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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... |
| If you can't get to the end of what you're going on about before having to defend yourself, you're wasting your energy on that person. If you are constantly defending yourself (with everyone) before you finish a thought, you might want to hit the 'playback' button. If you find that one person that agrees with you, after 99 others said you were wrong, don't immediately assume you found your soulmate. I have ears, too. 7.23.21 And I always say: 'I hear what you're saying, but also what you're not saying.' Getting pretty good. Where was this wisdom in my youth. And, how to apply properly, at the right time? Windows are sliding shut all through my neighborhood. 'It's that strange boy again. He's looking at our house. Shut the drapes!'  I feel as harmless as a six foot, animated cactus. |
| For an introduction to this blog post, a newsfeed bumper: "Note: In today's installment of Solving The World&..." Satire of a fake meeting of people(s) that should get together and talk, because more dialogue is what we need: United States: China, may we see your Wuhan lab? China: No. United States: That's disappointing, because we smell a bat. WHO: The virus likely came from an animal. China: Yes, that. US Senator Lindsay Graham: There's evidence it was genetically mutated in a lab. Dr. Fauci: We didn't fund that and you're a liar, LG. China: Well, all we know is there's nothing to see here. Go check the rest of the world for your bat. Me: I'm making pancakes for breakfast. What does anything have to do with anything? They're not open to an investigation. It's like people looking at the ceiling when they should look at the ground, as the audience yells, 'He's behind you!' before the unwitting are killed. What's the point of caring, investing in this public drama? Anyone want pancakes? What's the point of sharing all of this in the media? In this age, our devotion is divided between which bachelor she should choose and the financial freedom of a has-been pop star. When we don't really have a hand in world policy, stuck choosing between the lesser of two evils for public office. I have money, lots of free time. I spend where return makes me happiest. I'm not a part of the ignorance and I'm not a part of the process. I've been an unwitting sideline fan who's tried to be a participant. I was a journalist, giving me unique insights to how information is disseminated and couldn't control the flow of information any better than the guy flipping food on a grill. I write here. Yeah, blah, blah, blah is all I see after I type and move on to the next. I read what others have to share. I see a lot of blah, blah but also what I can add to my arsenal of dull cutlery (an expression for anything learned I can't do anything with). I add everything witnessed to an ongoing, circumstantial, subjective truth brewing part in imagination and a little place I'd like to believe is reality. I like maple syrup with mine. I suppose I could always waffle on this subject. Embrace the ignorance and thank Allah we'll all be dead soon (okay, that was dark and I want to say racist? I'll leave it to the PC squad to get online and fix me, working with parts/transistors from the black and white television era), Brian Undeclared, sort of 7.23.21 |
| I should lead with a topic sentence to introduce this blog post, but I want to introduce a man underappreciated in his time: Carl Sagan. I have a clip that will explain how we ignored him and likely will continue. I think I'll finish with my rant of the new dystopia that was envisioned, that we didn't plan for. But first, four minutes of your time, in a sort of news bite that's easy for you to consume: Illiteracy is promoted in a nation that's melted into itself, without finding a way to blend all our religions and cultures, while Jim Bob and Billy Bob get their noses bent out of joint by what they see coming but are too ignorant to change their ways to do anything about it. I've watched ignorance wherever I go. I have seen manipulation of the stupidity or lack of awareness on many fronts. I work in a place where people act like sewer rats and don't care for their planet, much less for the future of whatever this is that we call home. I'm not the most educated. I'm not the type of person who should step up and lead a nation away from the dust bin of collapse. We are the perfect planet to demolish, wipe out, start fresh, because we are in a sort of dystopian decay. Industries that court governments divert the attention away from the ignorant over-invested in social media, sports and more, which holds so many clues and indicators to our ongoing demise. Could we not stand up to it and redirect this PC-ness for what it is, a diversion, from some real issues? I could march into a great many topics on so many levels. But, literacy is the key. Watching now our higher education systems turn into diploma mills, a lame, online honor system of mostly self-learning that churns out degraded degrees for cash. Didn't hurt that we went through a pandemic, keeping students off campuses. But, public schools went through it too. Not prepared. And while there are online public educations programs, I