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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 processing a lot of thoughts and cannot find the words tonight for how I should feel. I guess if everyone assumes a position of indifference, there would be such uninspired participation, if any at all, at this site. So when I hear a call to action, there is a part of me that is always willing to help out. Sometimes, I feel like such a sucker. I have enough on my own plate and I want to launch when someone is in distress. My wife is constantly questioning my motivations. "They need someone.." And then it goes on from there. You sometimes find you're standing in the middle of nowhere and someone is yelling at you to get out of the field. You try to lend a hand here or there and get handcuffed while people breaking rules all around you are ignored. And then when you finally offer up your humble offerings you get a 'that's not what we're looking for' and look up to see if the writing on the wall has changed again. This is all obtuse. Some might know what I mean. The more I think people want me to shut up and go away, the more trouble I'm tempted to make. I guess I should just pity their ignorance or their intentions that I cannot fathom. Dammit, why don't I come out and say it. Don't care to be ostracized again, or just don't care? It feels good when you can contribute and do something that could be more positively defining as a member, instead of them mucking it up and taking away all the fun their could be. My head is spinning again... I don't want to believe I've wasted my time as a member of this community. I want to believe their is more in me that people don't get to see because they haven't met the person. Been like a yo-yo these past seven plus years. Wish I could decide...spinning...guess I'm going to lose before I start. I feel sorry for every hopeful newbie who becomes disenchanted because they will eventually not be newbies anymore. |
| She shelters within the weed As they lob cocktails over her wall. You can't see her eyes; veins thick with the mud she uses to douse the flames, rising higher, as she goes numb. Bayonets stab acidic animals floating in her challised waters. Bloody war engines blast their arrival; colorful lights synchronize with the volleys. The diminutive fighter approaches warriors battling, chanting; refusing refuge in their arms, dims her dark, dry eyes and dances to her own song. Don't like the ending. I think I'm going to add more/edit this. Noticed the first stanza wound up with six lines. Can I get away with 'challised' to show how the water is held? Checks his poetic license to see if it is up to date. It's sad that when you end something before your muses are done feeding you thoughts, because it is hard to pick up where I leave off. Hope I can add more to this. |
| I need to find some way I can be me and feel comfortable not having to apologize for it. I need to be able to assert my opinion without the fear of rejection. Too often how I feel about myself is tied to the opinion of others. My dad made me this way. He got to be arrogant and demeaning to others who stood up to him and played the martyr if we did not go along with his game. Here I am wandering around in this stream, wanting to appease my father and uphold all that my mother bestowed me with kindness and a strong shoulder for others. Nothing left for me? These two who left this realm more than 10 years ago couldn't have been more divisive influences on my life, and I am about to crack at my foundation. I want to be stronger and tell people off like I sometimes do and not come back and retract all that my passion will demonstrate. I've had to be a chameleon for so many people, it's a wonder I don't have an identity crisis. Well I do, just not so severe that it has stricken me with insanity. I desire the company of friends and have hated that I was a phony to get in their good graces only to discover that the friendships were more fantasy than reality. Maybe, I tried too hard. So, I stopped trying. I want to crack. I welcome it. I hope there is a shiny, resilient new person beneath this flimsy exterior who can grab the world by the tail and fling it into orbit. I desire peace of mind and an attitude that says you're either with me...well, that's it. Meekly gets off soapbox/pulpit to spend some time in repose to consider his latest rant to the wall. |
| cool. desirable. fire. craving. thirst my flame quench my thirst lost. misdirection. sign. deserving. nod your indication guide my pith. Aimless poet searching never saw you coming Would you just dare pull me down to kiss? Your cool desire like fire I crave. Lost without a sign in this pith -- please guide an aimless, searching... Shhhhhhhhhh Tossedx Handsx Timex Stopx I don't know where I was going with this other than I had a bunch of disjointed thoughts like words bubbling to the surface and then I started putting together the connections to make some sort of message out of it to send to another. It could be like reading someone's own code like morse, synophore, smoke signals or a ouija board. Examples not used here, but could be referenced in a similar poem. In my own cryptic way I try to understand myself so I know what it is I am meant to say. Well, then, the message is delivered and I imagine she hushes me, but return is hard and perhaps I am just hushing myself. The little x's are periods that come with emotion. It's like adding some force to get those words to halt at the end. Perhaps, they could mean something more. I only look at my note book and see them there and know the emotion I felt as I put each one down after those final four words. |
| Something I am working inspired by my desire for some kind of silence... When it gets quiet I hear the fish tank filter bubble water that breaks on the surface of memory and I begin to envision you Where there is no sound lonesome hums of highway traffic yet beckon my ears, in heat, from so far away like you What I seek is silence. I only find an essence of you hidden in the dark recesses of my beleaguered brain. Rain, damn it! Rain! Tears won't come. Why won't you come hush me? Want to rid this of stale language like 'gets' in first line. I want to unplug that fish tank, too! Keep tuning into it now when it is quiet. |
