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Rated: ASR · Book · Personal · #1300042
Sometimes epiphanies about my insights on writing and life and what goes on...
Trying make sense of life is maddening. Why do I need to know, when truth may not actually exist? Learning to accept would be a better pursuit. Flailing about in mediocrity, hoping to bust out.

Read me, don't read me. I'm going to dare you to read anyway.

I update my portfolio page as often as possible. ~ Brian ~ Go there to see new messages. You will always see me. I am visible. You can put a face with a name. I would like other writers to crawl out from under their rocks and post their pics on main pages. Fiction is what you write, not who you are.

I also encourage you to read my notebook, biography and more. I'm always updating, because I am restless.

THANK YOU alfred booth, wanbli ska for the ribbon and continuous support!

My blogging days at Writing.Com began here [FOR MEMBERS] >>>
My Journal  (13+)
This is my pulpit. I'm no preacher, just long to be heard like the rest of us.
#1149750 by ~ Brian ~


Where I hide most of my poetry [FOR MEMBERS]. Warts and all, where I bare my chest and try to make sense of my craft.
Such Longing For A Blind Dreamer  [13+]
A journey through my life from early poetry to the present.
by ~ Brian ~
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September 21, 2016 at 5:34pm
September 21, 2016 at 5:34pm
September 17, 2016 at 11:47pm
September 17, 2016 at 11:47pm

I don't know where the lyric should begin
Jump right in?
Forsake perfection?
What if I don't know how
The song should end?

What if I'm off key?
Too many questions from one
Whose squandered opportunity
I see you turn away
I need your eyes

I don't know how the lyric should start
With you in my heart
I want you near
I want you to hear
Trouble finding this beauty within

Is this the day?
Are the words I long to speak
On the way?
As my voice trails off
Need to think some more


I don't know why the lyric should end
Dreams so close to touch
If I could see the stars
And me in your misty eyes
Are they for me, because I...?


You take your seat
I'll stake mine, hold your hand
Try to find what's in my heart
This very last time.
The music rises, curtains up.

You can see...
He sets the bar too high:

September 17, 2016 at 8:19pm
September 17, 2016 at 8:19pm

"Lovely Day"
Bill Withers

When I wake up in the morning, love
And the sunlight hurts my eyes
And something without warning, love
Bears heavy on my mind

Then I look at you
And the world's alright with me
Just one look at you
And I know it's gonna be
A lovely day
... lovely day, lovely day, lovely day ...

When the day that lies ahead of me
Seems impossible to face
When someone else instead of me
Always seems to know the way

Then I look at you
And the world's alright with me
Just one look at you
And I know it's gonna be
A lovely day.....

When the day that lies ahead of me
Seems impossible to face
When someone else instead of me
Always seems to know the way

Then I look at you
And the world's alright with me
Just one look at you
And I know it's gonna be
A lovely day......
September 16, 2016 at 11:04am
September 16, 2016 at 11:04am
Attention to punctuation and form later...

Your glass top world,
My cage,
Where I plot my escape
To seek immortality
Where you hide.
I want to be inside.

So beautifully made up,
Willfully I suspend
That you won't be with me.
I glimpse the reflection
In the glass
Ugly, attentive viewer,
But my eyes
Won't lie to myself

The dream is dying.
Too old, too worn down
To absorb these images
Once as beautiful as my own
In cracked, fading photographs.

You still sing to me.
My ears deceive, too.
But, I'm learning
Experience is about the past
There can be no fairytales
When beginnings are just endings
Of what we seek.

It's been so long,
I don't know what I seek
Is it you, or
Who I used to be
Filled with as yet
Unrealized potential?

Your glass top reality
Could be even more saddening.
I don't know why I pine.
It may mean I am near
The end of my time
And we never danced,
Truth and immortality.

Sing me another song?
Shed a tear
So I know
We share the same vision
Together in eternity.

We're all alone (together) while dying, amid a sea of unrequited love washing away our memories.
August 31, 2016 at 7:31pm
August 31, 2016 at 7:31pm
You don't tell me about your flowers
The pride of your garden
Though I see them flourish.
August 31, 2016 at 8:18am
August 31, 2016 at 8:18am
Brown and rumpled,
Slotted and sorted
By dewy blades of green;
Refugees cloister,
Purposed to mother,
Soaking the arriving
I feel an autumnal tide
washing me out of summer.
Humidity shudders.
Breezes brush lines of laundry
Where a child once played
In fading light.
Mother calls me, too.