have seen first hand how it cannot hold my child accountable for their output. Watching TV, using phone and in online sessions with multiple trips to the fridge and other points around the house to pull in solid passing Ds. My kid ain't got no use for schoolin' and it is becoming less necessary or cool, if you can be a YouTube sensation or social butterfly. I could rant more. Saving it. Got nowhere to spin it. This was not even a blog prompt. Screw blog prompts. How about, just write a blog post about something you're passionate about? How about an entire blog devoted to something that inspires you to consider, investigate and write? Not, write something off the top of your head like a moron. What the F do I know? Apparently, jack s---, because I'm not worthy of the medal-driven activities the fill the space between my ears, like bugs that have crawled inside to lay eggs or eat me from the inside out. Two rants, one blog post. Who knew? 7.22.21 I'm not gonig to edit this piece of shit. see? I'm a f'n nice guy. I could do just as well as a prick. +finger bombs+ on way out. Remember when arguments were civil? Ignorance, are you there now?? |
| An example of how inane and poor reporting has become: https://www.msn.com/en-us/tv/news/kevin-sorbo-claims-he-threw-a-fit-over-masks-i... My response. I don't give a fuck about all this posturing. Go find a war to report on and then come back with a Latte from that. What I take away: why wouldn't the reporter be more concerned employees at Starbucks earn minimum wage, rather than assumed micro-aggression from a worn out TV actor, half-ranting, walking out? in LA, no less. Or, is the minimum there like $30 an hour so they can afford housing, a ride to work, less than the cost of those coffees. Around 12 bucks? WTF are you talking about? The war is that way, reporter. I can see your byline that you can act marginalized by my comments. It does not excuse posturing in an article. You probably get paid less than the baristas. I should just pity you instead. There are some great journalism courses online, if it would do any good. This is a lesson in objectivity, I think. I'll check myself later to see. Not political, I swear. To be truthful, I was hoping for something sardonic based on the headline. Or, satirical? What's happening to our young people. No tongues in cheeks. Not even wagging out. Did the internet swallow them whole? |
| It's so quiet here I treat this space like you're up there in that hidden space still at my table by the window with my guide lighting a path to the other side in my virtual space hidden I treat like a church it's so quiet here I'm so accustomed to you being in that loft, forgetting you've been gone for, how long has it been? my memory fades from this vantage afforded an inept accountant of time spent by a clear pane I look out into that lonely, early street, know it will fill with love calling, spinning wheels at this intersection, bikes and buggies aimed at the park, while wind whispers, louder out there, through visibly aging trees I look through this room, past two elbows -- the frame of a room I'm in, the frame of a door left open, further, where you slept in, most mornings, while I typed, played dreams on a visual stage unseen, heard likely by you, dreamer, who always needed a few more hours rest. Which one of us still exists in this space? "Judee"  7.19.21 -typed in five, edit later, I suppose. Not motivated and shouldn't be creating until I get a handle on me. Swore I wasn't going to add more to "Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋" until the accounting of my works was complete, an audit that could take some time when I see the unedited pieces, some hidden, staring back at me, while thinking of my son, the college dropout, who's up before dawn, gone to a job, still here when I type or play a song and think of this unnecessary need for reverence, quiet. He never stirred when I played songs from my laptop, and I shouldn't have worried. But, somehow, I still do until I know he's alright. |
If you get a cat that cuddles, hold on to that pet. You would be so lucky, as we were with a cat named Pele.  Pele passed in 2018 after 19 long years, the last was especially miserable. Couldn't tell what was happening, but she felt hollow and light when picked up. She might have been blind, but then would do some of the cutest things. We have a landing in the middle of our split level home below the stairs going to the upper level with the bedrooms and bath. She would carry around a toy or anything she could find like a sock in her mouth. She'd lay it at the landing and cry like she was calling for the other cats to come play. Eventually, the game caught on and the other cats started doing it after she passed, as if carrying on the tradition. One of our remaining two cats who we call 'Buddy' because he's more like a dog than cat, crows before dawn and cries through the house as if he's looking for someone to play with all the time, for no apparent reason.  Our other cat is named 'Mels' which is short for Carmella, which is really acknowledging her predominate fur color appearing like caramel. Though it's also an abbreviate for 'smells' because she's always lifting her head and demonstrably sniffing the air when there is a scent that intrigues. For a short time, Buddy would do the same during these moments and I nicknamed them 'Whiff' and 'Sniff'.    