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 |    10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind |
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I’m disabled by more than blindness. Writing: Like one of those adventure games where you go off questing in different directions but you don’t advance in life. Pretty medallions sought for words/my soul, slow burnt. Full of misdirects, right back at the start, but still quest with thirst. Life of turmoil produces stuff like this. Not going to call it beautiful agony…it gets a bit uglier. Minced words too pungent. If they take time to notice, must be doing something right. scripturam in hoc non mutamus, quia stultus es et differentiam nescies. (hic) The beautiful mess you made: I had a lover's quarrel with the world - Robert Frost | I'm sorry you got caught in the middle. - me Neurodivergent poet seeks love without that fart in the room between us. Honesty without mincing words has come with a price for those juggling the hot my takes on what’s ‘truth’ (here’s some oven mitts). Best to stay clear of those surrounded by moat rules. Real dialogue is accepted. Wasn’t as open at first about recent diagnosis on spectrum with ADHD (complicated by PTSD, life of brain traumas). Been suggested by doctors of late I might want another brain scan (since 12/4/17…blogged). This poet’s words collect, arrange on a kaleidoscope spectrum. The experience of discovery through writing is the truest reward that has allowed me to grow and learn who/what I am — what other people get naturally, immediately, while I stomp around in it. Been blessed, but pushing it — envelope, world and all inhabitants away. Push buttons, find boundaries to trip traps. No clue why cat curiosity, living in your dark. (Bored, perhaps?) Now and then, push dirt out of this hole; someone/thing/entity might envision me how I need to be viewed (if I knew what that was). Cryptic, yes. Try living in my dark, find comfort amid strange, virtual, wonderful walls that tower above, tempt me to scale. Been more than I could imagine or expect here. But, achievements aren’t going on a LinkedIn wall  . I dig deeper than I should, often without forethought. Aimless words, brave or veiled cowardice, flinchingly flung, inadvertently hit targets? Get a ‘back off’ shoulder shot when asking your motivations here. Not fair?No prize to eye; not incentivized. Dealt the worst two cards before the flop, do best with what’s in hand. My Pluggers: You are an icon here.  You suffer, but you suffer brilliantly. Wow, what a great writer.  It’s like plugging myself, but using other people’s (reviewers) words…Review of "Poetic Referendum(s) On Life"  Your poetic muse is on 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.  Published four times with one a literary journal, including…  "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.   ![Merit Badge in Taboo Words
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Brian,
Congratulations! You won 1st Place in Taboo Words with your fantastic poem, [Link to Book Entry #1027659].
I absolutely loved this! *^*Heart*^*
Rachel](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Taboo_Words-2139481_13.gif) ![Merit Badge in Poetry
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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](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/type-Poetry-2180.gif)  August 28, 2006 this blog opened ▼
No specific aim going forward (2014) ▼  Now: I was such a whore.  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.    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 ▼ |
 Remember the camp creek, spying for frogs on weedy banks? You were freckled, and I was not. Buttercups captured our wonder, applying those soft, yellow heads to skin -- happy makeup to show mother. Under shaded apple, black and yellow -- graceful, dutiful. Pollinated pink buds bounced, freely inhaled, while chasing ourselves in spaces behind that blocked-up trailer. Serenaded by insistent, deep-hued violets, torn by small hands from their beds, amid sparse, bright green blades, brief bouquets we collected with grins, handed a silent woman on her patchwork in shade. Our commotion, her daily devotion, she remarked of our luck. With thirst, fed them in just the right mug, dipped in well water. Small, slithering grass snakes grasped on edge of tall, thick fern, you did not near. Bright white trillium would appear, thrived early that summer, she instructed us leave, let stray in forests like me, naturally. But, that mower gassed, smudged oil on red paint, roared to life. He let you take the handle. Running ahead, dared dandelions speechless, I spared any yellow friend you could not send down. Age-puffed, the wisp spores flowed like wild bubbles blown wayward from stick. Like me, soaring up lonely hills and trees, before gentle falling. Wildflowers meandered forgotten rust rails, more color than could be collected alone, dead and alive. Simple serendipity captured, their cost afforded smiles from her. Before maturation, I loved you, and you stopped loving me. Nature inspired the young dreamer, hope, nostalgically spares summers when she thrived, loved equally, but adored one child’s wild love.  5.11.22 37 lines free verse Left out: Innocence near power lines hidden, revealed strawberry under red-tinted leaves. Last edit: 5.16.22 |