Beauty can be coaxed from ugly mystery,
A process that might frighten you.
August 21, 2016 at 2:30pm
August 21, 2016 at 2:30pm
July 31, 2016 at 8:27am
July 31, 2016 at 8:27am
July 17, 2016 at 8:01pm
July 17, 2016 at 8:01pm
Then, I stare at this dim
Glass top adventure,
Illumed in simulated light,
Justifying nothing.
Pines soar straight up,
One hundred feet
From nose to sky.
Why don't I witness?
Because I can't see.

Lay in my lap,
Thermal creature.
Free my mind,
Take me to vision,
Because I can't see.
Mind aches, eyes dry,
Memory bleeds
Onto the floor,
My chaff castoff, exhausted.

A garden blooms by inches.
Wet grass gently bends
Under feet;
nimble, bare toes.
But I can't see anymore.
Painful to bear witness
To what I once knew,
What I think I know.
I recline alone
With this barren brood;
Saccharin journeys
On a once fruitful mind.

Savage and cruel,
Dark mystery awaits,
Unlike the panorama
Laid out, stretching,
Ever changing,
If I just set one limb
Outside the fateful door.
Idle still,
Disturb not
The wandering one,
Sitting alone,
Full of someone else's
Documented imagination.

July 15, 2016 at 11:37am
July 15, 2016 at 11:37am
I was preparing myself for a cup of coffee this morning. I started to imagine how I might feel drinking that cup. Sometimes, this is the window of opportunity for some great inspiration. Other times, I idle in my thoughts hoping I can unlock some mystery to life by jotting down some words. I got stuck on a phrase and pushed myself forward and this is what I came up with, unedited:

Hope in the Margins/No Ink for a Dreamer

Those few fleeting moments of hopefulness
Hanging on to get them back
What was I thinking about?

Waiting for a moment that seldom comes
What does it look like?
When will it appear?
Will it be standing by me and leave
The moment I near?

Retrace your steps
Where to begin?
Return is never easy.

I held her in memory
I danced with the notion

What child shall I be?
That you might witness

How shall I sing my lyric?
What will I plea?

Time moves slowly,
Escapes too quickly
Throw the car into gear?
No. Stop. Park.
No joy for this ride.

Shut in my shed, I fear.
Those eyes I dream
Those lips I desire
That warmth never felt

I lay my pen on the mantle.
No fire.
I shred this paper.
No ink for a dreamer.

I'm not worried about form, yet some of it helps with expression. Life is always uneven and if we try to make perfect in structure we cage our beast. I prefer to think it is tethered. And while I would prefer a disciplined monster, I understand his need to be appreciated the way he is...warts and all?

We're not perfect. We can act like it. Hope others buy into the illusion, but it's only our delusion. Isn't easier to come out with it?

I'm flawed. I make mistakes. I want love and forgiveness. I never want to sit in judgment of another, put in a position to help them with their own delusion. Truth should be easy. But it can be indigestible. I know my flaws. I don't parade around with them like mustard on my face. But, I don't write these words in permanent ink on my head when there is so much more beautiful and right that gives balance to my life.

Repurpose me. Shelter me. I'm here, full of love, life and still willing to learn. And the clock just keeps on ticking as if in perpetual purgatory.

July 8, 2016 at 10:16pm
July 8, 2016 at 10:16pm
It feels like we are a nation of PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder). When will it be enough? How can we stop the tide of violence in America? Is peace an ignorant, forgotten relic of a dream from our past? Why so much unrest in America?

These spikes in our country's tumultuous times make us fret. Look at what our children can see on television, on the Internet. Are we supposed to live in fear? Lock all the doors and hide?

I'm not the sort to be one of those gawkers or 'rubberneckers' at a freeway accident. Just as I am not likely to Google or tune in to news sources for details about the latest mass shooting or carnage. I get the gist from the headlines, teases and unavoidable cooler talk. I'm disappointed in how the media cold-heartedly disseminates information like subjects of a Don Henley song. And maudlin.

