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 |   All that remains: in afterlife as 'mainstream' blogger, with what little I know. 20k views |
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Obshchak Some torn to the ground Some burn to the ground Others removed brick by brick Redesign for the times When the lease comes up Or just fold up When you have a bad day and need a reason... Formerly: New Zenith To Hell…(all started with arc as writer here from the trials of Rising Stars to Preferred Author to WDC Quills Best Poetry Collection... "Whoever fights monsters should see to it…he does not become a monster.” - Some guy, I guess. Look it up? I’ve been to the abyss and back. Not so bad. The loneliest happy person you'd ever meet, when not the saddest person who needs to be alone. In an ever-changing world, we need to handle topics at the ready. If you roll over and give in to the narrative without lending a voice, might as well hand over your civil liberties. Voices could connect to true conscience and spirit for honest and open discourse. Why feel so redacted? Unify on issues or don't but put drama aside. Open minds require complete objectivity. Or, agree to disagree and have a beer. Just writing what I feel without the narrative-altering mind f---ing with my head. [MY Chorus] In your house, I long to be Room by room, patiently I'll wait for you there, like a stone I'll wait for you there, alone - Chris Cornell, RIP Some other stuff ▼ My recent poetry:
Sometimes epiphanies about my insights on writing and life and what goes on... Blah, blah, blah ▼ ![Merit Badge in Rare
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I like your work!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/general-Rare.gif) Thank you WakeUpAndLive️~Happiness  for honoring me with your kind words!Read here some old blog entries...  2018 Highlights ▼ More... 2018: The Quiet Ones ▼  ~ Brian K Compton ~  |
| Here in the United States, we're celebrating our independence today. Is this a special day to you? Will you do anything special? Have we as a country forgotten what this day really means? Yes, I know, several questions there. (If you do not live in the United States, please apply this prompt to the day your country celebrates as Independence, or a similar holiday.) Answer as you wish please. I could shoot some fireworks, bottle rockets or Roman candles that shoof! shoof! shoof! Into the night. I might drink beer, grill thick steak, eat a slice of watermelon in 92-degree heat on the front porch step, spit seeds, wave to passing neighbors, admire sweaty kids racing bikes into the nearby park. I could fish. I could dig and grab a couple squirmy earthworms, stick them in my tackle box and just go. But, I probably won't. A plane will fly over every now and then. Soon, another night of fireworks sparking the sky with neon clouds wading soft like vaporized jellyfish. We'll sit around a campfire, spray repellent. My kid will come and go with our truck, not stay for marshmallows because they have more fun with summer friends, If my son takes a brief respite from video games, he'll eat a cupcake, go back upstairs. My wife will stir a fire, formerly raging, after an evening coating our clothes and skin with a charred remnant that lingers in hair most. We will sigh when embers cool and groan to lift sodden limbs from padded patio chairs that creak and whine with us in the same metallic effort. Oh, there were fireworks, to be sure. The city's display not enticing enough to park, In a field, view, chill and stay awake under blanket. Not the same with grown kids with other agendas, reminded we always did it for them. We made sacrifices so they could grow tall and strong and have reason to smile, reason to feel free, do as they please, as we get old. I think I'll take time to consider those sacrifices, the effort to keep us strong, free from tyranny. And, share that joy with others. Peace to all, wherever you may find it on a brilliant night. A poem. I'll write this poem. Mmm, steak, marinate!  |
| Do you have a list of inspirational quotes that you might refer to for guidance? Share one with us! I do have inspirational writings that I refer to, but seldom anything that is a 'quote', unless we are to include things that I've written to myself. Writing notes to myself has been a long standing tradition, not unlike the Writing.Com contest in January called 'Dear Me', which I won, coincidentally in 2014. "Dear Me WINNER: Crossroads"  Writing notes to myself started long before an old poem I posted here that was scrawled on a piece of paper to be keep in my wallet to pull out from time to time:
I could return to reread that poem or the Dear Me contest entry, but what I find cathartic is posting some inspirational things on Twitter that help remind me, as well as others. (Click To Enlarge Images Below)  https://twitter.com/glaedrfly/status/1045110283126140930?s=21 "On my equatorial highway to senectitude." The photo might say it all if you consider POV and where the horizon is. I borrowed the word 'senectitude' from a fellow WFOP poet, because it relates to how we feel in our latter years.  https://twitter.com/glaedrfly/status/755077152626933760?s=21 Rather be awkward trying, if always discovering Vulnerability is beauty Complacency ugly It's actually an idiomatic poem I wrote about how I feel 'baring my chest', as my high school English teacher would put it. I would rather risk falling on my face than not try. Also, feeling silenced by society rather than speak your mind to have opinion be heard applies. Sometimes, voices are silenced by the machine. Sticking your neck out should make you feel better, having bared one's chest. If no one backs you up, the only bad feeling you might get.  