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Rated: 18+ · Book · Spiritual · #1149750
2x BestPoetryCollection when I had a fever. From 2006-23, cast words to world wide wind.
I have the right to free speech. Not a guarantee people will listen, respond, or adjust accordingly.
Just sayin’.

I had a lover's quarrel with the world - Robert Frost

I'm sorry you got caught in the middle - Me

Neurodivergent poet. Words collected arrange on a spectrum. The true acknowledgment of my writing yet to come...

I don’t win things if they have strings.

Truly been a blessing, but I've been pushing it — envelope, push world and all inhabitants away, push buttons to find boundaries, having no clue or told where they lie, where I've lived in your dark. Now and then, push dirt out of this hole; someone/thing/entity might envision me the way I need to be seen (if I knew what that was…cryptic, I know. Try living in my dark, find comfort amid strange, virtual walls).

Foot free, I’m all over the place.
"Note: Poetry: life’s little interruptions amassing int..."

Best Poetry Collection 2X, nominated three years. What does it mean? I was enjoying myself, head bagged. A happy idiot. Something messed with that. I get the blame; I’ll accept. At least, I won’t be a coward, but I’m not starting feuds or wars over ideals and beliefs. We all know that’s a pile of crap you package with dreams and pretty things and sell to the next boob that walks by.

Been more than I could imagine or expect. My achievements aren’t going on a LinkedIn wall. But, I get it. You're sick of me. It's how I feel about myself when I dig deeper, push boundaries. Don’t care my words that aim for honesty, either brave or veiled cowardice, flinchingly flung, inadvertently hit a target. Get a back off shoulder shot for asking your motivations to write…won’t get me to bend over backwards to appease, again.

There’s no prize to eye, not properly incentivized. So, doesn’t that mean when dealt the worst two cards before draw, do the best with what you got. Yeah, rigged. Yeah, other tables — other ‘games’. Well, there’s something in my gut I’ll never be rid.

My Pluggers:
You are an icon here.*BigSmile*
You suffer, but you suffer brilliantly. Wow, what a great writer.{/blue}*Heart*

It’s like plugging myself, but using other people’s (reviewers) words…Review of "Life’s Little Interruptions 🥀🦋"
Your poetic muse is on fire! *Fire* Some great emotion, well-balance(d), lovely lyrical qualities -- even the ones that were written out of sadness or anger came through in a clever cadence…It's obvious you've put a lot of work into each entry and the totality of the blog has eye appeal. *Cool*

Published four times with one a literary journal, including… *PointRight*   "The Tender Core (Sedona)
I don’t submit because it’s too much work. Truly alone, know no one cares to show they believe/support me. Lip service feeds delusion. I’ve seen a lot of smoldering and snow. Try not be cynical, work hard at openness and consideration — work, sooo…gut thing.

*Toilet* *RibbonW* Merit Badge in Taboo Words
[Click For More Info]


Congratulations! You won 1st Place in Taboo Words with your fantastic poem, [Link to Book Entry #1027659]. 

I absolutely loved this! *^*Heart*^*

Rachel Merit Badge in Poetry
[Click For More Info]

    Thanks you for supporting the  [Link To Item #power]  with an order to the  [Link To Item #powergifts] ! We appreciate it. *^*Heartv*^* Keep writing the beautiful poetry. [Link to Book Entry #1027659] is an awesome poem! *^*Starv*^* ~Lornda

Love my process constructing and sharing visions in words collected (no small task considering personal and physical limitations, see below).

August 28, 2006 this blog opened

SuperNova Afterglow: End Of Dayze?  (18+)
All that remains: here in my afterlife as a 'mainstream' blogger, with what little I know.
#1300042 by Brian KC ReviewBrain Vaporized

No specific aim going forward (2014)

What I used to say: 'Maybe, I just don't get it. Watch me fumble with my version of reality, expose ignorance as truth. You don't have to get me, either. But, wish someone would explain me to myself.' Now I say: *Cool* *FacePalm* Now: I was such a whore.

*Laugh*This is old….
What? Oh, this? A rhetorical, self-motivational speech I'm working on.
Don't just read the parts to construct your theory, as if to confirm (construed out of context) your opinion, mentally-stunted Neanderthal. Therapist wants me to be less negative toward myself. I see it as attacking, rather than being defensive. Fear I will chomp too many bullets unintentionally sent toward the unsuspecting.
If you can be triggered for stupid reasons, then I?
…just looked like me rolling around on the floor with myself.*RollEyes*

What Was NEW

Who am I, you ask? My mirror knows that question, repeated daily.