Best Friends, though they have their spats that usually turns into playAfter Pele, I have worked with our two remaining felines to see who wants to be my next lap cat, snuggler. Pele was always on my lap and always good for a hug. With her thick fur and her tender purrs I couldn't feel more contented to have her love. It was sad to see her become a hollow shell of herself, sleeping in her litter box during her last days. I hoped I could carry on her memory with a pet who wanted to snuggle, too.  Mels and Buddy are very skiddish animals when company visits. Buddy has gotten more comfortable with certain guests. Mels just hides under our bed upstairs until everyone is gone, leading us to wonder if she needs anxiety meds. Then, one day she found a friend she liked and would stay in Myles room when they had sleepovers, or get togethers. But my efforts to adapt one of them into a cuddler has failed. You might say 'get a dog.' I can barely take care of myself. {e:laughahhsad?}  Buddy will come when he's called. He will flop on me with his 16 pounds of big boy weight. But, I think he has ADHD or something, because he don't sit still. He won't jump up in a lap of anyone on a chair, but will reach someone's leg with his paw and try rub his face on the furniture. Just not comfortable in a kitchen chair, and only a few moments in a recliner. In bed, he'll flop on my wife and even spoon her! If he were a lion he'd be an awesome bed mate! But, he won't cuddle. Squirms away when I squeeze and he's off to another room like I've offended him, because he's my master, afterall. Mels is just as quirky. She will allow a little hug and she's so slight that I'm sorry to say there's not enough there to satisfy a lonely boy. She sits on my lap at night and will lay there all night if I don't move. But, I need to move my back and legs so they don't tigethen up and then she's between us at the end of our King size bed. She is less likely to come when called, always pensive and thinks something is up when we want her attention. So, I've basically given up on both. Hugs from humans don't seem as good as Pele's. I miss that cat. So, if you get a cat that snuggles. Hold on to it for as long as you can. 7.17.21  This is our cat Glaeder who died before we got Mels and Buddy. He did not survive his first year, with a rare disease. We'll never know if he was a hugger. He was interested in sitting in my lap when I was on WDC, kneading a spot with those claws, making it hard to concentrate. We all sat together with him as he expired just around midnight 2013, with tears in our eyes. We cried and mourned as a family a tragic end to a promising cat life.** Image ID #1036918 Unavailable ** HOW DO I GET OUT OF THIS BLOG POST?  |
| ~ I’m in an old, poorly scripted sitcom and I’ve just answered the phone and no one seems to notice that the phone cord is dangling, unattached to the receiver. Because everyone is going along with it, I start to twirl the cord. Now that I have pointed out the reality of the situation, no one wants to view anymore. Change the channel. ~ I’d like to have a conversation with these people who dictate our logic because they haven’t obviously heard anybody else’s opinion. ~ Each day I examine the evidence and come away feeling pissed off. I walk back into my cave. ~ Nothing means anything. Just don't watch. |
| Own It When you’re a kid playing with Hot Wheels on the carpet with wooden building blocks, you make a garage with your brother and each dream all the vehicles you'll own when you’re a millionaire one day, not realizing you’ll need a billion with inflation. And you grow up and want a particular car, drool in front of the salesman and then negotiate. They take advantage of you, like the bank, but you don’t know finances. So, the dealer screws you, the bank screws you and you end up paying the next six years for a pile of crap, because you don’t know from Hot Wheels what a real car should operate like. Then, you wonder if your dreams just got 1,000,000,000,000 miles further away as you kneel on the carpet with your kid to play…with trains. By the way, mom got rid of all the Hot Wheels, trading cards or anything collectible from your nostalgic childhood, fading from any remaining happy memory. So, you go out and write about it, thinking something tangible could be salvaged. A lesson learned. My brother became a service manager. We don’t talk anymore. Yeah, irony. Supposed to be humorous. Maybe, to you. I'll laugh at the next guy... 7.15.21 |