Sometimes, we just have to put the pen aside and be in a moment. My cat knows how to do it. Why can't I? Thinking of Springsteen lyrics from Jungleland: ▼  Pushing a pile of words from corner to corner, adding more to the mix, for life. I added #amwriting and then #amIwriting?  It's really how I feel about writing poetry, the add in, add out process and moving the structure around until it feels like a worthy poem. Seriously, not interested in self-promotion. I get it, just don't like it. I think it takes away from creativity. WWEDD? WWSD? (see if you can guess?)  That's my son on the beach in Mexico, the antithesis of 'no ambition'. But seriously, I bite off more than I can chew and feel nothing but regret for all the things I don't finish, especially bigger projects. What am I thinking?  "Perfection is lost once we try to conceive." When you've got an idea and want to jot it down. Something is brewing and that magic doesn't last, because we have to build a structure, frame those words, put this idea in context. The shine seems to leave that gold. But, I add to 'keep writing'. Words might fail at first, but notice if I keep digging: hidden gems, even if not what was sought...and, maybe better.  https://twitter.com/glaedrfly/status/1043194792291708928?s=21 Rough hands do not bespeak a gentle mind It was a rough heart that taught gentle hands not be weak Another idiomatic poem that sprung up, reminds of my dad. Some say I'm reminiscent of him, the older I get. What I'm reminded: he was rough and taught my gentle hands to not be weak. His hands were rough from labor. His working man ethos rubbed off. I'm no slacker wherever I labor. Thing is, having a rough exterior doesn't define me. I'm gentle and prefer not be as rough as he. What's unfortunate is I give off a gruff exterior without intending. I can feel villainized or treated a monster. Striking that balance is difficult, makes me feel an awkward social animal. But, the old man also taught me to be a cynic, sometimes confused with a callous heart. In summation: Hard candy shell, melty chocolate inside!  But, don't tell anyone I said that.  This kind of summarizes me as a writer in a community like this. Obviously, after I type something, I don't have to hit send. But, then where am I? So, I put myself out there, speak my mind. It can get dicey. Have to accept that. I know what people prod me to do, trying to get me out of my comfort zone. And fear, if I don't acquiesce, lose them. If I do, I lose myself. You say you don't ask for much, get indifferent if I don't play the game.  Just keeping it real. Just want to be a writer who's judged on the merit of his content. I pay my dues in many ways. It involves a lot of my precious time. Hey! Like this, see? Happy to share a part of myself with others and long to reciprocate in return.  https://twitter.com/glaedrfly/ 7.3.21 |
| We've all read about them, we all probably have a favorite. Do you? Tell us about your favorite conspiracy theory. If you don't have one, tell us about one you recall. I've handed in my reporter's credentials long ago, but have always been curious about conspiracy theories. I think for me it started with the JFK assassination, though aliens and Bigfoot/Yeti might be forerunners due to those Enquirer-type rags at grocery checkouts when I was a kid. Oh, can't forget obsession with Elvis and his death with those claiming he was alive, as will happen with many icons. Saw a blurb today claiming Michael Jackson is among the living again. I don't have a favorite conspiracy. Usually, don't rank things or claim an absolute. I did google to see what the most talked about conspiracies are. I found it fascinating, though I don't think 'flatlanders' made the list. Here's an excerpt about one of the things I never heard before, knew little about, that intrigued: "Top Democrats are behind a child sex ring: In October 2016, the emails of Hillary Clinton’s campaign chairman, John Podesta, were leaked. Podesta wrote about possibly holding a fundraiser at the DC pizzeria Comet Ping Pong, and mentions ordering cheese pizza. Seemingly innocuous (but) fuel for the wild conspiracy Comet Ping Pong was (a front for) child sex-trafficking...run by Democratic leaders, including Clinton and Podesta. Cheese pizza, theorists claimed, meant child pornography. As in so many conspiracy communities, the emails became a cipher only insiders could decode. A few weeks after Podesta’s emails were leaked and “Pizzagate” started gaining traction, a 28-year-old man walked into that northwest Washington pizzeria with a rifle. After his search of the premises yielded no dungeon holding sex slaves, he fired his gun at a locked door before surrendering to police. The gunman later told a judge his actions were “foolish and reckless,” as Pizzagate conspiracies proliferated online, becoming the seed for the equally fantastical QAnon conspiracy. In October 2017, an anonymous poster called “Q” began posting on the messaging board 4chan, claiming to be an intelligence officer in the U.S. government. Q expanded the foundations of Pizzagate: Not only are politicians and Hollywood elites really satanic pedophiles, they also harvest the blood of children to stay young. The only person who could stop them was Donald Trump. (Despite President Biden's election, some