Sep. 10th, 2017 02:32 pm
monk222: (Default)
Pop comes in, intruding on my space and my time, and starts dusting the big-screen TV. I said, "Kind of excited about today, huh?" He chuckles, "The first game." There is still five hours before the kick-off of the Cowboys' season opener, but it's not as though he has anything better to do. I swear, he could be a sit-com character. I'm not laughing, though. I am the character whose irritation and obvious grief help to make the scene funny.


Sep. 9th, 2017 10:49 pm
monk222: (Primal Hunger)
Checking out my Twitter trends, I am surprised to see UTSA on the board. And it's actually my old UTSA and not some insurance company. The school is actually making its mark in college football. That's pretty big. They beat Baylor today. Pretty big.

San Antonio has wanted its own football team forever, albeit in the NFL. Having a college team should be more than a mere consolation, especially if the team has some promise of being a contender, can win some games.

Home Life

Sep. 9th, 2017 08:29 pm
monk222: (Strip)
Monk tells Pop, "I thought you were saving those hot dogs for the Cowboys tomorrow."

He mumbles. He couldn't wait, wanted something tonight. I remind him, "You still have that pizza."

He says, "Oh, yeah, that's right! Good."

I will be taping the game myself. When we were getting our groceries, Pop remarked that it's not going to be the same watching the Cowboys without Romo. And I feel some regret for not turning on to football a year or two ago. I know nothing of Romo. I couldn't pick him out of a line-up, and I guess the Romo era was a big one for Cowboys fans. For me, it all started getting unreal when Staubach left. I was a little familiar with Danny White, but it still wasn't the same, and I was well on my way to losing all interest in any sports anyway.

Hmm, I wonder if my renewed interest in baseball and football reflects a loss of a good deal of my brain cells. For the past 20 years, I would have preferred getting shot to watching a game. It seemed like such a waste of life. With pornography, you at least take care of a necessary body function. But now here I am: hungry to watch some games. Books are no longer the be-all-end-all for me as they used to be. I don't have the concentration to read as much as I used to. I feel like taking it easier, be more mellow, as my time runs down to its last grains.


Sep. 8th, 2017 08:40 pm
monk222: (Mori: by tiger_ace)
Pop returns late, after getting Kay's groceries, and he informs me, "Carlos is losing two of his toes." Diabetes, presumably.

I said, "Oh, yeah." I said it so coldly that I might as well have said, "Who cares?"

Carlos and I were close in my childhood and teens, or that is how I felt. I sort of regarded him as my big brother. But I never really talked to him again since I began college. I guess that he did not feel that close to me, seeing me more as a distant cousin that he had to entertain when Art came to town. I suppose I resent it that he did not somehow help to pick me up in my failure, showed me that I had a friend. In truth, I don't see how we could have connected in any life-meaningful way, but feelings do not have to be rational.
monk222: (Primal Hunger)
Baudelaire's "Flowers of Evil" is back at the top of my little stack of poetry books. I have the tendency to stick it back in the bottom rather than read from it. I expected something very different. I thought I was going to hear the voice of mean poverty that mocks all the conventions and all the gods, and understands that life is a sick joke. Instead, you could have reasonably guessed that you were reading Byron, if you were not told the writer beforehand. The translation is well-rhymed and metered, quite pretty, but ... paeans to beautiful women just fall flat on me at this time.
monk222: (Global Warming)
Grocery day. So, it's not that my blurty mood was a quickly passing thing. Just busy.

Clearing my way through my backed-up Twitter feed, I come across a nice quote on the record-breaking hurricanes and tropical storms and runaway wildfires we are experiencing lately.

Patrick Monahan tweeted, "The planet is rejecting the human race like a bad organ transplant."

Komala Hayes responded, "That's straight up George Carlin! You rock!"

