Quite an exciting thing to wake up this morning and have a full, unedited dream in my mind, and not only do I remember the dream but I remember the circumstances of the dream. The girl was dying from cancer. This was the last night she would be alive, and she wanted to spend that time at her own house . . . not in some hospital. I was her friend. She decided to invite me (and only me) to keep her company while she waited to  . . . pass-on down the road. I was on the phone with one of her other friends when she collapsed. And . . . you know the rest. When she died in my arms . . . I woke up.

Tuesday, August 13, 2o19

Learning is hard. You know, the old dog new tricks theory. But this change in me is not a trick, no sleight of hand, no illusion, delusion, confusion over the plight that faces me, turns me around every day and confronts me . . . "this moment is  your life. What the fuck do you plan to do wit it, this moment?"

A dream smile floats across my lips. I'm old, I'm tired, all night and most of the day I feel the pains of my aging-self . . . and yet I find a rare, exotic feeling forcing my withering-self to dream a bit longer on this page . . . write the words that just can't find fault, no matter how hard I try, with this life . . . my existence in this life . . . my moment of peace in a raging ocean of ranker, black storm cloud-like thoughts. The eye. I'm within the eye. I hope it will not close  . . . for a moment more.

Wednesday, August 14, 2o19
I should get out today. I should slap on sunscreen lotion so my arms won't burn up, a dash on the tip of each ear . . . my hair too thin to protect them and my riding hats cling too close to my head to afford my ears any comfort. Yes, I should go out, ride about town, wave at the neighbors as I soar past them on my hearty mountain bike! But I won't. Why? I tell myself that my body just isn't up to it, my lungs agree because they huff and puff at just the thought of exercise!

I'm drifting. A philosophical cloud pushed about by whatever pipe smoking theory is on the lips of the young intellectuals I run into . . . greet with a skeptical smile and handshake . . . my age and physical appearance on some kind of metaphysical/new age autopsy table . . . "Let's see if the old geez's got under the hood!" My years in on the mud both inspiring and horrifying to those who have not of yet contemplated the idea of death . . . and dying. "Death? Isn't that a plot device in all of Tarantino's movies?"

10:32pm
Gravity, the sleeping giant, pulls at my tired spirit . . . But do not wish to dive into the darkness with the hope of latching onto a dream as I fall, fall, fall . . .
No, damn it not yet! Get back! I will not enter that . . . that emptiness . . . that black hole inside my imagination. I will fill it with stars, bright thought stars burning up what gloominess you throw at them.

But it is time to end this second week of The Daily {W}rite, August, wk 02. So, I will say goodnight to you, reader, and hope you dreams and  . . . well, what much more to wish for than a good dream? {Smile}

The Daily {W}rite August 2019, wk o1

So, the heat is still a bit heavy out there on my bare arms. But it was cooler today. Driving around in David's car with the windows open (there air conditioner not working) and the breeze felt good on my face and arms. Made me smile a bit. David came up with this cool image . . . when old people forget in mid sentence what they were saying: "Sorry. I feel into that rabbit hole." Ha! funny! Yes, the second time david actually said something funny. The first time? It was a Thursday. {smiles}

We are going tomorrow to some kind of ice castle, or something like a castle at the museum? I'm thinking I better bring at least a hoodie . . . just in case.

Saturday, August o3, 2o19
Well, forget the museum and the "ice castle" exploration. Called David at noon . . lucky I set the alarm today for noon because it was the alarm that woke me up! I probably wouldn't have gotten up at all if had not been for David wanting to go to the museum if for no other reason just to cool off. Anyway, called him. He answered on the fourth or fifth ring . . . "Ghurh . . . not . . . grumble . . . to . . . uuuuuugh . . . get out of  . . . blaaaaaah! bed." "CLICK!" his end of the phone conversation said, and that was that for today.

So, I sitting here headphones on . . . yeah, picked them up along with an 18 foot long cord to hook them up to the TV and wear them while watching TV . . . listening to Joe Cocker compilation album that David bought me a while back. Had forgotten I had it! Which reminds me I need to pick up another 25-30 CD carrying case so I get my "favorite" CDs out of the big case (which holds about a hundred and fifty CDs.) and put them into

something a little more portable.

Cloudy day. The sky draped in a grey bathrobe with warm-white trim. A harmless day. The sky doesn't threaten, warn us of the bad weather to come because there is no bad weather to come . . . It's sleepy weather, dreaming weather, stretching the fantasy legs out and across those colorful, playful worlds that no one may enter with eyes open.

