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Rated: 18+ · Book · Spiritual · #1149750
10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind
Like one of those adventure games where you go off questing in different directions but you don’t advance like the others. You earn pretty medallions gallantly while other players buy, sell and trade at market to get ahead without moving an inch. Slow burn…hey? You’d rather keep your dignity, or try to figure out their game. That’s where you really get lost. Game full of misdirects leads right back to start over and over. You could have stayed on your quest. Now, you have this.

Redacted, censored, gaslighted…must be doing something right, my old boss would say. I’m not a sociopath, he tells himself. Equal parts, then? Mom should have had me tested. Because, life of turmoil produces stuff like this. Not going to call it beautiful agony…it gets a bit ugly.Tap on them. It’s part of the quest…see where I’ve been; see who I am:


         
                   
                                       
                   
                   
        
         


Right. I redact myself. The beautiful mess you made. Who are you?
If I’ve been denied the right of knowledge, I’ve earned the right to judge.
         |
Without knowledge, who’s to judge?
         |
No gavel; no voice.

"...politely reedy but ambitiously eclectic—moving effortlessly from hen-picking and bottleneck slides to a full deck of chucka-chucka rhythm figures."

I had a lover's quarrel with the world - Robert Frost

         |
I'm sorry you got caught in the middle.

*Neurodivergent poet.
*Don’t judge/hate. I love.
*Honesty without mincing words.
*Dump your prejudice outside my door. Hope you leave it on the way out.
*Nothing to fear but people who surround themselves with rules, can’t be touched.
*Real dialogue accepted.

My words collect, arrange on a kaleidoscope spectrum. The true experience/acknowledgment of my writing yet to come...long after I’ve left WDC, am dead, or both.

Truly been a blessing, but I've been pushing it — envelope, push world and all inhabitants away, push buttons to find boundaries, having no clue or told where they lie, where I've lived in your dark. Now and then, push dirt out of this hole; someone/thing/entity might envision me the way I need to be viewed. (if I knew what that was. Cryptic, I know. Try living in my dark, find comfort amid the strange, virtual walls that tempt me to try).
*The parenthetical lawyer up?



Foot free, I’m all over the place.
 
"Note: Poetry: life’s little interruptions amassing int..."
 

Best Poetry Collection 2X, nominated three years. What does it mean? I was enjoying myself, head bagged. A happy idiot. Something messed with that. I won’t be a coward; not starting feuds or wars over ideals and beliefs. We all know that’s a pile of crap packaged with dreams of pretty things to sell the next boob that walks by. *Clown*

Been more than I could imagine or expect. My achievements aren’t going on a LinkedIn wall. But, I get it. You're sick of me. It's how I feel about myself when I dig deeper, push boundaries. Don’t care my words that aim for honesty, either brave or veiled cowardice, flinchingly flung, inadvertently hit a target. Get a back off shoulder shot for asking your motivations to write…won’t get me to bend over backwards to appease, again.

There’s no prize to eye, not properly incentivized. So, does it mean when dealt the worst two cards before the flop, do the best with what you got? Yeah, rigged. Yeah, other tables — other ‘games’. But, something in my gut I’ll never be rid.



My Pluggers:
You are an icon here.*BigSmile*
You suffer, but you suffer brilliantly. Wow, what a great writer.{/blue}*Heart*


It’s like plugging myself, but using other people’s (reviewers) words…Review of "Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋"
Your poetic muse is on fire! *Fire* Some great emotion, well-balance(d), lovely lyrical qualities -- even the ones that were written out of sadness or anger came through in a clever cadence…It's obvious you've put a lot of work into each entry and the totality of the blog has eye appeal. *Cool*

 
Published four times with one a literary journal, including… *PointRight*   "The Tender Core (Sedona)
I don’t submit because it’s too much work. Truly alone, know no one cares to show they believe/support me. Lip service feeds delusion. I’ve seen a lot of smoldering and snow. Try not be cynical, work hard at openness and consideration — work, sooo…gut thing.

*Toilet* *RibbonW* Merit Badge in Taboo Words
[Click For More Info]

Brian,

Congratulations! You won 1st Place in Taboo Words with your fantastic poem, [Link to Book Entry #1027659]. 

I absolutely loved this! *^*Heart*^*

Rachel Merit Badge in Poetry
[Click For More Info]

    Thanks you for supporting the  [Link To Item #power]  with an order to the  [Link To Item #powergifts] ! We appreciate it. *^*Heartv*^* Keep writing the beautiful poetry. [Link to Book Entry #1027659] is an awesome poem! *^*Starv*^* ~Lornda

 
Love my process constructing and sharing visions in words collected (no small task considering personal and physical limitations, see below).


