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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 will say things in writing to a person that I would not say to someone in person. Does this make me a coward or does corresponding through social media allow us greater access to expression? Now, I will say there are limitations. Inflections, gestures, tone and some of the give and take in certain scenarios are missing. There are certain intimacies that cannot be duplicated in words. The beauty of it for a writer is to try. Can we find the right words to move another? There is power in these conveyances, if we can strike a chord with a reader. I long for those internet embraces. I will be the first to admit I have shortcomings, but am learning every day the impact my words have had on others. I know humility and I know love. It is a bittersweet mix. |
| I'm always intrigued by old stories from my hometown. Was doing a bit of digging today and found a very unusual story. Reporters back then wrote like they were giving first hand accounts, seldom using attribution. Though this piece is published in Kalamazoo, I suspect the information was either taken from a local paper or reporter. It almost reads like fiction. WHIRLED IN A SHAFT Fatal Injuries to Two Mill Employes at Iron Mountain Iron Mountain, Mich., July 8--Kim Harvey, a millwright, with a man named Price for an assistant, was engaged in repairing a pulley in the Metropolitain Lumber company's mill, when the machinery suddenly started. Harvey's clothing was caught, and he was whirled around the shaft. In one of the revolutions his feet struck Price, who was on a beam above, knocking him some distance. Price struck on the floor squarely on his head and received injuries that may result in his death. Harvey continues to revolve around until every article of clothing excepting one shoe had been stripped from his person, when he dropped to the floor. Strange as it may seen, none of his limbs were broken, his injuries being of an internal nature. He cannot live. -Kalamazoo Gazette, July 9, 1898 English was like a second language in an area packed full of immigrants. I remember visiting homes as a paperboy where old women only spoke German or Scandanavian and being told by my friends, their neighbors or grand kids, that they never wanted to learn English. The stories of lives lost in mining accidents in our area are quite sad and yet a way of life. Makes me think of the old movies where people struggled to make a few bucks to feed their family, even if it meant life or limb. My grandpa worked in the mine until he went on disability in 1933. He inhaled a good amount of stuff in his lungs that made it difficult to work underground again. He came to America in 1893 at the age of 15 and settled in Iron Mountain. Second from right, Grandpa in the very old days at the bar where I learned to drink. ** Image ID #1202876 Unavailable ** |
| And the first day back at the gym...every part of me is struggling to function, except for the surgically repaired shoulder. I took a diet pill and nothing else (three pieces of candy) and went to the gym after Jen helped me briefly stretch the shoulder. I think my legs would have benefitted, too. I had time to warm up. All old guys at start, none by end. Told a few people brief explanations for my absence. Played good at start, though very few touches. Made a three and finished that game with a post up make. My shooting wasn't bad. Didn 't suck on D, though they could have blown by me if they dared. Stripped the ball a few times and hauled in a few boards, but couldn't move like I want. The gluts, quads, knees (no patellar straps) took greatest hit. Generally weak and sluggish in efforts to move. Showered and writing here, but will take it easy for awhile. Maybe, play again Monday when the younger ones are back at college. |
| I'll have blood shot eyes if I stay up tonight and watch the first of the tetrad, that is, the first of four blood red moons over the northern hemisphere during the next 18 months. And there's a little story about a biblical prophecy about the end of days connected to this. http://www.greenbaypressgazette.com/article/20140413/GPG0101/304130349/Look-up-B... |
| I get it. Watching a character struggle with self-doubt is a turn off. We want our flawed hero to be optimistic because we are on a fence of our own. We read for escape and not to be dragged back down into the morass that we elude on a daily basis. Conflict-resolution becomes a sticky subject to tackle, because a writer wants to implant his own insecurities to supplant in the escalating action. To be honest with ourselves, there are few true supermen and their stories are seldom dramatic like the struggles of a loner who yearns to fit in. Maybe, one that picks up that sword to battle the white page and hope that someone will respond to the visions in words spilled forth. The separating line between fiction and reality is a clear division, but one that this writer wants to blur a little more each day. I spend x amount of time with the distraction of a good tale and x amount of time surrounding myself with a support network. But, when you cannot control the ratio? A lot of time alone leads to delusion. May happy times lie ahead in the words with good friends and our readers. |
| I've been rereading my first blog, from the beginning, and remembering what I struggled with and how optimistic I was starting on the path here. I became disillusioned, as I am sure many have, because my expectations were not met. I yearn to find a place in this internet dungeon where I can envision a glimmer, just a crack of light to help me escape. I want to get back what little innocence I had when I started here and begin again. Just doesn't seem like I will find what I am looking for here, maybe nowhere. Embrace those newbies and let them know they are loved and don't quit on them during their awkward phases and struggles for worth and recognition. Expect people to be a little unreasonable. Be patient and help them understand, if you truly are angels. Unconditional support will help them see, while I still cope with this self-imposed dark hole I put myself into. |
| I had a break through this morning thanks to the sermon in church. Found some words about John Wesley that I can apply to my life. I have been living in the flesh and not in the spirit. Whether or not I am accepted by god, which it feels I am not, I can be more spiritual. That means appreciating life again and stop stressing over the details. I just need to do what makes me happy. I could appreciate more time with the kids and find a balance that does not include wiling away the hours in places I am not welcomed with open arms or lifted high on shoulder for the things I know I do well. Got to find my voice, then my audience and preach! Okayyyy, need to tone it down a bit. I was blessed by a good mother and corrupted by a soulless, loathesome man whose approval I never won. You would think over ten years after his death his influences on me could be unshackled. I could live by my own convictions that could fill this soul daily. Need those little deposits in the bank, a therapist once told me. Well, I'm not earning any dividends by wasting my time with trivial, mind numbing endeavors. Time to move on. No seriously, I need to get up and go now. Take my feet off the couch and go live life. Outdoors, it's nice out? I'm going to get to it. Starting a checklist that starts with Find Your Will. |
| I'm in the bath again. The waves are washing over me, trying to take me out to sea, I've tethered myself to the mast. Wish me luck as I sail aimlessly on this lost sea. Want to wash ashore in some forgotten paradise. Alone with nature is what I plead. I want to medicate, but I'm a big boy now. Learning to deal with these emotions with the chemicals in this vessel is all I require. I hate what I become and that few can comprehend why I am me. It's hard to seek love, earn it, keep it because the monster wants to kill the Dr. Jekyll inside. I'm sorry to those I have wronged.
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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! 
