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Rated: 18+ · Book · Spiritual · #1149750
10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind
I’m disabled by more than blindness.

Writing: Like one of those adventure games where you go off questing in different directions but you don’t advance in life. Pretty medallions sought for words/my soul, a slow burn now. Life is full of misdirects right back to the start, you still quest with a thirst.

If they take time to notice, must be doing something right. Life of turmoil produces stuff like this. Not going to call it beautiful agony…it gets a bit uglier. Minced words too pungent.

scripturam in hoc non mutamus, quia stultus es et differentiam nescies.

hic honor, quem accepistis, non est operae pretium, sicut non est bonum.
*BigSmile*
si hoc legere potes, gratiarum actio pro tempore.

The beautiful mess you made.
         |
Without knowledge, who’s to judge?
         |
No gavel; no voice.

I had a lover's quarrel with the world - Robert Frost
         |
I'm sorry you got caught in the middle. - me

*Neurodivergent poet.
*I yearn to love without that fart in the room.
*Honesty without mincing words.
*Stay clear of those surrounded by rules.
*Real dialogue accepted.

Diagnosed with new disabilities in 2020: On the spectrum/ADHD (it gets complicated by PTSD and brain trauma). Been suggested by doctors I might want another brain scan. As it is: 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, find boundaries, no clue why, 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 t the next boob that walks by. *Clown*

Been more than I could imagine or expect. My achievements aren’t going on a LinkedIn wall. I dig deeper than I should, push boundaries. Aimless words, brave or veiled cowardice, flinchingly flung, inadvertently hit targets. Get a ‘back off’ shoulder shot when asking your motivations to write.

No prize to eye; not incentivized. Dealt the worst two cards before the flop, do the best with what you got.



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 "Epigram ‘n Aphorism Samwiches"
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 3, 2023 at 4:30pm
March 3, 2023 at 4:30pm
#1045895
Wild words heaved like logs into our night fire.
Crackle, wild words; spark colorful fire light!
Pine twigs burn wild, glow rising fire higher,
spewing ash wild; dancing fire stirs our fright.
Bloom-flames white hot wild fire rages desire.
Drawn in lungs, heavy verses sung to air.
Oh, our stars! Flicker of flames lick each out!
'neath blanket, gray mist chill cannot despair
blackness in these blues crooning, I'm devout!


3.4.23
Neuvain (obscure poetry form, French?)
"The Neuvain." 

Explain my attempt?
Words 'wild' and 'fire' come together in first half of poem by line five, as a form of showing love and fire growing together. I did not want to use wildfire as the tired expression or as disaster.

Usage Note ▼

Creation time total: two hours, three minutes
because I'm legally blind, prone to err. *Rolleyes*
March 3, 2023 at 11:14am
March 3, 2023 at 11:14am
#1045872
Multitudes From An Unglazed, Shattered Heart
And the days after creation ignorantly wasted 'neath a truer light

None purposed a dim-lit brain before
hot as a broiled oven light
gases ignited the stove soul —
passion melting in metal bakeware.

Particles collided at higher rates of speed
until flashpoint. Perfection exploded
on walls designed to self-clean, except
the victim, clay heart, not glazed or red

still beats. Not put down, or out of misery,
rapid expansion projects beyond its container.
Vapor escapes, creates multitudes of universes
unnoticed, recreating eight whirling planets,

a precious princess within, lone denied dwarf
and micro-ball, center to all, centrifugal
as magnet. Yet, this hyperactive heart
of no known design grows infinite, light years

away and ahead of any that would understand,
repulsion spinning and distancing within
an immeasurable incipient void, readied to receive
its haywire, wayward pigeon splattering —

random atoms collecting, amassing more
devious, wobbly orbs — brilliant illumination —
fire-bright dust humans call stars in other,
as yet named, chocolate bars. In black,

lifeless journey propelled it to Hulk-smash
emptiness down random, interfering constructions.
No blue-print clutching contractor or laborers
viewed. Moving at careening pace, he cannot

conceive all in a monstrous wake. Unflinching,
does not hesitate. Word, word, word, adjective-
noun-verb — highlighted, asteroid punctuations
move about, collision courses redirected, redefine

affected systems it’s attaining. If only
humans could read beyond his opaque manner.
Only it manages imagine if he should steer free,
in a blink, drop finally in her sink to soak, scrub

microbial dust free for the rest of a century.
The oven cools at some point. The heart well below
it’s peak 1500 centigrade, she puts in a box -- cannot
be disposed. Remnants glued, acrylic applied, she sidles,

eyes it from one side. Lifted, lays by her bedside
on the stand with the lone switch-bulb installed
to burn alive her nights, comfort her silence,
when she can’t sleep, touching bubbled-smooth surface

and dream a day he roosts in quiet, like seasoned roast,
or drags himself across a dewy lawn, limps upstairs,
a battle-worn cat defeated. Tattered black fabric smelly,
he is designated a mattress side. She’ll remember when

they convened in the middle, intertwined, never too tired
from heat at flashpoint. He’d bring home the cosmos
in a brief case, if she let it past the door, never
framing its contents to adorn a wall. He lived and forgot

all. The brittle, clay blob/pot/pigeon dim-gloams,
needs fuel and a map for redirection home.