| It's easy to see now. If you guys want me to whip out my credit card (so you can get your cut), you need to be able to recognize: Water Symphony A lake symphony set to begin, my ears cleared by green bassos, single notes gulp an opening silence. Brown minstrels grasp surface air, whoosh water, vacuum twilight wings skittering a surface to escape. Pinholes in an ultraviolet horizon gasping, last rays angle, strike the silvery surface below. On my shore, lawn chair erect, violinists in the green pit harmonize instruments in unison, lay undiscovered, build a sound-bed consuming ears harvesting a cacophony of familiar notes. Eyes trust a rising moon clear-cutting a path to the dock, stretching across dimpled water illuminated. A water symphony punctuates. Glistening, dark cellos splash-snap, splash-snap a delicacy of movement. Metal creak of this woven seat, finite! I ease back, wonder if this calm allows a mind to dream, forget mosquitos masqueraded arrival for an unexpected banquet, preparing me to pay with my flesh. I try to tell myself everyday there are competent people out there, in here. That there are decent people. Feels like I have to hold up a fistful of bills to get attention. Producing content that draws in fools like me is the sad irony. I've said it before, I get better at my craft in spite of the ignorance. People said my honesty when I used to review was negative, though it was objectively truthful, and just my opinion. And, I'm getting sick of this, what's going on right now. If we're going down this road, then I can take the kid gloves off again. |
I've been adding notations for sometime now, especially in "Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋" , to help readers AND judges realize what's at work within some of my poems. In the case of my latest entry for Writer's Cramp, having to bitem my piece, I added several informative links for readers and the judge, who let me know it was helpful. Even if not award-worthy stuff, I can keep shining the light on different writing approaches, including how-to poetry, more specifically, free verse.
I've taken the liberty of re-editing the piece to remove highlighted prompt words, so it won't distract. The original is still in blog, "Love Fool: A Distant Memory" . I usually start in blog and develop a poem from there. In the case of Writer's Cramp and its restrictive entry process (bitem only), I usually delete the original and maintain blogged versions with notations what inspired. Now, if they were daily handing out ribbons to adorn winners, it would be tough to trash. If I don't renew premium in fall, I know what folder to clean out when the time comes: "Invalid Item" I'm at 266 total items now with 15 mingling in my trash can. I seldom make statics now. I could get 10 reviews easily 15 years ago. I average about three now. Why not just blog? Easier to edit. Easier to link. And, contests are accepting blog posts as entries now.Poets Needed: "Invalid Item" Group above is in development. Sorry for delay; deciding what direction to take it. Little time devoted to new ideas and development. Reception to "Wheelbarrow Group" was lukewarm, being more calculated? Newest idea: free for all forum to promote anything, as long as it's poetry/poetry-related. Kind of a writer's support group meets a poetry newsfeed. Had a catchy title but did not store it. Afraid it's gone. Memory.  |
| Being diagnosed ADD didn't feel like the divining moment, because I thought it was more, something else. There had to be a better explanation for my childhood and everything until now, so I could stop feeling shame and pain for the way I am. After another visit with my brain guru, yogi said nope, I'm not a highly-functioning-whatever-you-think-that-is. You're just a high functioning person with Attention Deficiency Disorder. Why can't they give it a cool name like Asperger's or Autism?  I couldn't sleep tonight. Like a power puppy (one description I use for my condition), I got up and started noodling with googling and found stuff when I asked in the dialogue box 'how come I feel' this way (not in so many words, but in many different words) until I found a link that said everything perfectly that I'm feeling: https://www.additudemag.com/slideshows/what-does-adhd-feel-like/ Reading it makes me think I need to go through my paces, slow down a bit. I do at times, but then I start running away from myself like a child with a new toy until I become bored again. I needed to tell myself not to bite off too much of life, just the way I eat sometimes, inhale everything because I moved on to something new and can't think about food anymore. I was told to try mindfulness once, got bored with the exercise after a few tries. This makes me think of people who workout but don't have a good diet, never make (desired) progress and wonder why. Wrapping it up. Though, I'll wonder more later. Until I can sort myself out, I shouldn't be taking on project after project until I can learn to just complete one thing. My research, as yet, doesn't fully explain why I don't find friends that put up with me. Should be happy I found my wife? Or, why I don't acknowledge people in my life as friends. Why I don't open up more to people online, fear manipulation (from all the other times I've been taken advantage of) and frustration and shame that I'm not the person people need me to be. And, I go running off before any matures into something real. More blathering after a good, solid discovery that should relate me to others. Not that I should feel the need to...just that I can't...don't know how to...where to go from... 7.8.21 I might quit blogging for awhile. Or, wait until the meds kick again. Been off those pills three plus days. Keep forgetting. edit later, maybe add some blurbs from link. Wait for the two clicks on this blog entry to know 'someone' read. Probably to make sure I'm not off my leash, so they can call me back, 'good puppy.' 'who wants a treat?' I'll stop there. Poets Needed: "Invalid Item" |