| I tease with words, not the components actual that compel the clock of me to tick. If I tell you I'm just a bunch of springs and cogs clicking off time, the years, how long until you walk up to another for the time? I tempt with a tongue that knows embellishment from the lies, can keep track of the truth, where it wanders in a room we share. You can lay your ear to the skin of my clicking, know we're wasting time here, beautifully. You could reap every thought, uttered conceptual, that compels me to ignore the clicking. If I tell you I love you, it's as honest as truth, if a timepiece like me could ever be serviced, unattuned, lying in your shop, bleeding time. 5.11.22 fictional as anything else and still yearning to be real. Words are information and I feel like I've spilled a billion of them without being discovered as true self. Good thing they're scattered and mostly lost to time, because I still need revision. Even when I die. I 'dis' the honest in myself to guard the truth, not wanting to tell a lie, be forthcoming without capture by something lying in wait to steal my soul... who's gone too far with this now? |
| I cannot crave your skin, the container, while light inside is disturbed, as our moon glows perfectly. You envision me hungrily, on platter, while a light inside fades cool. A color-draped sun perfectly sets. 5.11.22 how you know you've lost the feeling, cannot feed on love anymore, while remembering life is still beautiful. |
| Just trying to feel something, anything, while I listen to you warble your anthem, this song that has haunted me for what feels life long, lingering. I peered in many windows, prying, searching anything sounding familiar like your voice, inflecting feelings haunting me, and scares with emptiness I miss, yearn to feel. Disconnected by a life I'm in, but cannot reach, there's you, visionary, echoing and inflecting words barely recalled. Inserted into a world I've never learned navigate, there is one beacon. No light, nothing to touch like a stone, a hunger for ears I cannot sate warbles about airwaves my wonder seeks with fuzzy head, scanning blinding skies lost on the ground. I cannot even clutch this pain inside myself, when you open your mouth. If I could finally ask, should you be found, would you answer a foolish boy, my disembodied captor? 5.11.22 there's no true comfort in words, only actions of a woman who tempts me to hope, believe, aim to try to figure out what this disconnectedness is all about. your voice has wings for you and if I could clutch you before you fly would I know be happy that I possess you the way you own me knowing love like this can reciprocate |
| One by one, sashes thrown up. creatures come down. the world just continues spinning on, doesn’t notice ignorant interest sitting in frames. Noise of a busied world was such a nuisance, so long sealed out, haze-windows tight. we didn't notice disinterest grow in stale rooms sitting. Winter cushioned mechanized groans, abusive cold of a world still spinning ever on, in our dying. So, Summer arrives through screens, hints hope of something green. We’re natural, just lazing about these wood boxes, wait for white, taking each to dirt promise. Unnatural not to revel Summer renewal, as furry beasts lodged like survival. 5.11.22 6.9.22 re(in)visioned Winter Thru Fall Oh, would you look at that! Spring is arriving and leaving and Summer nearing and we can throw open these windows to admire the felines laying in those boxes, inhaling scents and sounds and scenes we just accept are there day and night, winter thru fall, and not give a rip about it all. |
I know gaslighting, fire blazed before eyes numbed in my youth. Their aim could subvert me from truth, proves ignorant purveyors employed, brother against brother. Dystopia delivered through our open doors, hidden beneath the rug. 5.6.22 Something I went after, not finished. |
| How do you move an empty wheelbarrow, no luster left and empty, stored to stand on deflated, lone wheel centered on winter ground? Vinyl on wood handles gripped firm, fading. Swirls of orange stains eat a purposeless tray, hollow from another season of neglect. I’m shaken by feelings of my own worth, rusts a salt soul fading from gripped youth. Idle hands could rough in a new season. No soil or budding love in garden to move, remembering his mud-filled pushcart, purposed to mix a gravy of gray cement, sliding a supply in spaces of a ravaged walk. It never held for long. He used too much rock. The grass grows up and around a friend that my hands have yearned utilize. 5.4.22 5.16.22 edit Man bonds with idle implement, momentarily |
