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 |   All that remains: here in my afterlife as a 'mainstream' blogger, with what little I know. |
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The Idiotic Ideate?? Formerly: New Zenith To Hell…(all started with arc as writer here from the trials of Rising Stars to Preferred Author to WDC Quills Best Poetry Collection to the falling action I feel now that settles in a white case.) Got to hustle to preserve the best of me before fully fading on that virtual horizon glowing more brilliant with each passing day to permanent nuclear winter. if people don’t get it, I don’t need to explain it. We kill all that’s beautiful before we question it’s purpose. So many people find it easier to think in the black and the white. God forbid you get lost straying in the gray. "Whoever fights monsters should see to it…he does not become a monster.” I’ve been to the abyss and back. Not so bad. The loneliest happy person you'd ever meet, when not the saddest person who needs to be alone. In an ever-changing world, we need to handle topics at the ready. If you roll over and give in to the narrative without lending a voice of your own, you might as well hand over your civil liberties. We have voices that should connect to true conscience and spirit for honest and open discourse. Why feel so redacted? Unify on issues and put drama aside. Open minds require complete objectivity. If none need apply, question the unbendable sources for answer. If you knee-jerk react to every issue lurking out there that clutches your neck, you fall victim to your own ignorance born from a life of apathy (no doubt) in pathetic cries of injustice. Just writing what I feel without the narrative-altering mind f---ing with my head. [MY Chorus] In your house, I long to be Room by room, patiently I'll wait for you there, like a stone I'll wait for you there, alone "It amazed me how truth was often suffocated in minutes, but lies were given sufficient air to breathe indefinitely." "You are all better than you think you are, you are just designed not to believe it when you hear it from yourself." ![Merit Badge in Second Time Around Contest
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Congratulations on winning the Grand Overall Prize in [Link To Item #2164876] with your beautiful poem, [Link to Book Entry #933358]. This poem really moved me. Great writing!
Rachel *^*Heartv*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Second_Time_Around_Contest-2164963_14.gif)    "...lasting art is never anything more than a mathematical expression of the relations that exist between the internal and the external, the self [le moi] and the world." -Jean Metzinger I'm in love with carefully chosen words, arranged just so, audible, edible, to inhale. I attempt to post new poems and epiphanies daily with some links to what inspires. I am legally blind with a rare, genetic form of glaucoma. I'm described as "end stage" after two successful surgeries, still subject to further vision loss. Cataracts complicating matters. Writing Can get strenuous but seldom deters what yearns to emerge, despite a documented history of depression and recently diagnosed ADHD and undefinable social disorders and/or PTSD. My recent poetry:
Sometimes epiphanies about my insights on writing and life and what goes on... Making 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 my own mediocrity, hoping to bust out. I am visible. You can put a face with a name. I would like to see other writers, too. Fiction is what you write, not who you are. Reinventing myself. I couldn't continue on the path I was on and needed a fresh start. This time around I want to put the focus on writing and the world outside of this community as it affects my life. I realize now that I have been baring my chest a bit more, as when young. fake me much more boring and unliberated than the real me. A world arriving as silent as that blossom in your garden that I told you about... |
| Raw and unedited....my feelings on my first writing mentor...an instructor at a community college in 1984...she lived a wealthy, charmed life...I believe her husband was a paper mill executive. She doesn't pen environmental poems...but loves her flowers. What's Going On With Elinor (A Cryptic Poem of Suffering) He wanted to write lines like Elinor -- break them, cut them up just so, crop precise symmetry -- leave a preposition on that cliff, but What followed below didn't flow like his Stream of consciousness. He realized they thought Differently Never saw eye to eye. He was taught to respect A future poet laureate (nominee), his writing instructor At a community college Her accolades wouldn't come until white came To her hair. He was gray now, too. But wiser? Crafting thoughtful those sharp edges So elinor could see? No. He wrote what was in his heart, about The rejecting fire that consumed him The endless pursuit of respect, moving on To the next one, find walls of indifference Arrogance, unable to ignore the shame That consumed him, for trying something Original at a poetry reading she coaxed him to attend A young poet of 25 in suede jacket, a rainy night Rusty, foul-pipe smell of an antiquated library To recite words he just penned about loss and His darkest secret, cryptic, told to strangers In front of a mic -- dark blend of blocked memory Mockery, turning away from Elinor, her modulated Southern admonishing accent punishing a name given to him by his mother -- one fellow instructor spared further tongue lash. Brian had a new secret. He failed the woman Who encouraged his writing, encouraged him To risk his love of words. He would hide 20 more years. Heart repeatedly jabbed by Her blue editing pen years after. Couldn't construct Any more visions on his closeted journals. Couldn't see the point of the publishing dream Maybe fiction? Her white hair make her forget Him? Is her dark secret also a forgotten memory Of the last time they would share a molecule of air Together? Elinor is celebrated for words that Bend just so on even lines, and she wonders Naively about the world and future at 78. The Woman who reminded him of his mother, outlived her, still thriving at 86. As of three years ago, according to Poets & Writers, Elinor travels to Give readings, splits time between her homes In Upper Michigan and Florida. Is photographed Spending time with her well attended flowers But does not return emails from a former Student still waiting for approval of his latest Poems. Not her style? She could never see the World through his eyes. Though, she wonders About it. We will all die, except Elinor who will Muse and we will sigh at her thoughts of white Birch and blue waters from their shared origins Calling her, unlike Chattanooga, Tennessee, Her birth home. She must like trains? Or Has she rejected engineers, hot, dry weather, Hill people, racists and rapists because they Do not exist in Elinor's world? I wonder, too. Her use of 'turned' was uninspired I reveal: http://elinorbenedict.com/excerpts.html https://twitter.com/glaedrfly/status/911252808124518400 |
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In the Falkland Islands, internet is very limited and very expensive. The place I'm currently staying only lets me use it in the middle of the night, so when I have to get up at 3 am to check my texts (no cell service to the US here unless I'm on the internet) or WdC, I don't do nearly as much as I used to. 
I currently have 2 very long emails I still need to get to from several days ago. Anyway, I miss everyone, but I also miss sleep, so there's that. 
Have you spoken to the doctor about your vision problems lately? I know there are special glasses for it because I have to wear them to read much ever since the brain injury. It's part of why I now only listen to audiobooks instead of reading regular books. It took 8 years for anyone to diagnose it because I have a brain injury and while one might think it would be obvious to me that I see double, it wasn't. Partly, my brain does a fair job of compensating. But also, partly, you use your brain to realize and understand that the 2 images you constantly see are double vision and something you should mention to your eye doctor. Since my brain was damaged, even basic things like that can escape me. 
I never once thought to mention it, even with annual eye exams in the Army and an exam every 2 years at the VA. Though, in my defense, since it happens in something like 41% of people with a brain injury, it should have been discovered by an eye doctor much sooner. 
I know doing that activity is a CRAP TON of work. But you made a difference in lives, not just his, but for all the people he's reviewed since. 
Well done! 