in the Q universe insist he's an illegitimate president and Trump rules from the shadows and will one day emerge to take power, after arrests of everyone from Clinton to Tom Hanks and the Pope.)"Yeah, it's titillating, but hardly provable. Wasn't some guy and his madam connected to this and ran some sort of sex ring on an island? He went to jail, supposedly committed suicide (or was silenced Lee Harvey Oswald-like before he could go to trial) and the madam was in hiding before caught and it's gone quiet? I don't know. I think this is the stuff that drives writer's imaginations and has produced countless novels and movies and adaptable episodes for television. Law and Order called it 'ripped from the headlines' with the disclosure that 'hey, it's fake/fiction. don't sue us', get over it. we need 'believable' content. oh, look! a stray laugh emoji that was intended for some part of this got shoved all the way to the bottom. Hmm. I'll investigate later, when I edit.7.2.21 Author's Note: Personally, I don't assume anything but collect information bit-by-bit until I have something that seems circumstantially strong enough to pursue aligning facts to support. And even then, I have to wait for argument that could take out the pillar(s) of whatever theory I'm working on, before I decide I can work on the other cornerstones to logically lift and decide, with little hesitation, that something I've wondered about could possibly be true. I do it all the time (maybe, compulsively), but not obsessively. Just until I get tired and need my brain for more important things, like a hobby: writing, basketball. It takes a lot to get me invested before I crawl up inside something and root around for evidence. Provocation is usually the key. If someone is giving me signs to back off, I smell something. Did I mention my jam was investigative journalism at my first 'professional' gig in radio news? I wound on taking on some of the hometown elite, which didn't go over so well. Shook out a lot of good information, when I realized helpful people pointing me toward 'the truth', and some who were overzealous or trying to dupe me. I can smell out a ruse from the real thing. I'm surprised at my age with my experience, people still toy with me. I have my struggles, but I'm prideful and hard-nosed. Another blog for another day? |
| I thought about posting this in newsfeed, but it's too long: Working on a new bio, because I have to submit stuff for publication and I have to write a blurb (gah). So, I started thinking and redacting as I went: Let's just stick a fork in me. Former accolades: broadcast journalist with stints at six radio stations, news director, three state broadcasting awards. Sold copy to AP wire service, contributed to national CBS radio and National Public Radio. Former newsprint reporter, employed by four publications, stringer-reporter for the Milwaukee Sentinel, freelancer for other publications. Stints as News Assignment Editor and News Producer for two Tv stations. Editor of college newspaper, and editor of college literary magazine, while contributing content for each. Trained in photography and film development. Five-time published poet: one national publication, four state journals. It kind of tales off there. I have personal interests and hobbies, but I see other writers seldom go there. I also don't know how to describe my activity here. How to summarize and what parts are considered prestigeous? Like winning the Dear Me contest in 2014? Or the Heart Throb Poet in 2020? Or, just detail the 1k plus poetry written and what little short story efforts I've had. Oh, I could say I am activite with two blogs, one where I write and examine poetry daily. I wish I could say I successfully functioned to run my group. But, that's for another day. I'm sure I'm leaving stuff out. 7.1.21 edit, reconsider later. |
| Prompt: Have you ever been the recipient of, or observed the kindness of, a stranger? Tell us what happened. I tried to find a previous blog entry where I wrote about this incident December 4, 2017. I was playing pick-up basketball at the YMCA when I thought I would try to steal an alley-oop pass, leaping quite high in the air. The player who the ball was intended for got tangled up with me in his effort to locate the ball and I was turned upside down mid-air and came crashing down on my back, neck and head. Some swore it was like watching me fall 10 feet and the sound was like something hitting concrete. I was dazed and didn't know what happened, couldn't recall the play for much later. I couldn't even piece together what happened for days. Why I do recall is that I struggled to remember who I was and decided to go through a mental list of questions, while trying to respond to people around me. It's was then I realized one of the players, Nate, was asking me questions and trying to get me back to my senses. I blurted out I knew I had a son, but couldn't remember where my wife worked, but that it was at a hospital. Nate was trying to get someone to call 911 and get staff from the front desk. He made sure I was elevated, too. Eventually, it was all rushing back to me. Kevin was another player who kept checking to see if I was alright, if he could give me a ride home or to the emergency room. I could sense he was real concerned. Eventually, I remembered how to contact my wife so she could come get me and take me to the hospital for a scan. Usually, when someone gets hurt at the Y, that player will hobble off and everyone on the court impatiently waits