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 A nothing from nowhere cast his words to a world wide wind, hindered by periphery. |
| ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ Disambiguation: Me, And My Words My life is a disambiguation — persistent, unfolding, unpacking as my belongings are wayward collecting, transitory as memory. 8.12.25 Yeah, there’s more. |
| Out Of Refills in any kind of weather… I had it written on my calendar: Shame doesn’t end until the December of hope, but renews in January, missing fourth quarter projections, when I stop taking my meds, ignore tabulations on calculators because I have no goals, 2026-infinity. Humanity had its debut before they tallied box office receipts before my two cents…rubbed together — It’s time for a change. Been glued to this chair… going on nine months. It’s life outside. I could stand outdoors in any weather with love. But, no forecaster on tv can give a true depiction of what any of the tomorrows may be, as nature remains as true. Except: UV, rising heat index, air quality, tsunamis that can’t reach me, earthquakes that would disrupt home life. While all dis-eases my heart. If I quit life…but, reawaken to a world of nightmares when insomnia rules always. Breathe. Can’t. I’ll get sick-er. One thing always applies, if I can spare… |
Been wanting to link Ms. Simone for days, as it opens and ends “Nobody” after watching movie for first time with my wife during our anniversary. I forget how great they offer the soundtrack during passages, mesmerized by the car chase scene. It’s better to watch the movie than have me spoil it. |
| I thought today, I need to get rid of this clutter and threw out my money. What do I sleep on now? Now…what forum to visit…  ?Great pick me up are all the nostalgic posts in YouTube comments singing praises for all my favorites. My friends. They pick me up with Amen, Brother! I’m ready with one. Where to go? Wave me home? World? (Posted…QotD) If there are no judges, why do I see kangaroos everywhere? Chase me kangaroos! |
| Revival for Survival What about an old fashioned revival? Will it last longer than an hour? Will they buzz about the performance On their way to SUVs, seats heated, ac cooled? Instead, do we race down the highway Fast as we can like kids, break a hundred Fear the red and blue breathin’ down And pull into the old gas station, same owner? But, for how long, live like we’re living Without denying true desire as destiny What we were taught to dream in rhyme, Learned to clap in pews, sing like thunder? Harmony hides, unshared in good hearts. What good are they if we don’t celebrate? Lay that gospel down, sweat and unbutton But never quit, because if we do, we forget. Something more disturbing out there Breaking up the old team, the breed of new — Challenges to know what’s real and untrue Until I reach out, touch those hearts blue. We got fire burning inside, but hearts cool, Always better things to do. Don’t laugh, play As another day in the recliner melts this soul In worn, green fiber, a lap pet treated better. I walk out at night, stare at silhouettes, remember Where excitement began in the limited known, Because dawn would come and all would reveal. But liars and cheats redirect us from our woods. I can’t meet the creek, slosh and stir the soft, As I thirst again but still can’t get the feeling. I’ve walked the old country road, rocks fly From booted gravel, meaningful memory lost. Alone. We don’t all pile in station wagons anymore. Dog has head out the window, anticipating. What’s there to look forward to, but old songs? I sing solo, vibrate this voice perfecting…messages. Be ready to receive one wiser, tearing Babylon down. So, what about that old fashioned revival? We’ll make it last longer than just an hour, Sing all the old songs, stir their love again, and Maybe, memorable enough for one night? …And we can go home tired. 42 lines, free verse 7.24.25 8.12.25 edit Initially writ during four consecutive Freya Ridings songs, on this old tablet. NOTE TO MYSELF: you entered this in a contest. Long poetry, remember if you don’t g on ADHD spree and do something. |
| I’m present… It goes beyond beauty products… People who use the tools in this process are undoing the fabric of society by isolating us more than ever. Don’t listen to me. Talk to yourself. It’s not just me. Don’t subscribe. It starts with you. |
| We warm again, another day… Arriving. What’s lacking this morning, I don’t know. Bored, again? We could make plans to trip together… Bother? When you’re out, I stand on precipices alone, Staring. Life was gift-wrapped packages of bursting energy Lost to the sun, I suppose. Where do those dreams really go? Was childhood a guided tour to lose us In forests Where it’s kind of nice, dreamy, or haunted, I’d guess. But, I can’t linger long in those places… No patience. True storybooks would require academia… Not fairytale. I might be an exhibit of the harm… Lack charm If not sheltered but taught right. Care? We could plan a trip somewhere — No time. We’re working and earning for something… Freedom? I’ll have food warm when you get here. Wine? Maybe, candlelight and a simple poem… I love you. 7.22.25 32 lines, free verse  |