| We've all had them, good and bad. Write about the best boss you’ve ever had. Um, my mom? Definitely not dad. I think you're asking the wrong question. There are soooo many bad bosses and lots of great anecdotes about the stuff they do, bungle a work situation. I quit over a half dozen jobs in my formative years because of bad bosses. Whose with me? Who wants to tee off? Kåre Enga in Udon Thani  , I'm hearing your blog battle cry again (lacking a better expression). Hm. Okay. The guy at the explosives manufacturing plant where we handled nitrate delivered on trains from Chicago. It was a three man operation. I don't remember either guy's name, but had access to keys from the trailer where we logged in, took my breaks. That got me access to another trailer with actual explosives sold to demolition companies. Not much to tell. We took a one hour lunch to watch General Hospital or All My Children? Seemed like a family atmosphere. I decided to leave that job suddenly and move back to Michigan. The owner/operator was cool with it. Even bought me some road food before I left town. Not much of a story. Maybe, if I had stolen some explosives or he let me take some dynamite. Had some teenage bosses when I was in high school and one of them picked me up when I needed a ride to work? Plus, all those managers partied and drank, letting me join their parties. Bunch of alkies, but good people. Hm.  Poets Needed: "Invalid Item" |
| You’re out with friends for the evening and have ended up at a Karaoke Bar. You’ve all agreed you will sing at least one song. What song will you sing? Why that one? I've only done karaoke once, on eve of my wedding, after they fed me fuel from the bar. I'm not a public singer, though I could be. I sing around the airport when I'm alone. I sing in the car when we go on trips. I sing from the front row in church and during children services before Sunday school to lead the group. No has made me shut up, which is good. I like to sing, all the time, which gives me pretty strong vocal chords for a soft spoken guy. So, if I'm going to nail a song at a karaoke bar, if there's one around here (I've been asking for awhile) it would be, "All of Me" by John Legend. Pretty much all the songs I link in "Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋" I can sing, at least along, or accompany. The list would be pretty long, because I've been singing "Amie" by Pure Prairie League forever. I'll join Eric Clapton on "Lay Down Sally."I do prefer female artists, though. I like the challenge of matching Sara Bareilles on "Gravity" and Sarah McLachlan on just about anything, but the penultimate would be Jessie's theme from Toy Story 2. I can wade into the first two albums of Norah Jones with ease, too. I've written my own lyrics, but lack skill for instruments. Though, there are plenty of musicians in this house. Just no collaborators. I've considered singing my songs acapella but find it hard to share, unless perceptions change. Youtube audience varies from one to five hits. Someone here once said they would collab with me long ago (Michelle), but we drifted apart. That's more than you wanted/needed to know. What is it about me that wants to share? At least, I fulfilled the July 5 obligation of:Hey, Bethany. Remember when I sang, 'give it away, give it away, give it away, give it away now'? RHC If you don't know who she is, it's a bit of a recurring theme in my blogs now. Inside thing. Poets Needed: "Invalid Item" |
| I'm reminded of my child who won't take care of their issues, would rather deal with others problems to deflect. I tell my wife I write for catharsis; but, what if I do it to deflect? Just taking the time to objectively opine why my kid will always struggle is ironic, as I've been floundering nearly all my life. And then, I see another who struggles. I relate to their struggle and want to lend some encouraging words? What am I doing? Am I taking away from me, especially since my attempts might not be on point, or unwanted? I can do for me. Reaching out to others can do for me, too. At what point do you tell yourself they don't want your support, just move ahead? In fact, it feels like it can be intrusive to give unconditional love, being overly cautious not to overstep your bounds. And when you back up, turn in another direction, easy to get lost which way to go. Kind of sad, you know? I remind myself. I had direction before. Just get back on track and stay in that lane. It's sad. I can relate, come equipped to know struggle, emotional sensitivity, the issues with self-worth and identity. It's natural for me to want to help others before strengthening my own resolve to focus on what gives back to me. And, if I ever find my kid spending more than five minutes in our house again, I'll remind them that if people only take and don't give back you'll feel empty. If you give to someone or something that can use that love to feel better, repair onerelf or become whole again, it can redeem you. But, if it does not, walk away. You can always go back. But, maybe you should just let the wounded animals be, so they can get help from true experts. Breathe.