for a replacement. This was a special case. I could see all were concerned, even the player who upended me who only came back to play once since. I felt bad that I may have stole some of his joy for the game. It was just good to know that people know how to respond and that they truly care about people in these situations. I watch some of the reality shows with my wife about paramedics and all the side stories of how people keep victims safe and alive until help arrives. Even if people don't think they can help, they seem to naturally step up. I was very thankful and donated extra money to the Y that year, and since, to fund basketball camps for underprivileged youth in our community. Though they seemed like strangers, like most do at the YMCA where we play, I've built some associations over the years. I look at Nate and Kevin as solid, reliable people who I will always respect, no matter how annoying they can be to still play basketball against. I enjoy it more when I know they're on my team. 7.1.21 It's late and I want to get to bed, so I'll edit this tomorrow? |
| It's been written somewhere on these pages that my life has been like playing handball against an uneven wall. That's about the gist of what I shared until I realized I have to share this with my therapist next week to explain this weird obsession I have. You see, to extend the methaphor, there are easier, flatter walls to the left and right and probably all the way around. I'm obsessed with learning this one wall that returns my serves in such odd ways it seems unfair. You would think I would stop mentally abusing myself and play against the proper wall. This obsession is trying to calculate every angle, it's a belief the wall cheats, conspires against me. The way it sends balls back and away, making it hard for me to play, doesn't seem fair. I don't even consider blaming myself in this regard because I believe I can master this all knowing wall and win one day. I've made significant progress with life as a highly-functioning whatever I am (can't say autistic without a diagnosis), yet I run into new obstacles all the time that perplex and intrigue me, make me want to try. In the beginning, it's very defeating. When I decide the wall is being unfair, I claim partial advantage. Because, not every thing is a wall but a living, breathing thing that I can mentally challenge, manipulate. Just the way I feel I'm being mentally challenged and manipulated by these scenarios I come across in my daily life. I should just walk away when the fix is in. Nuh-uh. My brain sets to work, leaving behind a rational, functional side of me. I figure, talk to the therapist about this obsession. Explain some scenarios where I must overcome odds. A simple one is gaining acceptance for my play on the basketball court. I should have hung them up many years ago. I just keep getting better and confusing people how I am able to achieve some of the things I attempt. I can't dunk a basketball anymore. But, I can nutmeg a player with a behind the back pass to a cutter for a layup. Look it up, if you care. Or respond here, I'll try. The thing is, I just keep watching and learning and preparing for each day I go to the gym. No one my age should be getting away with this stuff that would make me a Harlem Globetrotter. It's the same with words. It's the same with numbers. It's the same with complex equations. I do it with solitaire, cribbage, Words With Friends. I just keep learning and mastering play until it gets boring and I find something else. I need to understand why I do it, if I can stop. What will the outcome be if I keep ramping up at this pace. I'm learning about stocks and investing and making some side bets. Why am I saying all this? Guess I was just bored and prattling on after my realization about that wall I face everyday. It's not like Everest. It's not some abyss. It's a knobby, old wall that seems to mock me. Maybe, one day I will figure it all out and the wall will tumble down. I might be sad. I'll probably just look for another wall to master. Yeah, I need help. 6.29.21 typed in dark, edit later. |
| I really, really want to believe I'm smart. My wife keeps telling me I'm the smartest person she knows. I want to believe her, when she's not belittling me for some small detail I fail to pay attention to. I'm always trying to solve the largest puzzles, from shaking down a guy at the dealership for a good price on a vehicle to any provable evidence, say, that the US did NOT land on the moon, like conspiracy theorists say (by the way, I stay away from that crackpot stuff from the world is flat to who shot JFK, not that my wheels haven't spent time on it). I move on. That's the point. But, when I'm daily, routinely, involved with something that doesn't add up, my mind is drawing pictograms and graphs and charts, or whatever, in my head. Something in my psyche needs for things to balance, so the coins on one end of the scale are equal to the gold being assessed for value at the other. Does that make sense, or was that reaching as far as metaphors go? Why should I bother, moving on. I'm confronted with stuff I shouldn't meddle with everyday. I find that my inquiring mind cannot stop, because I know there are motivations on the other end of interactions that affect me that I cannot stop to ponder about. The longer I ponder, the worse it gets. I've learned not to draw attention to myself when thinking aloud, or say, writing my feelings here, for instance. I'm just compelled to pry, poke, prod and do whatever