Media is self-serving, even though they serve a purpose. Don't sit around a coffee table sipping coffee and shaking your head while taking a moment to stare at the camera as if you commiserate with me.

It feels like speaking out as just one person goes nowhere. Seems like there's millions of message boards on the Internet, places like newspapers to opine. And most of us agree bad men will do bad things with weaponry that can be used to either kill or save us. We want it to stop but it doesn't feel like our government is able to enact policy or remedies. Protesting seems pointless, and sometimes, undesirable. We get no where.

I've been on the other side of social injustice. Sometimes, I unwittingly provoke it. Misunderstanding, rising anxiety, no leaders to help resolve burning issues fester the minds that need a salve of education.

Maybe we're heading away from democracy and toward a police state, as our country tries to justify the need for control in our part of the world. And yet, we are not as bad as some of the other countries that do exercise restraint and get push back way worse than here.

I think our president could step up and address the nation on violence. It would likely be controversial and stir debate, because we want less government control not more. We need a leader to lift us, remind us to be strong.

As parents, it's time to sit down our kids and have an honest talk about the world today. But too many of us can't wrap our heads around it. What to say? Assure them this is a great country with great opportunities. People are trying to take our freedoms away. We have to be steadfast in our beliefs, need to teach ourselves well, learn and remember how and why this great country was founded. Tuck them in at night, say a prayer if that helps. This is more than a bumpy ride. Strap them in, kiss them and hope for the best.

We can never get down or blame one another. We should be checking on our neighbors, spreading good cheer. Don't lock yourself away. Lend them your eyes and ears. We lock arms and unify in our nation's core beliefs.

What's unfortunate is we put too much stock in sports, entertainment, distraction, the latest fads and what a dysfunctional family like the Kardashians is doing. We are so obsessed with putting up walls that we've drowned out those things we need to pay attention to.

Tear down the walls of indifference. Really consider the avenues through organizations that do good, spread peace. Even if it's through a local church. Participate until you are satisfied you are earning the reward for your freedom. Count your blessings while you're at it.

Politics are cartoonish and divide. You almost want to ignore it. We have to push for change, for REAL dialogue. Stop letting government run over us with policy and support visions for a more hopeful tomorrow. Perhaps, we feel cut off, left out. Leadership is needed, too. Not saying we need more politicians, just more voices to unify and keep it real.

Most of all, we can't let them wear us down. We cannot let hate become justified by those who carry out violent acts of any type. We need to come from a place of love and patience. If we tune this out, it doesn't go away. It only gets louder. Let's not become desensitized, as we nostalgically reminisce about a time when innocence was revered as greatly as our freedom.

July 8, 2016 at 12:42am
July 8, 2016 at 12:42am
I'm a huge Community dork. A favorite bit. Genius...

July 7, 2016 at 7:20pm
July 7, 2016 at 7:20pm
I googled why Batman dresses like a villain. He always scowls. Superheroes used to smile. But, fans like me identify with his brooding nature. But, there may be moral ambiguity afoot as this writer theorizes why our hero doesn't clean up Gotham city once and for all...

"I believe it’s because he doesn’t want to. I believe Bruce Wayne has never recovered from the night his parents were murdered and Batman allows him to live out the fantasy of being able to save them. If Gotham City were truly cleaned up, the fantasy would die, and Batman doesn’t want that. So he leaves a lax system in place, the citizens of Gotham pay the price, and the spoiled rich kid gets (to) dress up and play superhero every night."

Makes some solid points why fans identify with the caped crusader...


July 6, 2016 at 5:51pm
July 6, 2016 at 5:51pm
I am not the flower
Blooms wither, crumble and die
I am not the plant
Leaves fade, fall -- perish, too.
Be I the roots
Always reaching, grasping,
Leaching the soil,
Pumping life into the world above,
Showing what my love can spawn
In a shady, remote Eden,
Imaginable, yet unviewed.
See it there with me,
Will you?

July 1, 2016 at 11:04pm
July 1, 2016 at 11:04pm
Startled by clouds. So, I write about it...

Waken Me? (RAW, enedited)

Clouds rush low
through pale vault;
ragged, massive ghosts
distracted, silent.
Tattered curls coil,
seperate, reform.

