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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... |
| I'm tired like you girl -- bitch when someone aims with hands cupped to lift your shuddering, bony skeleton with masses of fur balls tight to tender hips, half shorn where clippers could free neglect, no longer reached by rough tongue. Lay flat as a bear skin rug in blankets near heat vents. I would. Swallowed in burrows low and away from foot traffic, never lift your head when the door sends its arrivals. Dreams come no more, waiting winter. Can't remember when you could survey a cruel world from atop the dresser, snuff out prey, clamp in wiry jaw, when you had good teeth. You still eye that bowl by the water. Still hungry like me, I see. And when I have leftovers, if you're there, stray luncheon meat or cheese lays at your feet. |
| Since me and rum departed and me and coffee united, I still need breath mints, teeth whitened, a new disposition on life, hope, serenity knowing someone can accept me: clothes wrinkled, hair unwashed, fingernails torn from biting, and one lazy eye: happy or otherwise perky without my latest vice. Maybe I’ll use up my Vicodin, liquor store closed until 8 AM, stomach detoxing from its bath -- over-caffeinated, acidic aftermath. I know we are all looking for a fix, because there is no solution for the emptiness within and yet, if the universe stopped expanding and collapses on itself, then there is no time to waste, because we will all be gone in an instant. No rapture; no afterlife, just nothingness. If that is our existence now... .... I'm sorry, I started thinking... .....what would be a better purpose for my time? To write or to live? if, no one hears me, no one has read, and no one will listen? If they even bother to get a glimpse, are they moved? If they bother to fully read, do they understand? If they bother to study what is writ, origins, do they seek discourse, agree there is a better approach to finding utility in this life? Utility. Boring. Lay down the pen, kiss life fully on the mouth wherever you roam, make no apologies as they have you fitted for white garments, drug you, lock you up. Perhaps, a better use of time on this disconnected, flat land, horizonless journey of a sterile existence... (toothpaste) ...I choose coffee, and Vicodin, and, when the liquor store opens, I’ll kiss life full on the mouth, maybe the sales clerk, too. Hope she’s pretty. Sorry, men. Sent from my iPhone to my iPad to Writing.Com email to my blog What a circuitous, meaningless journey. *white noise* No *static* Yes I've made my point abundantly unclear 'You're Welcome' ?  irony you are free to misinterpret, roam your own existence now. |
| Was going to write something for Daily Poem (he could say every day). Can't seem to keep up with the prompts lately. But, still hashing out the contest's instructions in my thoughts, I come up with something totally unsubmittable. My mind keeps going in different directions when it wants to express... Out the window Orange and black parka walks a leash Russet flat cutouts twirl on stems hung precarious, sail off Waves of brown ponds crash Two black circles spin about backward-rolling chrome Sent away by roar of compressed pistons Fading down the street A lamp glows inside the pane A hollow, colorless Picasso image emerges Looks upon a doubtful man An organ fires inside its cylinder Never ending, never casting off Always, from early hours to early hours, Viewing a streaked scene. Rewrite: Out the window: Orange and black parka walks a leash. Flat, russet cutouts twirl on stems hung precarious, one by one sail off. Waves of brown ponds crash. Two black circles spin about backward-rolling chrome, sent away by roar of compressed pistons, fade down the street. Dim lamp imbues the pane: hollow, colorless Picasso image emerges looks upon a doubtful man. An organ fires inside its cylinder never ending, never casting off. Stalled. Wheels spun out in the bloody mud from early hours to early hours viewing a streaked scene, glass frosting over a sound-deadened amphitheater. |
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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! 
