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. 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. 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. You suffer, but you suffer brilliantly. Wow, what a great writer.{/blue} It’s like plugging myself, but using other people’s (reviewers) words…Review of "Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋" Your poetic muse is on 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. Published four times with one a literary journal, including… "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. August 28, 2006 this blog opened ▼
No specific aim going forward (2014) ▼ 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. 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 ▼ |
Topsy and the Bystander Effect Just like Luna Park Zoo January, 1903 Fed your lit cigarette and cyanide soaked carrots Whipped for pleasure by a "trainer" this menace of your society stomped Reduced by experiment force fed 6600 volts of your direct current Edison jealous of genius Tesla demonstrated his true talent A giant fell to death before you're paying spectators Bystanders without a cry against such indignant cruelty because I was the mad beast. Sorry I was ignorant to the Bystander Effect. But, you're going to sit there and tell me I'm wrong for feeling the victim? I thought about googling this video to post here. I'm sorry. I won't be another: "...Not just Topsy the Elephant, but a rather long series of animals, all of which had shown themselves to be a danger to humans. This included horses, lions, tigers, and bears. Edison was happy to oblige the state of NY in executing these “menaces to society,” by employing alternating current, but his ulterior motive was merely to show the world the danger of alternating current, invented by Nikola Tesla, his arch-rival. Edison’s direct current didn’t have the strength to electrocute an elephant, and he considered it safer. So, on January 4, 1903, at Luna Park Zoo, Coney Island, Topsy was hooked up to Edison’s lighting plant, and electrocuted with 6,600 volts of AC. But this was after they fed her carrots that had been soaked in cyanide, just to be sure. They deemed Topsy to be a permanent threat to humans, as she had killed three handlers in three incidents, one of which involved a handler, who regularly whipped her, trying to feed her a lighted cigarette just to watch her suffer. She stomped on him. 1,500 people watched, and no one said a word in complaint. Edison filmed it, and the film is available on YouTube, if you feel like being outraged. The funny thing is that the ASPCA, which is supposed to protect the rights of animals, considered hanging to be cruel, as it would cause strangulation, not a snap of the neck, and yet had no problem with cyanide poisoning and electrocution." You want to feel outraged, read these stories: https://listverse.com/2009/11/02/10-notorious-cases-of-the-bystander-effect/ I'll leave you with this instead (SPOILER): |
The Narrowing Way Time stretches out on this forgotten highway All the turn offs once spied have gone away The scenery rushes past fast -- the setting sun melds with gas obstacles glimmering spray across my windshield deflecting Bright distractions of fading hope dull in dismay Why was I lead astray to chase you down a narrowing, low way? Dust eddies and spirals back down in patches where my balding tires contact -- aprons warning to steer back seek the straight, horizontal, equatorial byway I'm chasing slower than these daily rotations that pin me, magnetized to axis dirt road weeds. I brake to contemplate Sorry I didn't notice you on this journey My mind wandered to highway underpasses and grasses, invaded by seeds on winds (like me) producing beautiful outgrowth colors striking dry imagination robotically set to coast a time-lapsed drive 'til death. 3.25.20 Nothing has to mean anything But we should experience something Along the way I'm not beautiful, you are -- I notice |
I witnessed your praise of tedious insects crawling across barren ground. Heard you remark to the flutterings On a budless bush. You sing loud and long For a brightly painted horizon, Full of gases, blaring Directly at me. You are warming them As I grow cold, distant, As if swimming in the furthest reaches Of a shared galaxy -- And you are my neighbor. Why must I routinely bring you sugar? I could crawl with them. I could fly, sing and praise Before the dawn. If I do not continually carry a song In my now buried chest For someone so unchangeable, indifferent, How do I still dwell? I've considered all the beauty From the ground to cosmos. You are the one thing less beauteous For all I can see. You are my neighbor, Not my soul's landlord. "Invalid Item" |
In My Chamber What I produce in your house Echoes within four walls. The casings grow thicker from dark paint. Through all these years I've sung, hoping Break the ceiling, reach An everlasting roof. Windows reveal eternal night. Doors seal shut in my chamber. One moth in cedar tall once Sought escape, fluttering To the tender grip Of death. Icy fingers Clutch pipes where I've dwelt -- reasonably. --This -- With windows wide, Escapes temporary dreams To an endless sky. You sealed me here. But, I still dare what’s doable. -- This -- Is my chamber -- this -- Is where I dwell. Black hell, where dreams And nightmares Come and go, You dwell, too -- Remove shoes to climb inside This -- dark enclosure where I produce screams. ** Image ID #2217627 Unavailable ** 31 lines freeverse |