Sunday, August o4, 2o19

Two mass shootings within 24 hours. Whoopie-hoo! Some kind of record, I hear . . .  even for us! We're number one! And of course, the conservatives and the liberals are both saying their nonsense as usual! Now, I do tend to side mostly with liberals on this . . . but even they keep kicking themselves in the balls with  . . . get rid of all the high-capacity magazines! Get rid of ALL the guns! For sure no semi or automatic weapons! Yeah, they don't get that this is a gun country and you're not going to get rid of all the guns, all the weapons of war! But conservatives are worse. I love their trying to shift responsibility off of Trump for all the killings going on. "Well, this liberal or that liberal caused the conservative guy get shot when he was at a softball game!" "Yeah, and this liberal or that liberal . . ." on and on it goes. I admit, I got caught up in a bit. Some conservative clown started on the talking points all conservatives have been mouthing  . . . "No other president has been held responsible for gun violence why should Trump?" Because he has, in public said that 2nd Amenders should use a 2nd Amendment on some one! But that aside, Trump is responsible for doing something about gun violence in America because  . . . he's the fuckin' POTUS! What the hell is a matter with you clowns.

Monday, August o5, 2o19

Enough politics. Today poetry. Need to get to work on the new poem for the "ninja" art project. Torn between a couple of entries. Bu think I'll settle for a shorter piece. Most of the writing has been way too long for a hit and run art project.

Tuesday, August o6, 2o19
Hat today. Ha. I wrote "hat" instead of "hot." It's very hat today. So, if I go out while the sun is up I should wear my straw, well ventilated hot . . . on my head.

Sime days the sadness comes calling. No, phone call to warn me of it's visit. Hell, not even a gentle knock on the door. I'm sitting at the computer working on my blog and then BAM! I'm thinking about that time when you and me were together "forever" and then suddenly . . . you left and I . . . alright! That's enough. Out! Out! Damn thought!

Wednesday, August o7, 2o19

Damn. All day I felt . . . lethargic. Like a lump of conscious mashed potatoes. Ugh. All I want to do is sleep . . . but even that is difficult. I got the Princess and the Pea syndrome. My body cannot get comfortable enough to fall asleep, and it's awfully hot even with the air conditioner on. You got to be sitting right in front of it if you want to cool off at all . . . but the only chair I got . . . a canvas, fold-up chair . . . I can't sit in for too long. Anyway, last day in the first week of August . . . done. And so am I.

The Daily {W}rite July 2019 wk o4

I thought about trying to be more  . . . straightforward with my writing on the blog. What does that mean? Well, perhaps less poetic and surreal  . . . a dash more realism. Instead of talking in metaphors, similes, and the occasional allegory, I might just write more . . . naturalistic? See? How hard it is to label your creative will. There are people reading my poetry online who just don't have any idea what my poetry is about:

I ask my eyes politely, please close.

Let me sleep . . . if not forever

for at least an hour or two.

Let my mind rest upon all those

shadows haunting my past

that haunt my consciousness,

please let me sleep away as in

a drunken stupor 'til the day

arrives with its warm stare

peeping through the window blonds.

I don't ask much, do I . . . my eyes?

I don't ask you to go blind to all

this . . . this mess of humanity that tries

to break the back crumble the will, crown

darkness, make it the king of the world.

I don't ask for that, for anything other than

one night, one quiet night of dreaming that

won't make me wish not to open you again.

So, my Facebook friends read this and all the get from this is a desire to help me sleep. "Oh, you should try Melatonin." "How about some warm fucking milk?" By the names! What the fuck is wrong with these people? I write a poem, I soul search a poem and all I get is recommendations for possible sleep aids! Oh, brother! But that's the poetry game for you. Yes, you want people to say more than I like your work." I actually want them to read it and say something . . . inspiring about it . . . but they don't. And you, the writer of poetry, can't really say anything about it because . . . well, people are allowed their opinion . . .even if their opinion sucks dirty socks!

Thursday, July 25, 2o19

The Hospital from HELL!

Nope. That's all I'm saying about it because it's David's story.

So, on a brighter note . . . things are mellowing out a bit for me. My anxiousness, my anger . . . a bit more under control. Well, control is not the right word, is it? It's not about control . . . it's about transforming, reinventing your emotional response system. Focusing all those negative feelings in a more positive way. Hmm. More work needed on this . . . more than that . . . it's a constant need to work on it . . . changing by allowing myself to change.