it takes in a sidelong, sidle-up manner to see 'what's the deal with that?' I offend people all the time. It becomes part of who I am that I have to accept. So, I don't even notice when I've done it. Unless, I lay out traps to see who comes to my door. It's as simple as divining from a few words a person's intent, watching their behavior, adding up circumstantial evidence so tedious and boring that even I check out from time to time. Sometimes, I get so distracted, when I get back, I don't remember what I was investigating. Just, some things keep coming back again and again and I can't help start it up all over again. These things take up a lot of my time and energy. Wish I could cut to what I need to do, sip coffee and start the day. I have a lot of time to idle. I'm told I have a big brain. I'm far more learn-ed in the past 15 years than would have expected to be by now. And, I'm not dead. Everyday is just the start of another journey in my head. So many incomplete master-level puzzles in this head that I hope one day to complete one to share with the world. What are they? I don't know. A lot of this computation goes so far into my mind that I can't retrieve what I'm working on until I'm faced with something that becomes the latest obsession. If that seems facetious, take it for what it's worth. I'm not mad at the world, not sharpening my cutlery. Just bored and my mind needs challenges. You could say I don't know how to construct a poem, let alone a metaphor, but know what I'm attempting when I write, like right now...without getting to the point, because I'm rounding a reaaaalllllyyyyy long corner...now and in life. Again, facetious. I get that. Haven't employed it all that much. Give me this one and stop questioning my intentions. It only tells me people who are overprotective have something to hide, instead of engaging me and letting their guard down. Why are people so afraid to approach? And when they do, why are they so intent on controlling the narrative instead of just letting us both vibe and get in sync? I'm down for whatever, even though what you just read might make you think whatever. I'm saying, don't let all the red flags pop up. I read between the lines. I look for evidence to support my theories. I'm drawing out conclusions within hypotheses inside conspiracy theories inside my addled head trying to put it all together. When I say 'addled', I don't mean drooling like a half-wit. You get that, right? There are people in my life that call me a genius one minute and look at me like an idiot the next. I think that says more about them. Did I just use all those words correctly? Probably not. But, I know what I'm saying. How are you? fine. Thank you. Odd. Another day, walks away backwards with finger pistols. Got an axe to grind for my employer tomorrow. 6.26ish, edited 6.30.21 and made public now! Yay!! Facetious. Only as it regard to myself. You get that, right? But, it's a little bit the rest of you. Step up. I won't bite. Toothy; too toothy.And I'm exhausting, but you people have conversed with Schnujo's in Alabama  , right? Meant in a good way. How you been? |
| I know I shouldn't say this, but sometimes I just need to get it off my chest. I wish I could get through a day without someone in my family saying or doing something that I will feel bad about. That's about as simplistic as I can put it. When I get up some mornings, fear and flight arrive my mind right away. There can be a cringe if I am not alone. Is she downstairs in a good mood, or bad? If she's got her mind made up to do something, will I be coaxed into not wasting another day. I get that I avoid life; I find distraction. I'm a fairly indulgent person who overdoes something when he finally decides to go after it. I sit in their judgment of my choices. I don't want to deal with this or that, I write, dawdle on the internet. I have designated times I can escape to the gym, usually right after work, or on those wide open days with nothing on my 'planner,' as if that would be utilized. So, I started the practiced of asking each night before bed, any plans for tomorrow. She's usually reluctant to say, grunts this or that like I should know. I want to know what I'm in for. I think she is already insinuating I shouldn't plan on coasting through another day, in her mind. In my mind, I'm uprooting trees, lifting houses and repaving roads. Everything I do feels like I'm tethered about the neck and pulling a combine with my teeth. All of these expressions come from the imagination that lays awake most nights, when the brain finally gives up, shuts off, only to begin again with the first eyelid lift. I'll try to bury my head under a pillow, but it's no use. I roll out, come down to the kitchen. That's when I know, is it safe to come out as me, do what I wish, or will it be lend my hand to a dish? Yuck, poor expression, but it rhymed. I could ramble on in this blog post, like I'm doing, as if I'm clearly relating a point I wanted to make, which was....was...rolls to the top of this entry, rereads. Yes, I feel trapped in my own home as someone who is misunderstood or not tolerated for not having the same approach, values about situation, my situation. And, I'm discovering and learning what it takes to survive in what feels like a war zone. I get that I'm being dramatic; I'm making the situation worse. I overreact; I overcompensate. The only reason I feel like hiding until it's safe to come out is because I do not feel tolerated anywhere I roam. Maybe, I'm making a game out