2.24.23

a bit much, like me, and difficult to sort out that big bang metaphor for a heart that bursts from its love and never returns to normal, though she thinks she can make use of him, though damaged as he tries to finding meaning in third person, as narrator, throughout and at end, retelling dramatically and otherwise boring story of societal affect on a highly functioning atypical person who suffered emotional devastation that takes a lifetime to heal from, opposed to the ease of the neurotypical.

there, I summarized it. it's my little monster poem all glued back together in one big blog thingy infinitely expanding as we/I speak/write (so folksy/yet not) and cannot stop the path the initial explosion caused. a calmer metaphor would be a stone dropped in water, ripples that ring/wave out until smooth as glass again, unless crash back, overlap, because of restricted size/space to spread, and resulting mental devastation, but still, returns to smooth...unless, windy, water added by rain and other sources, as murky puddle car tires and children smash, or...imagination depleted...finish yourself...
March 3, 2023 at 10:23am
March 3, 2023 at 10:23am
#1045871
putting down the toilet seat (post buffet ballad)
all will be revealed as I go off the deep end

Mission Impression part 1

From the sidelines
get a good seat
watch my origami unfold
don’t forget to take notes
my sociologist friends
if you can comprehend
insanity on a leash
boxed like a cat

grace is self-preservation

on what field my performance?
did you bring a drink, snack,
comfy blanket? ready
to be in awe? I see

that dull surprise lift eyebrows
fifteen-sixteenths of an inch

and in a moment now
mouth agape —
I can’t tell
if in awe or hungry.
eat your snack.
it may take awhile
to refine this act.
wait? you’re leaving?


Mission Reaction part 2

I should’ve been to the point.
and that would’ve been…?
Can someone give me a cue
how to act with you? in your houses?
none have visited mine.

you say something, I say something.
you walk away. do I follow?
information locks legs that sway,
hear the chorus, repeating line,
stay. stay. stay, when I want to play?

getting that I can be a bit much.
do you think it’s my choice? think,
like I have to — be in other shoes?
try walking in them. a bit big?
their invented adage, not mine.
unproductive.

instruct my cursed DNA.
information, restructure atoms, sequences
so I can come back…as what?
zebra, condor, polar bear, penguin?
I reserve the right to not lick my junk
and have access to public toilets.

Might be compelled to migrate.


Mission Projection part 3

not long. all my rights taken away.
I love my friends who are gay, swing
the other way. gender fluid could be
my style. I’m beautiful, you know? yes,
you know. over-employed, it has opened
code-doors to a lonely, clod-foot guy.

if I incorporate a sense of societal silence,
segregated boundaries realized, again. pain to near.

I was beautiful, blond, blue-eyed, tall —
from cherub to muscled, chiseled marble white.
now pigeon stained, crumbling in my Athens.
I still have my art-junk — I’ll not lick clean.

Onlookers point at a facade. I lied
and that is wrong. does it matter to you
since I’m alien to your race and ironically
not in minority, so, man-child whining
someone please place yourself in my Nikes?

a bit much, I’m getting harder to know.


Mission Unification (keep it together) part 4

insulate, isolate from perceived insult.
oh, that thing flung was said with love?
not giving anticipant public meltdown.
too proud for that. and, I never really
approached you. hope you found comfort
with a good sideline seat. it’s my final act.

I recoil from touch; friend or foe?
I really don’t know, and I forget.
and your name is…? not because
I don’t want to know. afraid to love you
and lose you like all the others who ask
how’d you get off your leash? insist,
get in an escapable box.

and I wonder, can you hear as I talk,
fill silence through and outside
societal-constructed walls? Where is
unity, your unifiers? not the spinsters.
humanity taken by gun 60 years ago?
of weapons, the greatest we lack —
financial resource and systemic philosophies
since Machiavelli to control.

hypocritical inversion, satire infused.
sorry, what joke is funny? do you even know
the division, where I squat in kennel?

world peace can bite my perfectly proportioned
rump. cut through diversion from you’re wound-up
mumbo-jumbo Trump. sorry if that sounds racist?
who taught you to respond that? how did you get
that many followers to salivate over grammatical buffoonery?
your thumb reposting nation? o-kay.

a bit off track. a bit? don’t mock me.
I’m mocking you. I’m going to be the pest
your nuclear tests cannot devastate from weighted
heels of your billion stomping boots. but know,
my DNA conditioned lifelong, too clever for that.

zombies feeding on flesh of your mediums
walk slow, can’t return love, but money
from wallets, collected from demigod employers
whose buddies rake it all back, because
what is life but stacks of red, white
and blue chips lost in the flash
of this reserved, casino life.


Unplanned: Coda

zombies dine on a buffet of hookers.
porn is bad. bran muffins are good.

putting down the toilet seat now…from where I shat.


3.2.23
Originally titled — zombies need hookers

you want positivity — fight for what is right.
segregated, clasping others mouths shut, they divided us
through social conditioning. you’re negative now, and we’re defeated.
serious, you can’t see that? won’t? right, you’re busy
thumbing that river of streaming whore buffet glut.
you’re the devil, negative.
you’re not a simpleton, just human. not positive enough.


© Copyright 2024 He’s Brian K Compton (UN: ripglaedr3 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
He’s Brian K Compton has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.

Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/blog/ripglaedr3/day/3-3-2023