From a Facebook poster: Excellent explanation per a medical professional: "Feeling confused as to why Coronavirus is a bigger deal than Seasonal flu? Here it is in a nutshell. I hope this helps. Feel free to share this to others who don’t understand... It has to do with RNA sequencing.... I.e. genetics. Seasonal flu is an “all human virus”. The DNA/RNA chains that make up the virus are recognized by the human immune system. This means that your body has some immunity to it before it comes around each year... you get immunity two ways...through exposure to a virus, or by getting a flu shot. Novel viruses, come from animals.... the WHO tracks novel viruses in animals, (sometimes for years watching for mutations). Usually these viruses only transfer from animal to animal (pigs in the case of H1N1) (birds in the case of the Spanish flu). But once one of these animal viruses mutates and starts to transfer from animals to humans... then it’s a problem, Why? Because we have no natural or acquired immunity.. the RNA sequencing of the genes inside the virus isn’t human, and the human immune system doesn’t recognize it so, we can’t fight it off. Now.... sometimes, the mutation only allows transfer from animal to human, for years it’s only transmission is from an infected animal to a human before it finally mutates so that it can now transfer human to human... once that happens..we have a new contagion phase. And depending on the fashion of this new mutation, thats what decides how contagious, or how deadly it’s gonna be.. H1N1 was deadly....but it did not mutate in a way that was as deadly as the Spanish flu. It’s RNA was slower to mutate and it attacked its host differently, too. Fast forward. Now, here comes this Coronavirus... it existed in animals only, for nobody knows how long...but one day, at an animal market, in Wuhan China, in December 2019, it mutated and made the jump from animal to people. At first, only animals could give it to a person... But here is the scary part.... in just TWO WEEKS it mutated again and gained the ability to jump from human to human. Scientists call this quick ability, “slippery” This Coronavirus, not being in any form a “human” virus (whereas we would all have some natural or acquired immunity). Took off like a rocket. And this was because, Humans have no known immunity...doctors have no known medicines for it. And it just so happens that this particular mutated animal virus, changed itself in such a way the way that it causes great damage to human lungs.. That’s why Coronavirus is different from seasonal flu, or H1N1 or any other type of influenza.... this one is slippery AF. And it’s a lung eater...And, it’s already mutated AGAIN, so that we now have two strains to deal with, strain s, and strain L....which makes it twice as hard to develop a vaccine. We really have no tools in our shed, with this. History has shown that fast and immediate closings of public places has helped in the past pandemics. Philadelphia and Baltimore were reluctant to close events in 1918 and they were the hardest hit in the US during the Spanish Flu. Factoid: Henry VIII stayed in his room and allowed no one near him, till the Black Plague passed...(honestly...I understand him so much better now). Just like us, he had no tools in his shed, except social isolation... And let me end by saying....right now it’s hitting older folks harder... but this genome is so slippery...if it mutates again (and it will). Who is to say, what it will do next. Be smart folks... acting like you’re unafraid is simply unintelligent right now. #flattenthecurve. Stay home folks... and share this to those that just are not catching on." |
Hunger could consume the sounds The hot air, distance between us Indigestible for so long, your dirt Grinds inside my mouth Can't swallow, won't go down Any more, won't Subject myself I ate a vocabulary full of stuff That left a sour taste My greed was my own, prompted to try I dined naked at your buffet Until you said enough The lights one-by-one go out and I don't know what to do with myself When I wake Sunlight streaming in reminds me life Is ready to begin Again But I won't get up, get out, Get away because I stayed Too long and now There's dirt on my lips From your buffet I dreamed about a different place, Wound up here My feet like lead Weigh me down Can't see inside my head Dream like I once did You took it all away Where I once saw love mingle At your dirt buffet. Am I the only one left Who feels this way? It's too late to go So, in dirt gloom I sit defiled Until all the suns go down On your stage.
You can't blame me for my weakness, because you exploited it, then shame me (publicly, isolately) to go away |
Broken Pieces We, the crusaders (denied, disheartened), step over the suffering to get to the other ailing, because they are more downtrodden, like us, to lift up. until we see their downcast faces like mirrors, broken, but somewhere inside hide, imagine piece together and realize in this process: different. We hold those broken pieces like our DNA, near our hearts, without acknowledging what we fail reconstruct are pieces of ourselves, lost in the righteous fray, railing for the rights of the other oppressed like us, don’t fight to get back the shiny fragments, mirrors of spirited souls, to reconstruct. 3.7.20 edited 2.12.22 We are the oppressed but deflect in saintly righteousness that ignorantly self serves, maybe? I'm supposed to sound uncertain. downtrodden can mean so many things right there on the head of a needle. If it pricks, blood everywhere. |
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?" Will the social commentary about the ignorance that abounds ever stop with me? |
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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