Gentler even,
blanched cotton candy,
just a tinge of blue,
melts on random currents,
drained of tears,

Shrinking horizon,
obstructive canopy
of beauty presumed soaring;
I stand silent,
try to remember
my fuzzy friend.

No images captured,
an empty witness.
Shudder. Nip, nip.
Biting chills
send me in.

Where did you go?
When will you come again,
waken me?

I'm a child.
The view narrower
from this window.

I only see me,

Waken me?
June 30, 2016 at 7:36pm
June 30, 2016 at 7:36pm
Mechanical Nature

The hostas have periscopes,
Gutter lilies bright telescopes
More sharply see
Rise from foliage
Mechanical nature

Rose petals unhinge
From thorny, leafy stems
tumble unnoticed
To the indifferent earth
Pink clutter
Tangled in creeping camouflage
Ground cover
Striped leaflets contrasting
Chunky red mulch
Concealing truth

Mysteries of toilsome ants
Bees unrelenting love
Earthworms mating with roots
Roots coiling roots
Dominance and cessation

Dry soil
Drier the skin
A lone gardener
Removing and moving
This and that
Sweat blinding diligence
In sun shelter
Canopies of fruitless trees
Tower above blooms
The bother

Looking to create symmetry in several ways with this poem. The balance between nature and its mechanics, but also making the verses echo one another in message and style.

I was inspired by the stems rising from our plants that will soon offer blooms. Also, the roses quick blooms producing a carpet of petals. I could work crab trees into this better. No apples, just petals like confetti make a beautiful shaded carpet on the plushest grass around the house. I didn't incorporate smell, could add taste. Need to work the senses!

Just needed to post and move forward with other stuff. Also, have beautiful blooms on some nameless flowers growing under our pines that I took a picture of today.
June 29, 2016 at 8:52pm
June 29, 2016 at 8:52pm
Haunting. The song that inspired Led Zeppelin's Stairway to Heaven...

A lawsuit brought against the band for plagiarizing the instrumental by Spirit was rejected in court today...


Ian Anderson, leader of Jethro Tull, has an interesting take on plagiarism. Definitely makes a case that the Eagles "Hotel California" did not steal from his band's song, "We Used To Know..."

Ian: "It was a piece of music that we were playing around the time… I believe it was late '71, maybe early '72 when we were on tour and we had a support band who had been signed up for the tour, and subsequently, before the tour began, had a hit single. The song, I believe, called "Take It Easy." And they were indeed the Eagles. We didn't interact with them very much because they were countrified laid back polite rock, and we were a bit wacky and English and doing weird stuff. And I don't think they liked us, and we didn't much like them. There was no communication, really, at all. Just a polite observance of each other's space when it came to sound checks and show time. But they probably heard us play the song, because that would have featured in the sets back then, and maybe it was just something they kind of picked up on subconsciously, and introduced that chord sequence into their famous song "Hotel California" sometime later. But, you know, it's not plagiarism. It's just the same chord sequence. It's in a different time signature, different key, different context. And it's a very, very fine song that they wrote, so I can't feel anything other than a sense of happiness for their sake. And I feel flattered that they came across that chord sequence. But it's difficult to find a chord sequence that hasn't been used, and hasn't been the focus of lots of pieces of music. It's harmonic progression is almost a mathematical certainty you're gonna crop up with the same thing sooner or later if you sit strumming a few chords on a guitar.

There's certainly no bitterness or any sense of plagiarism attached to my view on it, although I do sometimes allude, in a joking way, to accepting it as a kind of tribute. It's a bit like this tribute Rolex that I'm wearing."

excerpt of Anderson interview from:


June 26, 2016 at 1:24am
June 26, 2016 at 1:24am
June 25, 2016 at 12:32am
June 25, 2016 at 12:32am
Raw and unedited. Something that needed to be written down during nocturnal unrest. Will give it more thought when rested.

Some Guinevere

I go looking for her
In every word I write
Baiting her with my trap
But she doesn't come near.
I seek her out
In every poem I ink
Bursting hues dripping
But she doesn't see.
I ponder where she may hide
In every thought brewing,
Aromatic, savory delights
She does not even whiff.