7.4.21 I really do care. People who question my intentions don't know me. No hidden agenda. There are agendas all around. If I have an agenda, it's self-preservation foremost. |
| Here in the United States, we're celebrating our independence today. Is this a special day to you? Will you do anything special? Have we as a country forgotten what this day really means? Yes, I know, several questions there. (If you do not live in the United States, please apply this prompt to the day your country celebrates as Independence, or a similar holiday.) Answer as you wish please. I could shoot some fireworks, bottle rockets or Roman candles that shoof! shoof! shoof! Into the night. I might drink beer, grill thick steak, eat a slice of watermelon in 92-degree heat on the front porch step, spit seeds, wave to passing neighbors, admire sweaty kids racing bikes into the nearby park. I could fish. I could dig and grab a couple squirmy earthworms, stick them in my tackle box and just go. But, I probably won't. A plane will fly over every now and then. Soon, another night of fireworks sparking the sky with neon clouds wading soft like vaporized jellyfish. We'll sit around a campfire, spray repellent. My kid will come and go with our truck, not stay for marshmallows because they have more fun with summer friends, If my son takes a brief respite from video games, he'll eat a cupcake, go back upstairs. My wife will stir a fire, formerly raging, after an evening coating our clothes and skin with a charred remnant that lingers in hair most. We will sigh when embers cool and groan to lift sodden limbs from padded patio chairs that creak and whine with us in the same metallic effort. Oh, there were fireworks, to be sure. The city's display not enticing enough to park, In a field, view, chill and stay awake under blanket. Not the same with grown kids with other agendas, reminded we always did it for them. We made sacrifices so they could grow tall and strong and have reason to smile, reason to feel free, do as they please, as we get old. I think I'll take time to consider those sacrifices, the effort to keep us strong, free from tyranny. And, share that joy with others. Peace to all, wherever you may find it on a brilliant night. A poem. I'll write this poem. Mmm, steak, marinate! |
| Do you have a list of inspirational quotes that you might refer to for guidance? Share one with us! I do have inspirational writings that I refer to, but seldom anything that is a 'quote', unless we are to include things that I've written to myself. Writing notes to myself has been a long standing tradition, not unlike the Writing.Com contest in January called 'Dear Me', which I won, coincidentally in 2014. "Dear Me WINNER: Crossroads" Writing notes to myself started long before an old poem I posted here that was scrawled on a piece of paper to be keep in my wallet to pull out from time to time:
I could return to reread that poem or the Dear Me contest entry, but what I find cathartic is posting some inspirational things on Twitter that help remind me, as well as others. (Click To Enlarge Images Below)  https://twitter.com/glaedrfly/status/1045110283126140930?s=21 "On my equatorial highway to senectitude." The photo might say it all if you consider POV and where the horizon is. I borrowed the word 'senectitude' from a fellow WFOP poet, because it relates to how we feel in our latter years.  https://twitter.com/glaedrfly/status/755077152626933760?s=21 Rather be awkward trying, if always discovering Vulnerability is beauty Complacency ugly It's actually an idiomatic poem I wrote about how I feel 'baring my chest', as my high school English teacher would put it. I would rather risk falling on my face than not try. Also, feeling silenced by society rather than speak your mind to have opinion be heard applies. Sometimes, voices are silenced by the machine. Sticking your neck out should make you feel better, having bared one's chest. If no one backs you up, the only bad feeling you might get.  Sometimes, we just have to put the pen aside and be in a moment. My cat knows how to do it. Why can't I? Thinking of Springsteen lyrics from Jungleland: ▼  Pushing a pile of words from corner to corner, adding more to the mix, for life. I added #amwriting and then #amIwriting? It's really how I feel about writing poetry, the add in, add out process and moving the structure around until it feels like a worthy poem. Seriously, not interested in self-promotion. I get it, just don't like it. I think it takes away from creativity. WWEDD? WWSD? (see if you can guess?)  