For a lot of us, this shake-up of the environment is still mostly just a wild spectacle that we can watch on TV, so that we are free to just banter about it, the ultimate reality-TV. But it is like gallows humor. We might not be caught in it and getting torn apart in these planetary gears quite yet, but I think we feel the uneasiness of knowing that it is only a matter of time and our turn is coming.

Sometimes the sky really is falling. I know I am braced for the blade to drop on my neck at anytime, perhaps not by flood or fire, but a very old man's health and my poverty will work destruction well enough, even if it doesn't make the news.



Sep. 7th, 2017 09:12 pm
monk222: (Cats)
Sammy wanted to come in to eat, as has been his wont from time to time over the past couple of weeks or so. Okay, I let him in and take the plate to the big room for him. When he is ready to go back outside, Ash is there. I hold the door open, offering her the opportunity to come inside for a bite to eat. It appears she prefers to eat outside. Okay, I go and get the plate and take it outside, but then she just races away without even taking a sniff of the food. A power play? Okay, the things I do for love. Plus, I know how hard the long night will be for them, when I am sleeping and they are starving and powerless. The problem with nocturnal pets: we live in different time zones.

Trump Times

Sep. 7th, 2017 06:01 pm
monk222: (Devil)
An argument in the New York Times: Immigrants shouldn't have to be talented. Heh, there's a proud argument. If you like poverty and being a bottom-feeder. Because being dark-skinned and dumb will get you so much in this country, in this world. You can't even hit a baseball for us? Or dance a little?
monk222: (OMFG: by iconsdeboheme)
Oh, shit, I keep forgetting. I have finished making the grocery list, but I keep forgetting the last crucial step: to type it into my word processor and print it. I was so ahead of schedule, and now I am kind of behind.


Sep. 7th, 2017 01:37 pm
monk222: (Strip)
“And another idea I had was to write a big long poem about everybody I ever fucked or slept with.”

-- Allen Ginsberg


Sep. 7th, 2017 12:43 pm
monk222: (Bonobo Thinking)
Wow, Ash is lapping up that water like it is heavenly delicious. I changed the five-gallon jug this morning, and so that is all cooler-water in the cats' bowl instead of tap water. I have been worrying lately that the cats were barely drinking their water.

Maybe I need to go back to sweetening their water with cooler-water, making it half and half with the tap water. I had stopped doing that because I have been using more of the cooler-water for my own Ozarka bottles, not wanting to go through those so quickly, neither the Ozarka bottles nor the cooler jugs. But we might really have a 'hard water' problem with the tap, and the cats' satisfaction is worth a little trouble.


Sep. 7th, 2017 09:06 am
monk222: (Primal Hunger)
I came close to getting a blanket in the middle of the night. I contented myself with shutting the window. This has been our week of autumnal shifting.
monk222: (Effulgent Days)
I woke up at four. At least the cats were happy: I got to feed them more regularly. But I couldn't fall asleep for my afternoon nap, and this is after putting in a hard morning of lawn work.

Though, I did go to bed at about 10:30 last night. I was so dead tired. I did lawn work last evening too, and that was after a five o'clock morning.

I don't know. My biorhythms are all fucked up. And you know how important it is for me to live by routines, and how deadly important sleep is to me.

And, yeah, I think I might loosen up on my blog. For a while, I have been on a more literary-poetic stride, or so I fancy. I haven't been just posting anything, leaving out the most basic and repetitive elements of my humdrum life. I was even trying to lay off the weather reports.

But now I kind of feel like I am in a blurty mood. It has been a long time. In my fifties, I figured that sort of impulse had burned out. I saw it as mostly an urge to show off, a desperate bid for attention, and what is the point of that in your fifties, especially when you no longer have any readers anyway? True, it almost worked for me once, but that must have been my last chance in life, and, as always, I wiped out and hurt myself. At least it was the best ride of my life. I came so close to making friends and even having a lover. I really do feel like I almost rode that wave, even if I am kidding myself about that.