of it to survive? But, I've heard the woman's discontent. Our children echo feelings, not concerns, about my idiosyncrasies as if I'm an upsetting their lives but not conventionally behaving. I just realized, I didn't give much evidence. Hmm. I'll have to consider, unless I'm avoid talking about that in blog because it is too 'traumatizing' to relive and retell it all again. When, I just want to find a little brook in my mind, where I can slip my shoes off and dip my feet in a warm, bathing stream. Dream of koi to nibble my toes, as a gentle breeze tousles my unsheltered hair. Where deer and other wildlife come to lick in that bath, nuzzle my ear. Where I can...sorry, got to go. Just say the car rounding the corner. Got to look like I'm doing something, or still asleep. Whatever. Just another rambling that sort of makes a point, but doesn't strain to create a solid piece of writing to function like a normal topic/dissertation/(word here) for consumptive, illuminating minds to follow the way it should. I'm not even sure what I just typed. Just got to go. |
Thanks to Warped Sanity  's newsletter (I should hunt down link), I wrote:"This is interesting. I hope to learn more. I found the link to this in newsfeed. I thought about attaching my reply there, but want to contribute to this newsletter foremost my reaction and thoughts (to give at least one person a better vibe about me): I'm self-confident in arenas where I'm not diminished. I find with writing or being on a basketball court, I'm in the right element. There are good days and bad days as with anything, but I have the confidence to override and even influence a few around me. We can be having so much fun, we don't want to quit. We do form bonds and associations in this way, as we 'vibe'. There are negative elements in these arenas, too. Some come with a different narrative and try to find someone else, even me, to blame for their bad day. They also divide, try to influence others against my good intentions, as if they were bad. These people just haven't figured out that it centers around their own aura. I'm learning to lean away from these people so I can shine on my own, wherever I am. It's tough sometimes not got get caught up in someone else's bad day or obvious negative perception of me. I can read the room, now that I am older and wiser. I'm more at peace as I age and don't work as hard, as if I would be empty if I don't please others. I just need to take care of myself, attune. Writing and exercising are great ways to express, decompress and release whatever is trapped inside...for me." I'm working too hard at proving my value to others some days, when I keep driving through subjects and more that cause me to opine and get into old unresolved feelings and thoughts that I thought I was done with, to see them surface again. It's like anything. an addiction; you try to kick the habit. But, you're on your own, no sponsor. It's hard to find people who can get on the same page with me, who'll (for real) be in my corner. I've found a few that remain, some new, but many who won't come over the fence between us to meet, visit again. And, I probably am the same. Knowing the neighbors in this community is difficult when I need to put a face or something iconic to a name. So, I keep to myself more than I intend. When I put myself out there, it's more than people want to know, or need to know. And, while brevity is my friend, it does not untethered what still anchors in my soul, waiting for some kind of approval from some unknown master for release. I'll plow through millions of pages of internet offerings hoping I'll meet with something, myself to say this is what you've sought or to just pack it up. I'll sit quiet a day or more, let life sink in a bit. Maybe, not dabble in it, mind erased and do this all over again. Another tack, another way to figure out what it is that needs be said with finality, like seeking perfection. Like death. It's inevitable and unavoidable, but we dream on just the same. And that's what I'll vibe about for now. However it's taken, negative or positive, I feel it's constructive, but not purposely so. 6.20.21 |
| I wrote something today that dovetailed so nicely it made me realize I need to pack it up, rather than double down. I'm not getting enough joy out of life by idling over things, while aiming for perfection, while missing the true beauty that abounds, surrounds. Better stop before I make a poem out of that, too. "Picturing" Even the entry number on this piece (that I can't edit even a bit) ironically adds to my ongoing theme. Bookmark this life? 6.17.21 |
| I'm like two different people on and off these drugs. What I'm not is sociable or able to defeat this nagging feeling I'm different and rarely finding footing or a place I fit in. It could be a life of experience that taught me how hard it was to read people, hang with them without figuring out some way to either offend them or making our co-existence uncomfortable either the harder I tried or the more I retreatedl. I am ADHD or ADD, depending on what my therapist says. What I don't understand is why she cannot buy into autism or something in that spectrum, because it is common in boys. It is life long. I know when I'm around people, if I don't get a handle on the situation quick, I look peculiar to this people who I can see don't know how to approach or take me. I try to do all the correct things socially, but overcompensate. I don't shut up when I should. No economy of words seems to save me from myself. The