Friday, July 26, 2o19
July seems like a very long month this year. But as soon as we get through it and we hit August I'll be saying, "where did the year go?"

Yesterday David and I went to the doctor's office for his hip replacement tune up. I don't know why I called it a tune-up . . . David said that they told him that the doctor found out that the implant was made of . . . I don't know . . . some kind of metal that could become radioactive and that they need to check and see if his implant was deteriorating, and if it was they needed to replace it and . . . Holy Fuck! Anyway, what I was going to say was as we drove down Jenkins, I saw this girl in dirty jogging clothes, crumbling tennis shoes, and mismatched socks! She was standing on the corner with her mountain bike waiting for the light to change . . . and she was sweating like a Hamm's beer can in a Oklahoma summer . . . and she was breathing heavy . . . I took that to mean she'd be out in this heat a while and was riding the bike . . . I mean, hardcore riding it looked like to me . . . And I think to myself . . . why ain't I out there, riding my ass off? Hell, never gonna get rid of this barrel shaped gut if I don't get out and ride! So, thanks, girl, for giving me at least enough inspiration to at least think about getting in shape.

Saturday, July 27, 2o19
Guess what? I started an actual movie review for Once Upon a Time . . . in Hollywood. Yes! Finally got up the creative nerve to write about the movie I saw yesterday . . . but I probably won't finish it until tomorrow because after a couple of hours writing, I decided to get out on the bike and ride a bit. Gone for two and a half hours! No, not riding the whole time but probably spent at least an hour and forty-five minutes riding . . . outside . . . in the . . . HEAT!

Sunday, July 28, 2o19

Well, the bike ride was a success for me . . . but today . . . damn, took a lot out of me. Yeah, riding the bike in the Oklahoma heat . . . that's my private succubus.  Just sucked the energy out of me. Didn't even wake up until noon today. But did do some writing on the review for Once Upon a Time in . . . Hollywood. Well, at least enough writing that I decided to start rewriting it . . . tomorrow.

Still, need to keep getting out and riding the bike. Not going to lose weight sitting on the couch, a lot of time in a chair on the computer . . . used it or . . . get fatter. More to come.

Wednesday, July 31, 2o19
Well, last day in this July month and . . . I've hardly wrote anything. I hate to say it . . . but the sun these last few days? Tired me out. Okay, I know. I should not say anything about age BUT . . . used to be I could take this heat. Hell, at 63 (8 years ago) I just moved back to Oklahoma and living in OKC and it was like 110-120 degrees outside and I rode the bike all over the place, Penn Square Mall. hell, even a trip on my 63rd b-day, and I made it back and forth with just a little discomfort. But I'm 71 now. The sun and me are no longer friends. I may have to adopt the same vampire life David seems to love: stay out all night sleep all day. Well, good night, friends. Enjoy the moth of august! {smiles}

The Daily {W}rite July 2019 wk o3

So, I was online, one of the pages about movies, and this guy posted a comment about the original Die Hard movie, and he really liked it. He called it the " . . . best action movie ever!" And a lot of others agreed . . . except this one guy who wrote, "I know you're going to hate me, But I think Die Hard is stupid and clichéd." And that got me a little ticked . . . " Hey, shouldn't you trolling  the White House or something?" And I finished with w meme I made saying I Hate Trolls." Then bam! Posted the comment, smiled and went off to Braum's to buy some groceries.

So, I had lunch at Braum's ( Pepper Jack & jalapeño hamburger with fries!), and I started thinking about what I had done with the troll meme and . . . fuck. Why did I answer that guy in that way? I was being just as nasty as I thought he was being. You see? That's the trouble with trying to change . . . you can't actually change right away . . .  But the good news is that what I did actually got to me. Did I go back to the site and delete the mean meme I posted? No. Still working on that part . . . saying I'm sorry to everyone I do "bad" things to.

9:34pm
Going to a rally against immigration abuses by our government at U.S. Representative Tom Cole's office tomorrow . . . I'm fed up with these anti-American conservatives that are ruining our country. I need to show some support for the people tomorrow.