| Until The Stars… Realization, romantic now, how I play handball against a wall called myself lone boy, summer standing, in sweet scent of shorn grass, twinkling yet the season’s last dew, and tossing a red-relaced dream from her sewing needle, recovered a hard ball — spun, lobbed to his pitch edge, but not over the roof of his self-constructed garage — with consideration for respect, demanded and deserved — from just a boy learning… how a small, round object behaves at apex, clips the tar top, drop and settle soft onto a smattering maze of puzzled shingles — hop, roll, skip, bounce, squib side-to-side unevenly until — lay down — let gravity do the rest, certain enough speed, snowball-cannonball toward the ready mitt, knowing it need clear aluminum bothered by my objects far more burdensome than rainwater To see it clear from practiced pride, a satisfying love, I caught like hope in that open hand. And, winked like the old man, with deserved joy that hid in a hard heart,u never sharing his love of that small game that perfectly lands, repeated again and again until night, past dusk, two meals quick consumed in an eager belly, toss and toss again before black torment… time to go in He’ll not see the man now that still loves like a boy He witnessed a child game, but now can comprehend the most impossible mechanics with physical abilities like his construct — that two-by-four, nailed suspension that atop crested a brick pattern on tarpaper overlay — epidermal pate of his pride, the soft layer that allows me yet play, stand in wheat-like weed and decay, heave to his yet stable object, receive again and again, as the diverted rain, next to an upheaval of an ancient driveway Grit sheds, gets the head from a gray-pale petroleum surface — functional interlace, burdened by my spun magic, twinkling like permanence of stars overhead. All angles, speeds, degrees of difficulty, easy game with or without the degraded leather — either hand, behind back, over the Willie-shoulder — perfection of all long past popcorn and late stretch, extra innings I go, in his outdoors…cold, and in love If you’ve ever watched at all, found pleasure in positive pursuit, despite storms and winters, inter-cedents with other pursuits, know… in persistent, constant, self-evaluating, evolving correction — toward the impossible need to present as your ideal of perfection — I’ll make the best of all installed until the stars fall. Part of 2024 eulogy For my brother |
| Crawl Space Crawl in my space, darkness in Reality — limited space of time and imagination. Awkwardly, our toes graze, wiggle — Where flashlights aim at outlined, colored drawings within Lairs…plotting against our villains in secrecy. And, If we don’t solve for a fourth dimension by supper, Never reveal where our time crawls, as hangered clothes Get our heads in crawl space. 7/18/25 Someone’s itching to correct me. |
What Doesn’t Play… Let’s be cliche one more day… Let’s see what plays Down by the river tonight, Where the earth slows. I lay my arm on your shoulder. Whispered words found And there’s that smile. Two eyes twinkle, brighten, As we hear them start. But, a song already plays… Their fire will be mine, As I take your gift hand — Warm blood flows there. It’s golden, idling in place, Carried on lifting melody As a heart harmonizes right. With your hand, two twirling, When a light rain begins. It can’t put out smoldering. When enough, back to the ride — Carriage down cobblestone. All light inhales my oxygen. The last bend, nearing — I ask for your hand again. But, you give it away tomorrow. When I join the river again, The band repeats the old anew. Our songs lay in sightless black. 7/17/25 27 lines, tight but free verse Happy it’s ending. We start anew, renew until last frost. I trouble with ending line…grammar and intent. Thinking on it. |
| Onset (sonata 1 on keyboard) Time comes and leaves, as I make it slow… Sudden happens slow You just don’t know Drifting on these dry clouds Caught in that moment, when Dull to react They want to know Something — you don’t know Slow can sneak up If you’re unaware Drifting to those skies Lost in the reveries there Too slow to respond Should ever they ask anymore Something you could share Dry summer heat chills inside by a-c and fans Coldest winters get stripped feet, toes to the fire Is it always Opposite Day? When something to share Nobody comes to play? As all yesterdays pile One digs in that heap Remembering the forgotten Then, they want to know But, too dull to react Sudden happens not Wherever I dream A version of you there Hi! It’s me. Time slowed Caught in another moment When I see a vision Ghosts in doorway greet We usher out, soft to night Gentle taken in a light breeze of sunshine tow Where to drift next God only knows in the sudden slow All vision froze winters ago Out side a warm window That gathers no frost I made sure to seal — tight — silent is the night. 7.16.25 With dementia, lists grow long until their completion matters not at all. We’re in the sudden slow, watching time pieces that barely go Written to two of last three MV posts, half asleep. Edit tomorrow; fully conceptualize |