is this lifelong obsession with numbers, order and treating objects as living things. I could be absorbed for hours with the simplest of things. I discovered 3d images in woodwork and tile before it was a thing. I told awkward jokes and made fun of people because it was the type of humor I was raised with. I butted heads with friends, but I couldn't explain why I never kept one childhood friend or lasting relationship for the first 33 years of my life. I still have people teaching me the correct way to behave, or get the right read on situations. I don't think it's far-fetched to believe that the trauma I endured in childhood remains with me still because of this. I don't trust people, became cynical and defensive. I'm prone to overreact and become dramatic or emotional of situations that just requires me to take a beat, rather than let old fears seep back in. I tend to idle of the needless, rather than focus on things that could give back to me. Though, I am reordering priority based on results, it's never an easy thing. At least, it made me good at collecting money, which I like to count. My internet searches and the hours I have spent chasing one notion to other for what seems like forever has consumed me and a lot of my eyesight over the years. There's so much I should have known that I'm discovering, but I get too engrossed and lost in it all and lose precious hours a day. Sometimes, it benefits me when I write. So, there's that. So, everything works out for me, except I consider myself friendless since my teen years. I'm afraid to count on somehow, because of how traumatic losing a person, let alone getting to know them, can be. I'm trapped in this ideal of perfection and always wanting to say the right thing, sound smart, because I suffered a lot of humifaction from distractions that lead to ignorance. I'll keep working with my therapist. She hasn't got the full picture yet. This is more than you need to know about me. But, I write and I share so I can learn and get better. It took me 14 years to figure this place out, and still learning. 6.15.21 edit and/or add more later. |
| I prefer the first with no sound: Forever, (the original) Emma Peel: And, forever Cake! |
| If you piss off an empowered person, they will use their resources to crush you. (If they shun you, that means they noticed you are a perceived threat) And, if they employ the ignorant masses, it can get very lonely and/or contentious to assert oneself. As a lone voice in the fog, you can reach help, though you do not know what you will find. As a lone individual looking for others wandering, perhaps you will find the light together. If that empowered one was not able to utilize resources, the masses who educate themselves to respect the lost, maybe their is hope for all of us. 6.9.21 |
Reading one of the blogs by Kåre Enga in Montana  reminded me of Ayn Rand and especially 'Atlas Shrugged', as we deal as Americans who are apathetic on political and social issues nowadays, or as Kåre says, not 'progressive' (enough).I think we tend to lose our focus. I was googling some of Rand's philosophies when I came across a twenty-year-old article that reminds we are goal-oriented, don't like to wait out due process. So, sports acts as a substitute for those who need gratification, as the real world grinds it out slow and won't provide closure... https://ari.aynrand.org/issues/culture-and-society/culture-and-society-more/the-... "Misunderstandings about me" |
| "I sat there for like a month and a half, waiting on the phone to ring. I just put my faith in God, having conversations with myself, talking to God like, 'What's the plan? What's going to happen?'" Rivers said. "All the feedback I kept getting is, a lot of teams liked me but they didn't know what type of character I was and how I'd be in their locker room. My basketball ability was never questioned; it was who I was as a person. Which is actually even worse. "Truthfully, it broke my heart. Because I know who I am, and I've always had good relationships with people, but you can have one instance with mistakes and be labeled something." |
| I was making small edits to recent poems in blog when I had a thought. I started to write it out and felt the initial expression was good but I couldn't take it anywhere just yet. So, I transcribe it here for posterity and possible future use: Trimming the nose hairs of these poems I blog, you can't overdo it, as experience of overgrowth has taught, but you can poke yourself in the nose and bleed? You see? 5.27.21 |
Before I took a long nap that started in late October, 2020 until whatever time I stirred from that hypersleep, the hot locale for my poetry links was here (Now decommissioned. On to bigger and better things, let's hope):
Of course, all of those links will send you to the hottest bed for poetry at my port, affirmed by the 2020 Quill Award for Best Poetry Collection here (Thanks again, Elle - on hiatus , as always):
 Maybe, my next project will be to build a shelf? No, hire a carpenter. Okay, I'll get my swelled head out of here before it breaks this blog post and the internet. |