| Cars And Trucks (2017) revised I am not gay in your world, but gay enough. I am not black, either. Yet, black Wherever I roam without you. I am not an immigrant but a stranger In an even stranger land, Watching their cries like infants — Helpless little babies I refused be, Since I grew up, took my medicine. Gut full of the stuff soothes what rumbles within. If I am not right Or left, I am wrong and alone, Watching beer-guzzling hunters haul Bloody trophies on trucks like freedom -- Mud on oversized tires, bedazzled grilles, With tow hooks, pulling tiny, two-wheel drive cars From ditches in dark blizzards. The babies drive off with meager thanks And expressions of shame. I go home to the goth girl, Attracted to friends who daily reject her — Shaves her head, pumps that brain With Korean anime, K-Pop and rants repression: From schoolwork to plight of LBGTQ. Thirteen-year-old, newly professed, Bisexual transsexual, with lips and face preparing even more metal piercing Than tender kisses of lost innocence. Her His brother -- tall, brilliant, Master of piano, brass instruments, Tops state ranks in testing: Math, English and Science. In dark, befouls basement couch, head strapped, controller aimed At a glowing, green Xbox. Too tired to remember hand in Missed assignments, our cause to track… Two parents who'll be damned these babies Don’t make the grade, land on feet to struggle With something akin to virtual reality: Our foggy existence, find time to ponder -- Politics? What's this about 2017? Are you trying to get me to feel Something, Mr. President? Fabric of an already torn, nuclear family tugged. A tapestry too thin. Must we scrap it, Create another? And just how Are we supposed to do that when Babies bury shiny cars in ditches? Will the muddy trucks come? My sensible SUV can't save us. 5.4.22 revised poem 50 lines, free verse
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| She knitted, crocheted, tatted a mound -- gifted, worn, forgotten, forlorn. But, that did not diminish love in lotion-soft, leather hands -- in two criss-crossing, blue-metallic needles or silver shuttle, worn, forgotten in a pile of belongings boxed, opened by a man not her son at a thrift store in the winter of 2001. I still wonder about dad who died later that year. Worn, forgotten without the warmth she could give, not realizing it resided in the hallway beneath framed tapestry, her Last Supper, in a dresser drawer packed to brim. |
| By the camp creek, spying for frogs, On weedy banks buttercups captured. Child wonder applied soft, yellow heads To skin, happy makeup to show mother. Under the shaded apple tree, viewing Black and yellow, so gracefully dutiful, Pink buds burgeoning pollinated. Below, Serenaded by persistent violets deeply hued. The most vibrant colors contained, collected In small bouquets, handed a scrub woman Who remarked while she helped find Just the right mug, dipped in well water. Where small slithering grass snakes chased Into thick of fern, bright white trillium thrived In late spring. She instructed me to leave be, let stray in our forest meadows naturally. His mower sparked to life, gas and oil Smudged the red paint, when I roared. To and fro, sent sparing every friend, Dandelions clotted a dry, dusty field. Yellow specter seldom seen age puffed Wisp spores, sent like wild, summer bubbles Blown off a stick from that old front porch. Wayward, wildflowers in alleys, behind shed, Roaming hill and dale, floated away down Railroad tracks, where lonely I flowed, too. Collecting every bit of color, dead or alive, A busy woman was allowed time to smile. Serendipity captured by innocence along Brush-cut power lines, connecting rugged Properties, revealed blooming strawberry, Patches hidden beneath red and green leaves, In those early days before full maturation. Nature inspired a young dreamer with hope, Nostalgically spared summers of memory When a woman adored a child’s wild love. 4.30.22 36 lines, free verse Prompt: What do (you) choose to see? The weeds or the flowers? ![Merit Badge in Coffee Award
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Congratulations on placing 2nd in [Link To Item #2182602] with your poem, [Link to Book Entry #1031722]. *^*Coffeeo*^* Kindest Regards, Lilli](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Coffee_Award-2149524_14.gif) 2nd place, April, 2021 (last minute entry) Revised here: "Wild Love" |
| She’s ‘fallen victim to flickering lights In our small room and ‘I’m sorry’ But, ‘it doesn’t matter now’. Then why confess these feelings, Darling? My morning Starling, When black drapes do not douse Insistence of a morning byway? I’ve fallen victim now to my regret — Early search in lobby of bland coffee That I must take issue with, Dump in three creamers to mix With four packets of Splenda, Cloaking a bitter, caffeinated flavor That does favor morning regimen. Does not soothe regret, night spent On a lump mattress unbending To a tender man’s low end. No hot tub available yet To soak the night’s restless bones, Now tensing on the edge Of our shared bed. And the point Of telling me your disturbance, Rolled back over to sleep three hours beyond A weary head that gets no rest In a flea trap or away from A lifetime of expressed disgust Of my insistent presence by your bedside With so much as A chew, leg twitch or mutter. Nowhere else to go, not home. I freeze, tense, reside in pain So you can regain your beauty rest. 4.30.22 |