August 28, 2006 this blog opened

BOOK
SuperNova Afterglow: End Of Days  (18+)
All that remains: here in my afterlife as a 'mainstream' blogger, with what little I know.
#1300042 by He’s Brian K Compton


No specific aim going forward (2014)

 
What I used to say: 'Maybe, I just don't get it. Watch me fumble with my version of reality, expose ignorance as truth. You don't have to get me, either. But, wish someone would explain me to myself.' Now I say: *Cool* *FacePalm* Now: I was such a whore.
 


*Laugh*This is old….
What? Oh, this? A rhetorical, self-motivational speech I'm working on.
Don't just read the parts to construct your theory, as if to confirm (construed out of context) your opinion, mentally-stunted Neanderthal. Therapist wants me to be less negative toward myself. I see it as attacking, rather than being defensive. Fear I will chomp too many bullets unintentionally sent toward the unsuspecting.
If you can be triggered for stupid reasons, then I?
…just looked like me rolling around on the floor with myself.*RollEyes*
             



What Was NEW

Who am I, you ask? My mirror knows that question, repeated daily.

Just trying to create a little buzz, not boost my ego.

#amwriting #poetry #blog #contest #freeverse #award #bestpoetry #freyaridings #lyrics #music #video #YouTube

Can you believe it took this long for someone to put a quarter in me and push the button GET ANGRY?
 

Mud 4 My Eye: Is that you, Poo? 💩 Secret Back Door

The Best Poetry Collection on Writing.Com
March 2, 2020 at 11:42pm
March 2, 2020 at 11:42pm
#976931
Quiet Now (No Audience For This)

The dead are forgotten.
Are you dead if not remembered?
Am I in a tomb of my own making?
Have I not stirred on this earth?
Shushed by the whispers of those
Giving honor to quiet? Of the dead?

I am not alive, and, forgotten
Because I built walls of silence
Around myself to soften whispers,
Derisive, using my name to shun,
To scorn, to silence.

Like a child with hands ruled to lap,
Or purposed in pants pockets,
I dare not gesticulate these notions,
Uncouth to you with no respect
Of introspect within the lining
Of this coffin I'm fit in.

I'm not hollow. I'm not you.
I want to rise before mortuary,
Grab your coroner's scalpel
Before one red drop drained,
Brood upon the sterile table,
Proclaim worth in this cold vault.

Let me out! Or,
Let me in,
Because I do not know where begin
If you won't notice what
I've been trying to say.

It's stuffy in my box.
Cut a hole for ventilation.
I know it's headed for the ground.
My only hope, frozen,
Shovel dull.

Oh, eulogy!? I've written it,
Speak myself at a service
For the sallow flesh.
Delighted I might have mourners?
Just don't forget to embalm.
Wouldn't want to look ugly
Amid potential, black-veiled grief.
Bet they critique my black attire
In motionless state.

Afterthought:
Better yet, cremate me.
No vase, no mantel.
Cast me to the wind!
Hope in your face?

Yup, I'm giving up. You win.

Oops, forget to hit RECORD.
Where to begin again?

I'll be quiet now.
No audience for this.

Suitable, scenic words of scented, verdant fauna
is down the hall. Follow your nose.
I'm the one who's lost.
{/end}

3.2.20
2.12.22 edit + last three lines (maybe throwaway?) Oosh, a bit severe. (could be a question)

"Might the dead be just a bit passive-aggressive?"
"Was he saying something?"

*Rolleyes*

Will the social commentary about the ignorance that abounds ever stop with me?
March 2, 2020 at 8:16pm
March 2, 2020 at 8:16pm
#976909
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/2951086.stm

My Superficial Dream/Reality Analysis

Always suspected
This isn't real
A superficial existence
Played out in a snow globe
Inside Tommy Westphall's autistic machinations
Incepted by writers
Of a long dead
Television drama
And there's math to prove
Ninety-percent of us
Villains, friends
Are dead
When the dreaming boy
Ceases to exist
In our collective imagination
Dream collectors
Attached to his brain
Like vampires
Could live for centuries instead
Let's not be dead
Take a cue from Tommy
Employ imagination instead


Just throwing that up there and moving on...

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#2211526 by Not Available.



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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/blog/ripglaedr3/day/3-2-2020