| I think if anyone cared to know me, they'd learn I'm my own harshest critic. I've had people respond to my reviews like they were stung sometimes, and I think 'you have no idea,' because I'm way worse with myself. I'll reread my old works, some that I'd fallen in love with rather than viewing their merit. I'd shake my head; I'd cringe. Sometimes, I see what I'd do differently. Other times, the trash can is more deserving. Unfortunately, I hold on to everything. But, in my defense, seldom reread the stinkers. I look at my old poetry and see the merits and a person developing as a writer. I have greater insight and knowledge as the greatest authority of what I'm trying to do, convey. Though, even I sometimes stump myself. I leave notes now on what inspired works. It helps me and readers see what perspective or aim I'm coming from/trying to achieve. It still surprises when I've reviewed someone that I gave great feedback and they respond defensively, or not at all. No one is trying to crush anyone's spirits. I think the reviewers who flatter and hand out fives like high-fives miss the point of helping other writers. Without honesty, a writer can become smug, stagnant. Writers might mail it in like it's another day as Hemingway. I've been there. Fortunately, I saw through the deceit of false flattery. And isn't that the true aim? Just keep people writing, participating and letting their average to below work thrive over the efforts of hard-working, honest writers who might show their disdain in ways that they wish they hadn't, instead of seeking a higher road. I'm not saying many here do this, but some predominately review lesser works with flattery, ignore good works because they fear approach or don't want to embrace writing that might shadow the others. It's the nature of writing on the internet. Someone said it's just different personal tastes. Yes, I've enjoyed greeting card poetry, but no one is looking for greeting card writers here either. No one is looking at this site period to find the next great writer. Just accept we're in a wasteland playing some kind of social game of how much cryto currency you can spread around to appease another. I fear the raffles, auctions and other events that require crypto this or that takes precedence over real writing. I fear the crowd that accumulates here on dabbles in crafting a few ditties and jumping onto the review boards to earn other recognition. I immersed myself in reviewing last year and got a Quill nom for it. I quit in October. I think some people who could self-improve have other motives that actual writing here and I realized I was wasting my time trying to be some kind of mover and shaker who was going to inspire others. So, I shut it down. I write a thing or two. My meds basically shut me down last year and still do. My love of anything is essentially dulled in the name of sanity. I start out writing something enlightening about my process as a poet and it spirals out here. I could blame myself for my feelings. I'm just disappointed is all. 5.18.21 |
| Looked up vilify today after reading a bit about Joan of Arc and thinking back to my own martyrdom and this is what I got... https://goodmenproject.com/ethics-values/12-reasons-vilify-politics-election-gmp... I'm mostly concerned with how my offspring vilifies me, as if my beliefs and how I have raised my kids should have me convicted of some horrible thing. I scratch my head wondering how I turned the tables on how my dad parented, figuring I'd be lauded by my children. I had them until they became teens. My dad never had me, so I guess I made some progress in that regard. But the reason we vilify anyone who doesn't believe as we do, as if fundamentally wrong to be different than someone else, is sad. I just want to be able to communicate and still commune among folk, even if we don't see eye-to-eye. How can any of us get along, all the time? 4.30.21 |
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![Merit Badge in Second Time Around Contest
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Congratulations on winning the Grand Overall Prize in [Link To Item #2164876] with your beautiful poem, [Link to Book Entry #933358]. This poem really moved me. Great writing!
Rachel *^*Heartv*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Second_Time_Around_Contest-2164963_14.gif)
In the Falkland Islands, internet is very limited and very expensive. The place I'm currently staying only lets me use it in the middle of the night, so when I have to get up at 3 am to check my texts (no cell service to the US here unless I'm on the internet) or WdC, I don't do nearly as much as I used to. 
I currently have 2 very long emails I still need to get to from several days ago. Anyway, I miss everyone, but I also miss sleep, so there's that. 
Have you spoken to the doctor about your vision problems lately? I know there are special glasses for it because I have to wear them to read much ever since the brain injury. It's part of why I now only listen to audiobooks instead of reading regular books. It took 8 years for anyone to diagnose it because I have a brain injury and while one might think it would be obvious to me that I see double, it wasn't. Partly, my brain does a fair job of compensating. But also, partly, you use your brain to realize and understand that the 2 images you constantly see are double vision and something you should mention to your eye doctor. Since my brain was damaged, even basic things like that can escape me. 
I never once thought to mention it, even with annual eye exams in the Army and an exam every 2 years at the VA. Though, in my defense, since it happens in something like 41% of people with a brain injury, it should have been discovered by an eye doctor much sooner. 
I know doing that activity is a CRAP TON of work. But you made a difference in lives, not just his, but for all the people he's reviewed since. 
Well done! 
