All that remains: in afterlife as 'mainstream' blogger, with what little I know. 20k views |
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 ▼ Thank you WakeUpAndLive️~Go Forth📖 for honoring me with your kind words! Read here some old blog entries... 2018 Highlights ▼ More... 2018: The Quiet Ones ▼ ~ Brian K Compton ~ |
A purple-heart decorated veteran elected sheriff of a small Arizona region gets in over his head when a team of weapons experts arrive with a score to settle. The sheriff gently bent down on one knee to swipe his hand through dirt, careful not to dust his new uniform. He considered dress uniform a soldier’s resume, and it was about to be stained with blood. In the abandoned area west of an old mining region, Kerry Seaver had arrived after a curious report from a town local. The grey-bearded man had driven his scrap hauler through the passage to hunt for metal, when he came upon patches of fresh red blood. It had been nearly 18 hours. Seaver found the location easily, tracking the old man’s gps at about the reported time. The wet, sandy soil felt gritty when rubbed between his two fingers. It did not maintain its shape in the normally arid area of Arizona. When it formed into a ball he knew blood lay beneath, based on his experience. Seaver could see individual sand particles with the naked eye — something beneficial that came from his unique military training. Compared to other soil textures, this sand had low surface area and low charge, and was not the type to attract and retain water or nutrients. First Resource (my old b. ball buddies…) https://network.expertisefinder.com/search-experts?query=military+intelligence P.S., take the bait. (I typed it here before I titled it there. I titled it in my underwear.) Good title? 5.15.24 |