I am not sure where this mood is taking me. Maybe it's a short-lived impulse. I have felt the stirrings of a blurty mood now and again for a while, but it was always easy to ignore. I still don't want to be overly banal and repetitive. I don't always want to be talking about what I am eating or watching on TV or what I am wanking to, nor to record every trivial thought that coalesces into a phrase in my vacuous mind. But, really, what else is there?

Who am I kidding, right? I am a broken vinyl record. I haven't had an original thought in thirty years. More writing means more dull droning repetition. So pointless.

I guess I just continue to feel a peculiar fascination in seeing my thoughts on a page, and I do not want to wait until I feel like I might produce something a little artful or informative. I am not going to be the next Billy Collins, or the Next Anybody. I am just the perennial nobody with an attitude.

Maybe the interaction between me and the page is my substitute for real conversations with other people. Just picture me in a straitjacket drooling over myself in a corner and banging my head, gently but regularly like the ticking of a clock, against the padded wall, incoherently mumbling on and on about how nobody loves me, not even my mother, and wondering where it all went wrong, and why did my cat have to die.

And I wonder why no one wants to read me!

Maybe my giving in to the blurty mood is about my lack of sleep. I don't know. Let's just see where it goes. Well, I think we know where it ends up, where it always ends: Nowhereville, with a room at the Heartbreak Hotel at the end of Lonely Street. But we will see what route we take this time. Hey, it could be our last trip. Soak in the sights, enjoy the breeze, try to remember the little joys we enjoyed, the sweet dreams we dreamed, the desires that died in their own fire.


Sep. 5th, 2017 03:48 pm
monk222: (Devil)
I can hardly believe that I get to say this: I just watched Roger Staubach and Tom Landry defeat the New York Giants in the last seconds of the game. YouTube was my time machine, taking me back to 1979.

The path was circuitous. It began when I took to watching baseball games, which I did because there were too few movies that could keep me interested, if you recall. Then, I figured I could use something regular to watch on YouTube to sweeten my Internet time. I discovered that some people record and upload baseball games. Problem solved, right?

Not really. It proved annoying to try to keep track of two baseball games at the same time: the one I have recorded on TV and the one on YouTube.

How about football? It turns out that people also upload those games on YouTube. And now I am set.

Actually, watching the football game opened up one of Pandora's boxes.

In line with cool liberal thought, I had been looking on football with more than a little disdain, as a game of big brutes banging each other up, literally beating each others' brains to a grim, slow death.

Even so, I could not help being dragged into the game and there transfixed. How can anyone watch baseball when you can watch this chaotic and wild warfare that is only missing weapons and tanks? It makes it kind of difficult to go back to watching a pitcher and a catcher tossing a baseball back and forth for a couple of hours.

I started looking for more football games on YouTube, and this is when I remembered my old wish to see the old Cowboys games from the 1970s that I watched when I was a boy and when I still had some notion of becoming a football player myself, and so I looked for them, and I found some.

And it was more than just the game itself. It was as though the game was first recorded on videotape, and he did not just record the game. He also captured some of the commercials, and I almost cried from nostalgia overload. Of course, I loathe commercials, but it is another matter when we are talking about commercials from almost forty years ago. And the TV listings! "Alice", "WKRP in Cincinnati", "The White Shadow", "The Jeffersons" and all those old TV shows. God, I wish I could drop into that TV era regularly. I don't really want to watch those old shows, but as a kind of addition to the commercials, I would not mind seeing little scenes from them, just to give me a taste of what I once did watch and how I spent way too much of my time.

I want to keep up my interest in baseball, but when football season kicks off this weekend, I am afraid that might be a losing struggle. But talk about an embarrassment of riches! And there are bound to be a few movies that I want to watch. At least I am no longer hurting for viewing material for my meals. I wouldn't mind having a couple of more meals in the day. I think I can see myself taking an easy day on occasion and setting up my solitaire board before the TV and spending much of an afternoon or evening watching games.