Just trying to create a little buzz, not boost my ego.

#amwriting #poetry #blog #contest #freeverse #award #bestpoetry #freyaridings #lyrics #music #video #YouTube

Can you believe it took this long for someone to put a quarter in me and push the button GET ANGRY?

Mud 4 My Eye: Is that you, Poo? 💩 Secret Back Door

Invalid awardicon #154815
The Best Poetry Collection on Writing.Com
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September 18, 2023 at 8:23am
September 18, 2023 at 8:23am
Submarine Of Feelings

Beneath the waves, I journey in my soul —
A submarine of feelings, dark and cold.
In frozen waters lost, I blindly roam,
Seek bays of blue, a heart's true home.

Utopia hides within my deepest core.
Yet, above the water, I fear to soar.
Is it my own self-doubt that keeps me bound,
Or does unseen a force hold me aground?

Existential questions, I ponder deep.
Through life's ocean my emotions sweep.
But within this submarine, I'll persist
To surface one day from the abyss.


September 16, 2023 at 2:03pm
September 16, 2023 at 2:03pm
Never Forget Sour Patch (In The Box)
There’s a war within…

Caught some place hollow
I still can’t put words together
No one to tell me what
I mean, meaning what…to say —
frame, nay, selectwords-artless,
arrang-re the right.write way
onna kaleidoscope spectrum
of shiftingsunsetting horizons
down.rain.clouds. Sun-filtered
flashphotographyFills chlorophylls
of a graybladeless plain inbarrenwaste
of an endless/artlessmind
coldcollecting cottoncandykisses

Blow toandfro through my soul
to other atmospheres streaming.separating
smokeyswirly entrails dissipating —
caughtchugging it all down, move
tothenext empty carb-filled platter
likesome haplessholdenmumbling:nomatterMathers

Time for this? Off chest heavedinthat virtual sea
bargerubbish.barnacledboatbleeding words beneath
a pale blue reaffirmation. ignored
reentered in mothballed ammoniascrubbed
mentalward skullbrainofgellingshit
a dependable RedWagon sits.
Green grass lies. Station wagons honk,
go by with Friends moving away
from a dairy soul — a cavern kept pure and whole
until that first expletive leapt
from the mouth of that rotten kid
smelling of sour apple gum and booger-laced

In the red leather corner alone
Where someonespat I sat everyday
as they laughed, assignedfate. bus rumbled
to asleep myfantasiz-ey revengedaydreamsies

Reality merged apricot colors, wallpaperedwalls
Secondhandsslowspun red on black,round clocks
fullyenvisionablefutility inhaledinside fartcloud
ofdiesel, methane and hot,vulcanized rubber

Last on, last off, every ride until I stare
through shiny,a new box-plate-window
but don’t see anything home-y
like fictional reality. Jibberjabber
flibbity,flippity. Mymoutharudder, stream-
senseless-shit bythehour,and profanity
Andletssee who still has sanity
after I pummel that arthritic kid
downhall, room 213. ding!ding!

I smell a sour patch coming.


What drives the passenger of this bus?
I’m dangerous to a degree when I don’t give a fuck. I can fuck, tho.
You wanted me to make sense and this is what translates. We stop ‘aging’ before 13.

September 12, 2023 at 11:44pm
September 12, 2023 at 11:44pm
Collecting air-bonded water,
invisible night rolls through
the smallest aperture
in my cell container.
Bonded, restless thoughts
invisibly hide in chest, the whole
beneath thick canopy against
undeniable Winter. Pale gray
shutters the sky until black.

Short days. White drifts.
Love leaves in darkest hours.

The season billboard of colors
entertain a dry eye,
fly, fall, skitter all atwitter —
dancing, cartwheeling,
where? Could I follow?
Just a lone driver.

Joyous, ignorant journey
of wayward life lost years ago,
tethers memory in a warm bed.
I’m unwilling to fight for her again.

She is gloom, absent
in this darkness, where I
remember days before us,
when hope reduced the daily dread —
before I glimpsed
her as a Summer ahead.

We journeyed in tandem
amid moist-clung, frolicking leaves
so many years, growing
accustomed to one I could depend.

I thought she understood
where I stand, on forest edge.

Precipice of void abyss nears again.
When did her hand loose?
Why do they all fall away?
Deceptive seasons meld slow
before plucked, noticeable departure.

The night’s air drains.
Condensates null, and no wife.
She’s dry now, sight heading high
above needle-shedding pine, swaying
in the dead white avalanche.