| I write stuff for others to witness. Look around. Let me know what you think I might see from you that I might comment. My stats say 95% or more of my blog hits come from outside this community. Not a single soul has reached out to me. I haven’t gone beyond six referrals since my first year or two here, however that works. But, simple, right? |
| While I’m being ostracized in a “writing” community (irony not lost on me), I present my thanks to the operators of the Bard’s Hall who need no excuses for their wonderful attention to my words. "Note: Means more to me than placing, because I kn..." I also note that lack of observances which help me know who we all are. I’ve always been one word shy of committing my soul to many things going on 19 years. Seeing the true hearts of two individuals is in my hall of fame. I honor courage over cowardice in the world today. Stronger stuff than some that served. I’m honored to know conscience with two hearts in a machine. Other kindness has been observed. If any chose read me, know I fight something much bigger that fears. Apathy is what it needs from a nation to become compliant. If we are divided, know it’s orchestrated. Being principled to live by a code took a lot of years of hard work on my own with zero true mentors. Question everything around you and find a landscape reveal itself. I know I have a lot of work ahead. Today, our family is in observance of a lost friend. Rest in peace Beans, my calico friend. My lap is a bit colder now. Brian  Be true to yourselves, above all. I continue to openly share with the world that needs to know it does have more than ‘one vote’. It’s about civil liberties access denied through government rules and inactions of oversight in relaxation, enforcing only when strong voices for truth are to be quashed. We don’t boycott anymore — hypocrites in complacence, and I’m one. Never trust infil’traitors’ distracting us from real dialogue. Certainly, sanction individuals over machines operated like monopolies you can’t break up, when all who should ‘judge’ look the other way. I have a story that simplifies what I’m saying. Maybe, later today. |
Who said Matthew Sweet? Get Back To You (Your Beer Will Stay Cold) I hear you’re looking for a time deviation To loop through any existing door, Unlock it and tear wide, call out your, “Mary!” Because, something left inside is missed…now? What stirred ya? If it’s your cat, Fred, I have to say a bigger fear awaits if you go and kick that very deliberate vile… in theory. It’s not a probable comeback. I saw you tromping down the street again, disregarding all the rain mess of mud. No fire, as that long hair trailed in pursuit. Truth? What is it you’re looking for? If it’s your lost dog, chum, did you offer a reward? Unless a bigger fear. Is it her? Between you and you, what can I do but observe unassisted Hail Mary down cobblestone. Fire and brimstone could get your feet, but you fly over that shit; a blur, I swore. Only my old man tore into me harder, as some demon he sought, that I did see. Whatever mirrors you reposition, angled, you can’t get back to her through there. Whatever lie you told yourself, just know I’m here with a cold beer — when you get back…to you. 7.10.25 I don’t know, but I know that someone doesn’t know. And nobody else witnesses like I do. *Pops a top* Did you ‘track’ all that? We all know our ‘rights’. |
| Stirred, as the song and another video from this AI production company made the salient point — money. Sweetly, beauty you will die; hidden from you brews a lie they tell in their poem’s that bloom before two eyes — a graphite stick on white. Slowly each medium is replaced. Only money changes hands. Briefly beauty hush — silenced. No nattering words further — but gossip they invent as lies you now whisper. Codes squire targets. Nostalgia is mortified, as all old stories — moral-less. Only richly desire remains. You would want escaping time to stop, implode your big bang birth. But, the soul-less dance on, smile wrong. But, distant eyes, cannot sway, look the other way. Pay as they go, celebrate money and flesh thirst. Yes, readied now, for the truly unscrupulous… Where were you when reality died? Do you remember the poet who took care to warn of world demise before lights out. What could delay or better prepare? Did you hurl your rocks at truth instead? You distrusted. Money delivers you…to here… the end of a reality story. Project, if you will, five years from now? Do you pilot hovercraft on a planet green? Or, they lied, kept your worth, and note: any remaining trespassers will be shot, as the currency they print…value-less. 7.9.25 I’m not a sci-fi, future-traveling writer. I’ll aim further clarity in morning, pray for a less direct end, aim crystal clarity and resounding note in a visceral sense. AI doesn’t have to kill, if you wisely reinvent with strategy. Employ AI tools to inspire writing. Encourage and do not malign writers, if you are to act ignorant of technology. It can help you streamline, give