Know that I might seduce
If I could even try, leering
In no particular direction.
Emptiness, silence.
I crave, yet I starve
I boast, yet I recant
I labor endlessly on each detail
How I might act,
What I must say,
my body language, my hair
My scent, my clothes,
my thoughtful stare.
All ill conceived,
Because I'm not real.
Who would love an ordinary man?
Who knows not what to feel?
I would steal your breath away...
Just words
Too shy for action
She's out there somewhere,
They say,
And I'll keep writing 'til the day.

Writing about perfection. We keep writing hoping to solve some great mystery in life, like love -- that one elusive beauty we believe we are destined to meet.

What keeps us going is this naive belief we can find truth in these words, when actually we're deluding ourselves with our own fantasy. And even when we are aware of that, we still keep trying. There is joy in the chase, this process. Maybe it is not illusion but love of the game.
June 22, 2016 at 9:45am
June 22, 2016 at 9:45am
How does one blog, when they don't have an audience?

Never been able to figure out how to make a blog work for me. Always understood the process of journaling (a diary), but when it is an open book you have to be more cautious with prying eyes. (have been trained and paid as a professional to write articles). It gets tricky when you don't have an audience knowing what will draw readers and keep them coming back.

Writing.com is like a secluded community. We are not in the Internet mainstream. Sometimes, it feels getting readers and potential writers to join (and then participate) does not eminate directly from the product the current talent pool provides. Feels like fishing in a pond that is running out of stock.

You can blog through many mainstream venues that get hits, i.e. Blogger. That attached to blog ads can put money in a writer's pocket. There is the SEO writing and other jargon that makes this writer's eyes gloss over. Obviously, people with the right tech savvy understand it, can make it work from them. I'm sure I would not get past the first page of a blogging for dummies book.

I just like to write here and jot down some thoughts in the event that it will help someone or help me figure out what to do with what I write. I'm certainly not going to wow audiences with 'how to' articles with authoritative takes on subjects people Google and want to read about. So, what then?

I like to think I can share some of myself and revelations, knowing if I go back and read, over time, it will all make sense. If not to others, maybe for me. I blog ideas to be developed later, that I seldom come back to or even comprehend the motivation should I return. I keep many posts private, if it's too personal but I just need to hash stuff out for myself. I write stuff I think I might post before deciding it's not good enough or warranted to share.

I do blog because I love to share experience. I have a son and daughter who have taught me things as a parent over the years, epiphanies to write. I write about writing. I write about nostalgia; for awhile, I wrote about classic cars, sports, social events, culture and history. I'm trying to put it all in perspective with my particular, sometimes odd, spin.

I like to be funny, witty, melancholic, but seldom mad (nowadays). I avoid politics, Kardashians, and other things I can't comprehend. But mostly, I avoid me, who I really am. I struggle with getting older, low self-esteem, feeling manipulated, disrespected, left out, and not growing up enough not to let stuff bother me. Yet, I am getting better.

I found that through social media like Facebook and Twitter I could briefly rant, allude to my misgivings/shortcomings and maybe get an amen. It's driven traffic to my site here, but has not produced one new member for writing.com on my account.

When we commit our words to some form of social media, we anticipate what prying eyes might see. If no one knows you're out there with interesting takes or unique experiences, your spinning your wheels. So, I write here because it's been nearly ten years of a rare form of anonymity. I stated forming friendships. We connected after feedback to each other's writing (be it fiction, poetry, notebook or blog). I met people in the grand message room at writing.com and got sidetracked and lost site of goals. That was a troublesome time. People seemed to fade away, change handles, stop emailing/messaging, dying (ack!) or stopped participating.

Am I so unusual that no one/few here who can relate to me? Or, that indifferent to my blog posts? Or, did the traffic on this website really come to a (near)standstill (got to learn not to write in absolutes)?

I know I will draw six likes to a newsfeed post that is as short as anything on Twitter one day and miss my mark with clever attempts the next three. I can tell you no one here is to blame for an Internet/site slowdown. Maybe, they're all binge watching, the new fad of indulging in forgotten television fare (that ironically will also die).

I will continue to share my long discourses with my wife nightly and get the customary 'that's nice,' or snoring (because she says my voice is soothing). Ouch!

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Printed from http://www.Writing.Com/view/1300042