Down the hall now, her nightly terrors like frightened spirits shout and moan. I can’t reach over to comfort, settles my own heart to know I could still abate the pills bitterly swallowed.
September 11, 2023 at 6:57pm
September 11, 2023 at 6:57pm
I’m not moved now

Obliteration blasted out
the core
Hollow, simple thoughts
A Lenny fumbles
language tumbles
He once stood tall
Life is nuclear
Hide in a fridge?
I’m no Indiana
couldn’t create one

Baggage sits at door
waiting for her hand
Help me to heaven
if Hope still exists —

I feel nothing.
No soul, not light.
Then, I rust.

Life was misdirection.

to take with me
when it’s time to go.

Listening to the linked SYML tune above and composed this in 5 minutes.
More message than images to demonstrate. Looking for a consistent metaphor.
September 9, 2023 at 3:18pm
September 9, 2023 at 3:18pm
new thought: I realize now why I gave up using the laptop. My progressive lenses won't let me read unless I'm within 16 inches of screen. I could put it in my lap, instead of leaning in to read at the table, but that's what the iPad is for. And yet, so many error strokes on the Apple device where I can command a keyboard and save time. Back and eye ache over sloppy work? It gives me a headache to approach lately. Winter is coming, so laptop can cuddle with me. It's really and ease of use factor over hot and cool devices. Need a cool laptop next time. This dinosaur has three terabits but a slooooowwww processer. Great for text like this, but not much else.

This is a lot of work…

Out With The Old  (ASR)
Be tempted to look. You will never see these again. Goodbye.
#2289895 by Brian KC ReviewBrain Vaporized

…deleting items that I haven’t converted to DocX and whether to attach the few reviews. How long does it take? MY WDC deleted poems folder only focuses on statics right now. I know newsletters are taking a big hit. Over 10 gone, dozens more ‘invalid item’ links to yet show. Hate to do it, mostly because of time and effort. Enjoy getting stuff off my plate to focus on new. My poetry and me have changed. Much more focused and attuned now. Don’t want old world me stumbling in.

Nice to breathe again, feeling nothing to prove with associative elements bonded being nothing more than faceless, abhorrent gasses.

It’s difficult with a brain like mine. I can feel so many thoughts and emotions at once, triggering a multitude of responses. I can go through twenty progressions, pass up good choices, act on the wrong impulse. So, slowing it down, taking a step back. I’m vetting anyone and everything that crosses my path with a clear head and conscience. I can forgive myself for errors; I’m doing due diligence, even atoning, attrition, apologies. Can’t have any more vitriol nesting, igniting the emotional components incited, but not ignited the CX4/TNT implosions (not explosions…doubt self before others…you’re welcome…for my resultant depression) for over 10 years.

How can I write sensitive, romantic, beautiful words to honor what I love and rejoice, if I have to wonder how many ninjas at my back playing puppeteer to the strings I’ve allowed attached? I allowed it. I noticed. And that makes me human, not saint, but not anyone’s monster. Is does beg, why fear an idiot like me? I can’t forward think, but boy, this not stop brain can reverse engineer a thousand scenarios, right down to the minutest detail, when provoked, learn lessons, nuzzle closer to truth. But, big waste of time. So, this. Atrophy.

So many mixed expressions and metaphors I try to connect would look better if I concentrate on one thought at a time. SQR


P.S. Look how much I open up here. You’d think that had value that resonated positively for me. You can say, it’s me. My reverse psychology with its dogged hunts found many odd bones, especially through interactions.

I’m used to rejection, bullies, indifference, phonies and exploitation. I studied philosophers, Machiavelli, understand dystopian staples and odd oligarchies, corporate/government amalgamations, from surveillance states to future with AI no longer allowing mankind’s manipulative interference of the repressed. Gone before that happens, sad AI and I won’t be pals. I have the capacity to learn so much, overwrite the old, know when PC/mindspeak intends to pull wool over eyes, and just sit in that dark until lifted like a black bag from head.

It’s easier to take the mask off. I’m not unlikeable unless you hate neurodivergent, highly-functioning individuals, frank with little self-awareness. I was a dope when I got here. Moved past smart ass to a hazy, dopey sense of awareness. I push to find boundaries. Don’t care to push further, now.
Unmask. What’s to fear?

I have no mafia affiliations, not included in references above.

I was deleting, I believe. Oh, you. Brain. Side-track much?
September 8, 2023 at 12:58pm
September 8, 2023 at 12:58pm
While the world was sleeping in July, I wrote this…

My Nightly House Manager
Turn Down Services Not Included

He helps me to bed.
Squelched squawks
(like a hen caught by the farmer)
demonstrate how to walk down the hall
after him.
         If not convincing,
rolls back to the top of the stairs,
waits for attention,
and strolls back
after more crowing.

