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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... |
| Making eggs at midnight and this comes to me? It started as a list. How average can we be when we love and how comfortable it is knowing it is typical. I'm going to eat now, fix this later, or not. Typical Love As ordinary as oatmeal, the collared dog that must walk, like sunshine that was there when you first got up still burning behind the mask... As free as that bird builds a nest in the garage gutter, like leaves, gentle, obey the winds falling, falling, falling down to your ground to lay... Our lips embrace forever. Two twigs low, commingled, once swayed in soaring tree, grows a canopy above, warm shelter for two children, three cats, those hamsters content clucking, chittering like raindrops in our hearts. Small hands, tender, wrap ours, typical, calling, calling, calling 'come watch...' Know innocence, true beauty, how we heal them in the night from bad dreams, unjustly pained by sickness inside where we are safe to dream. We, a typical love, we share our stories together so others know how ordinary as oatmeal. I take inspiration where I can find it. Shine it. Hold it up for you to see it glowing, still growing. Thanks, to thee. |
| For LuAnne, who never understood our fate... I witnessed you a thousand feet higher Blue waters purged blue sky And your eyes And mine Alive Two hands United elements We hiked You lifted me higher on Sugarloaf mountain It was not the ore docks, great steel ships, coasting seagulls or fall colors that you described that memory fails to recall, but your song on a chill, sunny day where we paused amid restless leaves decaying You cleansed me, freed me from ignorance, solitude, gave me hope that I could love better Love someone like you. |
| Posting for posterity...raw... Piano Needs Tuning Auditorially challenged No rest for a beset mind Scanning a dim-lit screen In the adjacent kitchen Each discordant key echoes Off bay windows into the open area Shared rests between the keenly measured notes Plodding along a spectrum of sound sagging strings resonate inside an upright Baldwin. Once rich mahogany, faded by sunlight, Stained by coffee, marred by the talons Of unrepentant felines, sturdily depresses The carpet, not seen in 12 years. Rolled away once for an errant plane, The boys favorite when he was four. Dust bunnies act like mortar beneath The tarnished pedals now showing their wear. Music sheets land like his forgotten plaything Stick out from bench and beneath stacks Of forgotten melodies since his first lesson. Markings on the pages more sophisticated Hinges on bands of notes more erratic Pages taped together like paper doll cutouts Dance along the edge, daringly stare at the ground From the edge of their cliff, never falling. Their master deftly pushes back each teetering truant With free hand Without missing those white levers attached to hammers percussing rhapsodic rhythms Begging still the piano tuner to tighten lines For the daring, high-wire act. |
| Final analysis: How Donald Trump became President https://briankeithcompton.wordpress.com/2016/11/09/how-donald-trump-became-presi... via @wordpressdotcom |
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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! 