That's my son on the beach in Mexico, the antithesis of 'no ambition'. But seriously, I bite off more than I can chew and feel nothing but regret for all the things I don't finish, especially bigger projects. What am I thinking?  "Perfection is lost once we try to conceive." When you've got an idea and want to jot it down. Something is brewing and that magic doesn't last, because we have to build a structure, frame those words, put this idea in context. The shine seems to leave that gold. But, I add to 'keep writing'. Words might fail at first, but notice if I keep digging: hidden gems, even if not what was sought...and, maybe better.  https://twitter.com/glaedrfly/status/1043194792291708928?s=21 Rough hands do not bespeak a gentle mind It was a rough heart that taught gentle hands not be weak Another idiomatic poem that sprung up, reminds of my dad. Some say I'm reminiscent of him, the older I get. What I'm reminded: he was rough and taught my gentle hands to not be weak. His hands were rough from labor. His working man ethos rubbed off. I'm no slacker wherever I labor. Thing is, having a rough exterior doesn't define me. I'm gentle and prefer not be as rough as he. What's unfortunate is I give off a gruff exterior without intending. I can feel villainized or treated a monster. Striking that balance is difficult, makes me feel an awkward social animal. But, the old man also taught me to be a cynic, sometimes confused with a callous heart. In summation: Hard candy shell, melty chocolate inside! But, don't tell anyone I said that.  This kind of summarizes me as a writer in a community like this. Obviously, after I type something, I don't have to hit send. But, then where am I? So, I put myself out there, speak my mind. It can get dicey. Have to accept that. I know what people prod me to do, trying to get me out of my comfort zone. And fear, if I don't acquiesce, lose them. If I do, I lose myself. You say you don't ask for much, get indifferent if I don't play the game. Just keeping it real. Just want to be a writer who's judged on the merit of his content. I pay my dues in many ways. It involves a lot of my precious time. Hey! Like this, see? Happy to share a part of myself with others and long to reciprocate in return.  https://twitter.com/glaedrfly/ 7.3.21 |
| We've all read about them, we all probably have a favorite. Do you? Tell us about your favorite conspiracy theory. If you don't have one, tell us about one you recall. I've handed in my reporter's credentials long ago, but have always been curious about conspiracy theories. I think for me it started with the JFK assassination, though aliens and Bigfoot/Yeti might be forerunners due to those Enquirer-type rags at grocery checkouts when I was a kid. Oh, can't forget obsession with Elvis and his death with those claiming he was alive, as will happen with many icons. Saw a blurb today claiming Michael Jackson is among the living again. I don't have a favorite conspiracy. Usually, don't rank things or claim an absolute. I did google to see what the most talked about conspiracies are. I found it fascinating, though I don't think 'flatlanders' made the list. Here's an excerpt about one of the things I never heard before, knew little about, that intrigued: "Top Democrats are behind a child sex ring: In October 2016, the emails of Hillary Clinton’s campaign chairman, John Podesta, were leaked. Podesta wrote about possibly holding a fundraiser at the DC pizzeria Comet Ping Pong, and mentions ordering cheese pizza. Seemingly innocuous (but) fuel for the wild conspiracy Comet Ping Pong was (a front for) child sex-trafficking...run by Democratic leaders, including Clinton and Podesta. Cheese pizza, theorists claimed, meant child pornography. As in so many conspiracy communities, the emails became a cipher only insiders could decode. A few weeks after Podesta’s emails were leaked and “Pizzagate” started gaining traction, a 28-year-old man walked into that northwest Washington pizzeria with a rifle. After his search of the premises yielded no dungeon holding sex slaves, he fired his gun at a locked door before surrendering to police. The gunman later told a judge his actions were “foolish and reckless,” as Pizzagate conspiracies proliferated online, becoming the seed