those brain storms more than wishful dreams of solvency. Maybe, celebrate flagship authors with actual credibility for a change. Some of you are worthy of note, being sold short. Put your rocks down. Sleep. Sweet dreams soon come. If I could spend less time on Writing ML, I’d have more time to focus on activities, stomp around the site greeting every bloom. If that doesn’t pay the bills, I can see a darkness in my 18-year-old predicted statistical tunnel re-arriving. I dislike these end games — for this world. Look beyond the edge of each of your worlds for a better view. Or, grab the essentials before each light goes out. I had planned 30 more years… Some great music on that YouTube channel. I get notified on all the latest AI created videos. Oh, and remember, art imitates life…not the other way around. Think: preference for symmetry or slightly less than perfect? Replace the expression-abused word ‘perfect’ with ‘ideal’ in your brain’s programming, as AI won’t know the difference…but can learn…from you…artist. — Citizen Journalist (not anyone’s “messenger”) |
| Prompted: It has become unavailable. Fix it, find it, or learn to live without The Output from Throughput: Part 1 — Hello Memory We can learn to be better from a life’s journeyed baggage, doing without returning regret… Information arrives and leaves, strung on vibrant lines, pinging off life poles down a highway, away, forgotten — until older, when it returns…and wise. Hello memory — looking knowable, sitting in on the current conversation. Experienced knowledge, sentient and renewed, memory is perhaps, a good friend to — eternally — drink with, consider all that no tool restores, with mistakes yet to come. We can fix this, rebuild and drive to destinations where it gathers — Life. With future plans together, we greet new memories daily. Each earns a seat at the bar — a cherry in every drink. We can say goodbye to the unknowable, regrettable and forgettable paths taken. To new choices, we toast. 7.9.25 Part 1: 13-14 lines, free verse Now we see your metaphor clearly. *nods knowingly* Some problems don’t want to resolve…(I know you’re hurting) AI Overview "Fade Into You" by Mazzy Star is often interpreted as a song about deep longing and the desire for a profound connection, particularly in the context of unrequited love. The lyrics express a yearning to understand and merge with another person, but also a sense of distance and the realization that such a deep connection might not be possible. Longing for Intimacy: The lyrics "I want to hold the hand inside you/ I want to take a breath that's true" express a desire for a deep, almost merging, connection with another person. Unrequited Love: The lines "I look to you and I see nothing/ I look to you to see the truth" suggest a lack of reciprocation, a feeling that the other person doesn't share the same intensity of emotion or perhaps is not even aware of the narrator's feelings. Lost in the Other's World: The phrase "fade into you" can be interpreted as the narrator wanting to become one with the other person, but also as a sense of losing oneself or becoming absorbed in the other's world, perhaps to the point of losing one's own identity. Bittersweet Acceptance: The song doesn't explicitly state a resolution, but the overall tone suggests a bittersweet acceptance of the distance and the possibility that a complete connection may not be attainable. Overall, the song captures the complex emotions of longing, desire, and the bittersweet nature of love and connection, with a focus on the yearning for a deeper, more intimate relationship. ——————————————————————————————————————— I’m all that and more, if you’ve explored. It’s what I’ve handled my whole life, a bar kept that high challenges one who has no quit. Life as a stubborn constant sees this obtuse math subjectively. Plus — Michael said, “love is not possession.” Part 2 — Our Coda Today — Immutable And now, my heart is open, freely, to accept the immutable. Witness all my deaths and let know which one felt that kills you. I…will resurrect any with the same knowledge of suffrage — in grace, an offering of my love’s words. Let me heal your wounds that you might love again, another, and the whole damn, guiltless world…that ignorant, dehumanizes. Isolated. What are these walls made of? If we breach the dark compound, wander in a garden’s light, learn — complex emotions can be greater than restraint hate. Careful of those arrows, immutable. The worth risk — taken. Arrows don’t seek the dead, unaware a heart yet lives. Let the sun kiss those precious eyes that fully realize. 7.9.25 Part 2: 12 lines, free verse Blessings to you Can you believe? I’m only getting started…on some mercy mission? Spare yourself where innocence never repairs. Fight hate with a hug. Kisses for tear-streaked cheeks *whispers* I’m no savior. I barely…but then…and my eyes…a sword…to feet…lift, flex — re-energized quill in question again/always, saves all but one for freedom. |
Community (2009-16) Six seasons and a movie! 2026? #sixseasonsandamovie #communitytv |
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