Sep. 4th, 2017 01:13 pm
monk222: (Default)
“When you’re working very hard you’re not lonely; you are the whole damn world.”

-- Shelby Foote


“I don’t sit down often enough. Life intercedes.”

-- Henri Cole


“I love metaphor the way some people love junk food.”

-- William Gass


“Very ugly emotions perhaps make a poem.”

-- Robert Lowell


Sep. 2nd, 2017 03:28 pm
monk222: (Cats)
These days, these lazy late-summer days, Ash and Sammy are practically siamese twins. Looking at the two ash-gray cats as they lie down together beside the house, you cannot easily tell where one ends and the other begins.

I wish I could be all 'Aww!' about it, watching my cats enjoying their feline felicity, safe and well-fed and comfortable in life, like the way a parent watches his children playing happily in the park.

But I cannot help feeling some bitterness over this propensity of theirs, the way they fill up their own universe, leaving little room for anyone else, for in it I can feel Coco's loneliness and understand why she felt moved to look farther afield for fulfillment, despite all the love that I felt for her, and only to get hurt worse, much worse.

We are only a few weeks short of a full year since I lost her, and it still hurts.


Sep. 1st, 2017 02:11 pm
monk222: (Default)
“Fact is like clay. You shape it to your own ends.”

-- John Gregory Dunne


“A poem is an empty suitcase that you can never quit emptying.”

-- Kay Ryan


Aug. 31st, 2017 04:29 pm
monk222: (Devil)
"Catch you later," Pop says as he heads out for a stayover at Kay's. He seems to be getting cooler with age, more suave, sort of like a young man coming into his own, at least when he is feeling up, at his peak moments, which admittedly are too few.

"You are just happy to have the house to yourself for a couple of days."

There's that, too.

But I really am feeling a little more anxious over Pop's health. Since I put chess behind me, I have felt a re-invigoration of my reading life, which has me hungering for more years to get through more books - a new wanderlust for the page.

Until this ... reawakening, I was feeling like I was perfectly willing to go anytime now and say goodbye to the cold, cruel world, giving it the finger with my left hand on the way out. I was absolutely tired of it all and felt that there was nothing that I really wanted to hold onto - not even the cats with all their squirrel-like aloofness, especially without Coco, my calico charmer.

But now ... I wouldn't mind a few more years. Though, it still gets only harder over time ... having to think of all the years of nothing happening in my life ... and how nobody thought I was worth saving.

Funny, I feel like maybe I've talked myself back down into my dark den of despair. I still feel a hungry appetite for more books, but there is no longer that sunny lift of euphoria that I was feeling. Yeah, I want to read more books, but ... death would be okay, too. What a life, man.
monk222: (Girls)
"Don't tell me you are becoming a Taylor Swift fan, too, now?"


"You are staring at her like you are trying to burn a hole through her crotch."

Please! It's just that I really like her new song, "Look What You Made Me Do". It is often reported that she uses her art to vent her hostility, her thirst for revenge, and I think she hit the top of her oeuvre here. She doesn't dwell in drama but thinks of karma: I'm going to be the actress starring in your bad dreams'...

"You don't need to sing it!"

Just saying. And it's true that I didn't realize before that she has such great white legs.

"Well, she's tall. Just saying. LOL."

Yeah, yeah, I wasn't planning on asking her out. But that's the thing about art and dreams: you are not limited by banal realities.

"Just make sure you wash your hands afterward."

Funny, now that you make me think about it, I never wank to celebrities.

"Hmph, that's probably because they have too much power and success for you. If I am not mistaken (and I am not!), you like your women kind of weak and pathetic."

Heh, you might have a point there.


Aug. 29th, 2017 11:13 am
monk222: (Default)
“Suicide is, after all, the opposite of a poem.”

-- Anne Sexton


“The unique and supreme pleasure of making love lies in the certitude of doing evil.”

-- Charles Baudelaire


monk222: (Default)

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