Thursday, July 18, 2o19

Storm somewhere . . .close I think. Some they can feel the storm coming in their bones, an aching in their bones. for others the coming storm is an itch and always in a place that the arm and hand just can't get to. So, you have the choice of letting the itch you can't scratch whittle away at those nerve endings you can't reach . . . or . . . find a doorway to rub yourself on. But me. I feel the coming storm in my head. Granted there's already a steady hurricane inside my skull that torments the memories, what few good memories I have, the memories that when I think on them . . . force a smile to break the frowning chains that enslave my lips day in and out . . . yes, the raging nature in my head never attacks the evil dreams, the nightmares of memory, no, those images are the evil's best friends. Yes, a storm is coming and all I can do is hide in my apartment . . . and wait for it to stumble through and when it's finally gone . . . pick up the pieces and start rebuilding . . . again.

Friday, July 19, 2o19 

RULES FOR A GOOD LIFE

1. IF you have a bloody nose that comes out of nowhere, no punch in the face, no blowing your nose too hard, it just starts bleeding . . . Don't post it on Facebook . . . . you' get all kinds of advice with the biggest being . . . Go to the Doctor's at ONCE! One person said it was a sign that I was having a heart attack, another a tumor  ("It's not a tumor!"), another suggested that I would be dead before the night was up, and my sister . . . she invites me to dinner just to check and make sure I was alright. Okay, I admit . . . I like the attention. {smiles}
2. Don't joke with your best friend about his driving.
3. Don't react to anyone who says nasty things on Facebook about movies you love. Worst one today? A movie of Cats is being released in December and the trolls are already degrading the movie and I may have said a few even nastier phrases in the direction of these stupid-ass idiots that have nothing better to do with their time than to trash the hard work of artists that . . .okay, I'm getting worked up. Rule: Don't let Facebook trolls spoil your good mood.
4. Don't keep picking at a scab  . . . it won't heal and you be stuck with an open sore, and you'll say something about it on Facebook and all your Facebook friends will comment with. "You got CANCER! See a doctor right now!"

Wednesday, o7-24-19
So, I didn't wrote much . . . well, it is a much indeed . . . but not amounting to be too much of a much. So, I'll leave it hear and go on to the last week of July.

The Daily {W}rite July, 2019 wk. o2

Wednesday, July 1o, 2o19

I'm not writing what's on my mind today. I'm in a different mood. I want to explore other options when it comes to communicating with others. Ha! Foolin'! Not sorry! Reese's. But seriously, There's a lot of anger in me and I am trying not deal with it differently when I can. But sometimes . . . I just breakout of the "Be Nice, Don't Fight" prison and go on a bit of a rampage. But it's not gelling with my best friend . . . what to do? Well, I'll think on it a while.

10:15pm
So, concentrating on something other than the bad stuff of life. The new poem for the "Ninja Poet Project" is ready to go to the printers. I've been working on the project all week and finally got something that seems to work as well as I can make it. So, tomorrow we're out and about pulling off the NINJA POET PROJECT!

Friday, July 12, 2o19

Well, this is a big disappointment. Wrote in the blog (on the blog?)  on Wednesday . . . And NOT writing another thing until Friday!

David and I drove his daughter (actually, David drove, I sat in the back taking a picture . . . or two) to a job interview out by Thunderbird Lake. She went and had her interview and

David and I drove out to one of the lake's coves. When we got back and I started processing the pics I took . . . I dubbed the short trip (her interview didn't take that long) David Gotta Speeding Ticket Massacre . . . because . . . can you guess? That's right! David gotta speeding ticket on the way out to the lake. HE was PISSED! "Well," I said, "if you wanted to avoid a ticket you should've cut your hair, got rid of the peace sign you always wear . . . and let Mabry drive."

Saturday, July 13, 2o19
Insight into one's personal life dilemma is important . . . but changing the well honed and negative ways of dealing with life . . . Life

always gets in the way of living.  People . . . get in the way of living a life that makes you feel fulfilled. But maybe that is all there is to living a good life . . . live it in spite of those who feel that  necessary to their own existence an obligation to fuck with you. Food for thought, anyway.

But this is where I am . . . now. Understanding that my thinking needs to change when it comes to life . . . living. People need to not take them as enemies but being like me who are flawed and seeking to rejuvenate themselves . . . find a river to follow . . . a dream to dream on.