for the equally fantastical QAnon conspiracy. In October 2017, an anonymous poster called “Q” began posting on the messaging board 4chan, claiming to be an intelligence officer in the U.S. government. Q expanded the foundations of Pizzagate: Not only are politicians and Hollywood elites really satanic pedophiles, they also harvest the blood of children to stay young. The only person who could stop them was Donald Trump. (Despite President Biden's election, some in the Q universe insist he's an illegitimate president and Trump rules from the shadows and will one day emerge to take power, after arrests of everyone from Clinton to Tom Hanks and the Pope.)"Yeah, it's titillating, but hardly provable. Wasn't some guy and his madam connected to this and ran some sort of sex ring on an island? He went to jail, supposedly committed suicide (or was silenced Lee Harvey Oswald-like before he could go to trial) and the madam was in hiding before caught and it's gone quiet? I don't know. I think this is the stuff that drives writer's imaginations and has produced countless novels and movies and adaptable episodes for television. Law and Order called it 'ripped from the headlines' with the disclosure that 'hey, it's fake/fiction. don't sue us', get over it. we need 'believable' content. oh, look! a stray laugh emoji that was intended for some part of this got shoved all the way to the bottom. Hmm. I'll investigate later, when I edit.7.2.21 Author's Note: Personally, I don't assume anything but collect information bit-by-bit until I have something that seems circumstantially strong enough to pursue aligning facts to support. And even then, I have to wait for argument that could take out the pillar(s) of whatever theory I'm working on, before I decide I can work on the other cornerstones to logically lift and decide, with little hesitation, that something I've wondered about could possibly be true. I do it all the time (maybe, compulsively), but not obsessively. Just until I get tired and need my brain for more important things, like a hobby: writing, basketball. It takes a lot to get me invested before I crawl up inside something and root around for evidence. Provocation is usually the key. If someone is giving me signs to back off, I smell something. Did I mention my jam was investigative journalism at my first 'professional' gig in radio news? I wound on taking on some of the hometown elite, which didn't go over so well. Shook out a lot of good information, when I realized helpful people pointing me toward 'the truth', and some who were overzealous or trying to dupe me. I can smell out a ruse from the real thing. I'm surprised at my age with my experience, people still toy with me. I have my struggles, but I'm prideful and hard-nosed. Another blog for another day? |
| I thought about posting this in newsfeed, but it's too long: Working on a new bio, because I have to submit stuff for publication and I have to write a blurb (gah). So, I started thinking and redacting as I went: Let's just stick a fork in me. Former accolades: broadcast journalist with stints at six radio stations, news director, three state broadcasting awards. Sold copy to AP wire service, contributed to national CBS radio and National Public Radio. Former newsprint reporter, employed by four publications, stringer-reporter for the Milwaukee Sentinel, freelancer for other publications. Stints as News Assignment Editor and News Producer for two Tv stations. Editor of college newspaper, and editor of college literary magazine, while contributing content for each. Trained in photography and film development. Five-time published poet: one national publication, four state journals. It kind of tales off there. I have personal interests and hobbies, but I see other writers seldom go there. I also don't know how to describe my activity here. How to summarize and what parts are considered prestigeous? Like winning the Dear Me contest in 2014? Or the Heart Throb Poet in 2020? Or, just detail the 1k plus poetry written and what little short story efforts I've had. Oh, I could say I am activite with two blogs, one where I write and examine poetry daily. I wish I could say I successfully functioned to run my group. But, that's for another day. I'm sure I'm leaving stuff out. 7.1.21 edit, reconsider later. |
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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! 