| Had to give the following more thought and I think what I create here is more than extended metaphor, but an allegory. Now, I proceed to babble from the other night: I'm sure no one will get that "Invalid Item"  is a metaphor for a chance encounter with a woman that might dare to tempt the man by communing with him, as he tries to figure out if he is supposed to approach. He is overcome with the feeling that she might be awaiting his advance after her bold gesture to sidle up and is trying to recall and revel in that moment before she is scared off by someone who sends her away. He is left to wonder what was that all about, if he could just communicate to her.There are times, one can't imagine why another would be interested in a courtship. We are so caught up in questioning the advances that these moments are lost. Years ago, I probably answered my own questions about these unrequited affairs with suppositions and more pondering about seeking love..."Fear Of Unrequited Love (Lonely Hunter)" [ASR].You go through life realizing you are attractive enough to draw one from the 'tender herd', but how to close the deal? Usually, it is because one feels they are unworthy of love to take a chance, embarrassed to realize whether the signs have been misread. Communication is a hard thing and we often feel the one we marvel at from across the room could not possibly lower themselves to speak the same language, one of love. We try to absorb as much as we can in those moments and fantasize the sojourn. He speaks in code, like these metaphorical, dreaming poems he pens, wondering if she'll ever read between the lines. Because he cannot just come out and say it, it is better to imagine he could have loved rather than to have lost at all. I made that up. |
![Merit Badge in Reference
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Congratulations, you won First Place in the January 2014 round of [Link To Item #dearme] !](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/genre-Reference-1360.gif) Wants to mimic an infamous quote from an oscar-winning actress to show appreciation... Thank you to the judges and the many authors and reviewers here at Writing.com for the honor and privilege of being a member here. Thanks to The StoryMaster  & The StoryMistress  for putting up with me all these years, as I continue to evolve into the writer I was meant to be.I can't imagine my life today without all the great experiences afforded me by this site. |
| Inside...I watch puffy clumps of snow unfastened from faithful trees by the playful, invisible wind. Outside...icy gusts hurl spear-like flakes into my chapped skin. Inside...I see the bright sun activate luminous banks of snow on our street corner. Outside...the blinding glare forces me to pull over until I can adjust the visor and put on sunglasses. Inside...zealous gusts winnow about like spirits, climbing up my rooftop to holler their muffled greetings down our chimney. Outside...arctic gales slap my numb ears as my hands fumble to reattach the gutter's downspout. |
| Been a rough week, but weathering the storm. My gaffe tonight is going to come back to haunt me. With so much on my mind and plate, I am having trouble focusing. Will get through this like everything else. Need to keep searching for that high road when complications entangle my mind with thoughts I should not consort with. And on top of it, my wife went to bed and was asleep before I realized I was letting all my personal stuff get in the way of our night. Rewire me please! I desire an upgrade. Oh, no. Not a WDC membership.  I really need to get back to the novel and stop trying to get my fingers in all these other pies. Too many irons in the fire. How many more metaphors do I need? I keep hearing these calls for help. I get distracted.  My other blog is temporarily down for a special purpose. Will reopen when time is right. |
| Sometimes, I feel I have the courage to break out of this self-imposed bubble. My heart fills with the Grinch's new found strength. I'm seeking the ending to a beautiful fairytale before I realize I imposed my own fiction on reality. I'm the villain and I put myself in that flimsy prison, because I fear that I will fail again on the outside, acting on impulses rather than the meditations that taught me how to seek relief. I'm captured between these two worlds -- one that is foreign to me and vexes me with my failed attempts to settle into those loving, accepting arms, and the dim bubble where I sit alone with my thoughts, where no one can teach me how to rise above the conflict I struggle with each day, and night. I know there are those like me who say I can't save you because I can't even save myself; and the rest who don't know what it is to be exiled to an emptiness full of unrealized visions because there is no hand to guide me out. I have found empathy here. That has salved the wounds long enough for me to crawl back in the bubble to try to dream some more. But the visions fade with time, another vexing element that limits the hours I have to share with someone who'll listen and hopefully lift me up on shoulder with the acknowledgement the struggle for acceptance is no more. I feel selfish saying this when others ail more than me, but this is inside of me. I can get closer to know other pain, but I have a great ability for empathy and desire to save others. It hurts even more when my offerings of assistance fall short or are rebuffed as some invasion of privacy. I don't post missives like this in my notebook any more because I do not wish to make a public spectacle of my pain. The blog is my open journal. There are many posts that have not seen the light of day, because I need to write to remind myself. Ditties like this are just an attempt to get an amen or maybe find that one who will acknowledge what I wrestle with and knows just the remedy for a brain addled by life's chaotic maze of rejecting fire. There is a poem that will enlighten the last metaphor... When I find time to link. Here it is..."Black Walls" [E] |