Sunday, July 14, 2o19
So, this is the last day in week o2 of July. I wish I had more to say . . . but I don't. Not this week. Me head is clearing . . . the "devil" thoughts are leaving . . . I hope. And never to return . . . I hope. Anyway, concentrating on my poetry more and less and the past and all those memories that used to keep me awake all night. Still not sleeping that well, but it's all getting . . . better . . . I hope. Goodnight, dear reader. {smiles}

The Daily {W} July Happy 4th 2019 wk o1

First of July  . . . the 4th near here. The celebration of America . . . my country, tis of thee . . . and so on and on.  I looked up how many American military men/women have died  . . . in all American wars? Well, No one is jumping out there to say exactly . . . one post did say it's 1.1 million. All the American wars? It's horrible . . . but it doesn't sound like a  lot . . . a lot. I mean, all the wars that America has been involved in? One site said that the government has stopped posting the list of Middle East conflict casualties. I wonder why?  So, it is a lot but I can't find a definite count.

Anyway, I rode the bike over this afternoon to sick boy's house (David) and run it over to the landlord. Took a short trip over to the  local grocery to get a few food items . . . and what I was talking about last month, about me riding the bike and all the bad memories pop into my head? Well, it happened again as I was riding . . . but this time, instead of indulging the thoughts I pushed them away and focused on riding the bike, looking at the road, glancing at the trees I passed . . . consciously refusing to not give in "bad" thoughts. It worked . . . for a while. But in the store . . . well, somebody cut in front of me in line and I'd get so angry, so mad. I didn't say or do anything but . . . I pushed it away again . . . and it kept coming back a little stronger. I put my grocery in my backpack, pushed my cart out to the cart rack and this old lady was standing there, saw me coming and said, "Oh, your cart looks better than the one I've got here . . . would you mind if I used your cart?" And I smiled and I laughed and all the bad just went away.

Tuesday, July o2, 2o19

I'm thinking that living within the moment, one moment at a time is the best way for me. Stay out of the past  . . .  the future. Stop the time traveling . . . nothing but ghosts in the past, in the future. Life is here right now as I type this "note" to the world . . . and hope that someone hears me, understands. There's an old saying my dad used to tell me . . . "Life is hard . . . and then you die." Probably right. But he left out that park of the hard-life, the biggest part of the hart life is how difficult I make life . . . for myself.

4:30 pm

Just finished women's soccer for the day. America's team won . . . by a point against England. It was barely, though. an English goal was dismissed because of an "offside" penalty . . . which I have never understand offsides in soccer. AND the American goalie saved a penalty shot from being made. You know? I enjoy women's soccer more than the men's soccer. The women's soccer seems to move faster, more energy on the part of the players . . . and not a lot of "fake" injuries going on in woman's soccer.

I'm thinking about this month's Ninja Poetry Project. I've written a lot and I'm not sure what to go with. I had several ready to be printed . . . but the more I looked at them the more I just didn't like the way they came out. And wasn't as in love with my words I wrote as I was when I chose the poems. So, scrap it all and go back to the writing block. {smiles}

Friday July o5, 2o19

Wow! Quite a few days have passed since the last entry. But a lot, a LOT going on that I got caught up in and just did not get to writing on the blog. Sorry about that. But there were some rather miraculous things going on, I mean, like Bible prophecy stuff. My best friend had been sick for over 2.5 (or more) weeks, and on Tuesday (?)  he had a resurrection . . . just like Lazarus of Bethany  . . . he rose from the grave! And we went and had coffee . . . during the day . . . which is important because my friend doesn't like to go out during the day. The other miracle  . . . he's not a vampire. THEN we went to a movie, Midsommar, and it was weird-ass movie! And then we went out on the 4th to the Duck Pond to watch the fire works . . . and today . . . we went for coffee and I complained about his driving and he got mad because he doesn't want anyone to say anything negative about his driving, and I got mad because I don't want to die in a fuckin' car accident and . . . everything was back to normal.

Sunday, July o7, 2o19
Oops. Sorry. Missed a couple of days. You know, "things to do! Hahahaha!" I was thinking about a few things. I've been having troubles with Facebook friends and friends I once knew in real life. Some of them saying this things I'm not interested in discussing with them. If I do start a conversation with them, it will just start an argument which is not something I want to do anymore. So, if they are on Facebook, these knights against the dragon's heart . . . I just unfriend them and just never talk to them again. Ah! But what if they start talking to me? What if they just have to know why I'm no longer their "friend?" I might tell them . . . or not. IF that happens, I'll decide then and there what I wish to do. Until next week, dear readers. {smiles}