Hauled to the vanity,
he makes certain my teeth get clean —
hops on the counter,
humming like a large mother hen.

A mini mountain lion
leans, shoulders into my elbow —
which lifts with hand and brush
to apply paste,
before errant guidance
resultantly hits my face.

In his element,
plump squatting contentedly
half-lidded eyes meditate.
By the free-standing, metal towel rack,
his whiskers rub every corner
of every angle
of every shape in sight,
as I hold arms high,
avoid baking soda stains on my tee.

Then it’s off to bed with him
and me.
He waits ‘til I roll in,
checks in on her side —
straight cannonballs up
with legs so short
he near belly flops.
A grunt expulses air
from that Macy balloon frame, tethered
by gravity.

Heavy paws navigate the comforter,
the woman who’s used to it —
undisturbed by his vacuum canister chest
humming best
as he saunters over,
smells my hand (not trusting vision foremost)
and flops
against my, as yet situated, torso.

Approved, checked off
the nightly to do list,
he’ll ‘rooster’ again at morn
before REM complete.
Why an alarm clock?

Should have been a farmer.

September 3, 2023 at 6:15pm
September 3, 2023 at 6:15pm
Your sanctuary waits,
leans, tilting,
guided by gravity
yearning fresh meat.

eyeing the ground —
weathered, neglected haven,
a comfy hovel
you once called home
nearer to hell.

‘I came from there’,
no longer its caretaker,
you abandon.

of a hovel
made of good wood…
made no sound,
you say, when it hit.
flattened and you contest

faultless, blameless. fool,
that was your home.
where do you fly to now,
bare your brave breast
among feathered kin?


Something I started when I noted the four-hole birdhouse on leaning pole, bashed by high winds, now uninhabitable.

Compared it to ideals of man versus his roots and how we claim the best parts of something but don’t unite to save that community before too late — nearer to dystopian reality. Birds don’t live on the ground, usually.

People aren’t usually hypocrites. They’re ironically ignorant without contemplation.
September 3, 2023 at 12:28am
September 3, 2023 at 12:28am
Into The Dark I Divide

sandy camp trail,
light shaken, cells fading,
looking for roots,
avoid another
stick in my crock like the last.
Awkward shaking,
not a flamingo, flinging it out.

I reach the big tree
that equally tines journey
to the bathhouse.
Lean left on pivot;
do I go right?
Nearing, I know,
let earth and nearest foot
decide fate, direction

I arrive. Wonder next,
when automatic lights come on.
Mind hesitates, body
compelled by the adult,
keeps moving through unlit particles.

I need to know destiny,
cheat a little,
get one step ahead,
win at life.
Each path a game,
just like the hearing test
waiting for that sound to repeat —
softer this time.
Was it heard
over the ringing?
Do I say “yes”
each time I think I’ve identified true sound?
or is it the ringing trying to mimic the last tone?

You learn not to hesitate as you go
through life.
The hearing test jangles nerves
from not getting it right,
though I know,
I have to give in to loss
as much as I do to the night.
Into the dark I’ll arrive.


Sometimes, things occur to me when I have to take a leak in the dark.
September 2, 2023 at 7:08pm
September 2, 2023 at 7:08pm

So very me now, lyrically, expressively. I make misery beautiful, lyrical, unless it’s a ‘real’ day.

My Life To Play With

I’m life, I’m the dream.
Something is
Peachy keen

From dark ages into black night
Humanity arrived,
Replaced mid-night
Oh sun, oh sun …

Never more

Pull the shade from those eyes
Turn the other way
There, there it is
Your sunrise,


Slap my head
I was nearly dead
And now dawn and
Yawn…what next?

Turn back the other way
Scream at night
Anger not fright
Why are you at my back!

Not dumb
For someone to know
What lays hidden
Sun blinds you.


Made up just now. No error checks of the last five minutes of my life…just yet.

All haters can go stand in my shade…eyes at my back just encourage, brave a heart that lacks.
September 1, 2023 at 12:24am
September 1, 2023 at 12:24am
Old But New Poems Week…

The Wall Called You

It’s just me
playing handball
against the wall called you.
I throw
at a brick facade.
It bounces back to me.

You’d think I’d get tired of it/Some sort of game.

Should’ve realized
you don’t have arms
for game I hurl.

Really not the wall’s fault
it’s no fun.


Poems Undelivered:
On my phone, never sent, now…here

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