| A doe emerged from a clearing straight toward me one morning where I had stopped by a stream to splash water on my groggy face. 'I didn't expect you here beautiful deer,' I thought. She seemed to take note of me, never broke stride in her approach. In the adjacent inlet, she dipped her head to lick from the spray of the ample flowage of spring to commune with a lone man. What I could say to you now. How your presence startled my heart to love a trusting creature, normally shy and reclusive. In the still, cool air I watched. Perhaps, she hadn't caught my scent. Slowly, I hunkered down to squat in admiring awe. Your coat caught a glint, bedazzled by a glowing horizon, as my heart swelled with joy that you chose this place...and me? Your nimble legs... A loud shot rang out high above our heads. Hooves slid over the watery shoal. Your tail flashed white, raised high; though your kin could not see as you fled back through the shadowed trail. I still yearn to know, for which my devotion depends, was it dichromatic vision or did you choose once to coexist...with me? Being tuned into oneself, each alone sharing moment? Poem about in moment/want to preserve the feeling |
| You can thank my wife for my new handle. Hit a new low today. I told her that I would consider pursuing a career as a commercial actor because of my background in broadcasting and that I have always been told I 'look' trustworthy. Her response was that you need to be 'sexy' to be a pitchman. Don't know that the label necessarily applies to the position or if it was even called for. Is there another double standard in the standards department where woman can get away with telling us stuff that we could never get away with saying to them? *Looks in mirror* What happened to me? I added, "I suppose you're going to say I don't sing well either." Her only response, "I wouldn't say that," seemed affirmation enough, so I let it alone. But in the back of my mind I was thinking, "You have to be sexy to be a singer." So, check that future vocation option off the list. Can I get a cosmetic surgeon in the house! Can't go through life breaking mirrors because they won't lie to me anymore. Thanks wifey! She's always there for me when I'm down, you know. Is sexy. Is sexy. Is sexy. Nope, still not working. *Shouts 'Where's the beef!* I can too make it as a commercial actor, I just choose not to anymore. Stay tuned for a future YouTube audition video displaying my 'commercial' skills. yeah, right oooh, thought of a new handle while coming up with title for this blog post... |
| I woke up somewhere around two a.m. The family is out of town for the weekend and I have to work in the morning. I couldn't keep myself awake to watch the end of the Michigan State win over Purdue and went upstairs shortly after seven. Slept a good six hours with one interruption. Pele meows in the night sometimes like she is lost. There's a theory that she is looking for the kittens that are kept in the basement at night because they keep. Us up. She's too old to lock in that dank, cold cellar with them, so she has the master bedroom. Only, I shut her out because I needed un disturbed rest. Guess she figured out how to get me down. Gave her breakfast, but all she did was squaw and walk in her semi-circled twists that agitate me. Can't figure out what besides food and water or petting that she might require and I'm not about to clean a litter box. I turn my thoughts to what had kept me restless in previous nights. Knowing I may have mis perceived things made me a bit angry and had no one to turn on but myself. Kept muttering stupid and idiot with each new thought that bubbled to the surface to break. But I was making my mind up about something else. I need this one last run to get back in shape, have the body I know I can rebuild with focus on diet, exercise and rest. It starts now. No stimulants, all natural this time. I need the natural endorphins my body can produce. I'm going to print pictures I can stare at to give me extra motivation. I burnt out once channeling all my hate into exercise. I think I've got enough built into me for another run. I will add mantras that will be a mix of encouragement and revenge, always keeping my eyes to the ultimate goal I set for myself when I started this whole process in 2007. |
| On bad days someone catches me singing off key. On good days I'm singing in key and searching for someone who'll listen. When I'm indifferent, I'll sing any way I damn well please and you're stuck listening to me. On my best days...silence. I don't know if it relates, but I'm reminded of this... "Invalid Item" |
| I change my handle too much, but think I've settled on three or four recognizable ones. I know it confuses some people who don't remember me and they have to hover and/or click to see. I really am just bored and having fun because it expresses how I feel. I'm flyboy now, I'll be glaerdrfly later, or just glaedr. Or when I am missing the little orange kitten that died in our arms a year ago, I might have a message for the little guy. He was our hero. Our 13-year-old cat Pele took ill about a month after we adopted Glaedr, named by my son after a dragon of the same color in the Christopher Paollini book Eragon. Pele was on death's door. We could only imagine why she suddenly took ill at her advanced age. After surgery and removal of a small obstruction, we waited. Glaedr sat by her and purred every night. I learned that's how cats cure themselves. Pele would not take food. It was an ordeal. Maybe, we missed the signs but Glaedr became more ill as his big sister recovered. When we noticed the little guy would just sit on the floor next to the radiator and do nothing, we worried. More veterinary intervention was needed and they could only assume he had contracted a rare disease. Glaedr came home with us. We had a decision to make. He made it for us. All four of us cuddled with him New Year's Eve. He was as small and gaunt as ever, but as beautiful as the day we picked him up at the no-kill shelter. And shortly after he made it into 2013, he took his last breath in my wife's arms. The children sobbed. We all had tears in our eyes. This miracle of a cat gave us all a second chance with Pele before passing on to greater things. Glaedr leaves us behind, but we will never forget the brave, selfless love for his big sister who is with us and has two new kittens (Mohawk & Carmella) to play with each day. (Tears streaming down my damn eyes when I wrote this. Now I've got to change my handle again.) |
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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! 