If I dissect you with my carving knife, push the tip of rusted blade deep within to make your hollow eyes come to life, it means disembowel your hard orange skin. Push the tip of rusted blade deep within, gutting the living core, your soul I deprive. It means disembowel your hard orange skin to light up small, wanton faces evilly alive. Gutting the living core, your soul I deprive. Sulfur soon ignites wax stick of strife to light up small, wanton faces evilly alive. I must plunder a ravaged gourd’s life. Sulfur soon lights a wax stick of strife. Re-envisioned souls beat, heat pulsing veins. I must plunder a ravaged gourd’s life, as flickering wakens inside empty remains. Re-envisioned souls beat, heat pulsing veins. Flames intense, faithfully bright will burn, as flickering wakens inside empty remains, dedicated to porch, eternally spurned. Flames intense, faithfully bright will burn. Devilish carving of mine sinfully grins. Dedicated to porch, eternally spurned, little demons sweetly possessed soon begin. Devilish carving of mine sinfully grins, frozen on stoop of shame, forced to reside. Little demons sweetly possessed now begin BEfOre fLicKeRinG waKeNs tHe DeaD inSidE... ALIVE! 28 lines, Pantoum with metered rhyming Pantoum ▼ Prompt: Find a form of poetry you've never written before and both describe it and write an example for "The Whatever Contest."
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| Words Words, words Words words words I think I’m lost Without you No words for her, for him, I roam Lost without you Sad expressions can’t materialize Without words When I’m lost Without you Words, words Where’d you go? Where do I flow Without you When I’m lost? No grand expression, Collection of words, Small In clips and phrases, Just like a boy Standing in front of a girl That we know Yes, we know These words Think I’m lost Without you, Inspiration From a tender squeeze on my frozen arm or shoulder With a glisten in perfection, eyes That believe in me To say the right thing Words I say these little things To her, to him Hoping they understand The meaning, expressions From a dull boy Trying gleam Lost without words Without sweet inspiration The little things mean Everything Like she Like she Who could see Through a soul The turbulent tides churning Inside an unwitting poet Without message Understandable Without her And words. 4.28.22 |
| Prompt ▼ nailing it before they coined it as lebron's chase down block, i must have invented it in 1982 when randy snowden took off downcourt for a layup. i couldn't allow that. ten years older, 20 pounds heavier than in his prime, easy fodder for a wiry-strong, six-two white guy from iron mountain, michigan. in my old high school gym, on some wednesday night, playing men's league basketball, it happened. snowden liked to talk. i couldn't allow that bucket. from half court i took off, half of forty feet to gain to rim, not believing my luck, how much space he left between goal and player. i rose, as he lifted that spaulding from hand, and tomahawked it. my right hand expelled half of nine pounds of a ball's lone lung, palm-flattened by the arm-club strike. from over 10 feet up, it soared another fifteen higher, past the right backboard side, and 20 feet beyond, it arrived at the east wall where a u.s. banner hung. not an estimate, exact, if reported dimensions true: 10 feet across, 20 feet up it rose, adorned brick and mortar. i could have been an astronaut, the ball, capsule or missle, targeting that old red-white-and-blue. i feel the only witness. majestic: an orange orb spiking center. the flutter, rippling tremored an american emblem. velocity still reverbing, returns half a life later. glorious to behold, i felt alone, drifting down to hardwood from sudden perch, three feet above, like some cape-less superman. i was bothered to hear him, snowden whining in the ref’s ear: 'goal-tending', diminishing a moment, yet savor that bruised ego. and that's how you nail it don't think lebron has ever done that imagine Thor with his hammer, in 80s-style tank and shorts.  if anyone wants to 'track down' snowden, if he still remembers, ask him why no ref whistle? thumb was so swollen, I couldn’t properly hold the ball to shoot. probably lost that game. the details might not be exact, but i did a little fact finding to aid memory: https://www.garagegymreviews.com/proper-hanging-of-the-american-flag-in-a-gym https://www.fotw.info/flags/us-size.html 4.28.22 |
There was reason to grab my arm when you were by my side, leaning, our weight sometimes supported each other. If I close my eyes, the fingers creep, squeeze my flesh, rising like dough. When shadows fall through my window, your ghost has passed me by. I linger in these memories to preserve precious lost, unable to comprehend why you faded before the frost. I stoke a fire devouring my breath. I move the glow ash lingering, feeling warmth by my side, in this hollow space. Stars speck a black sky, none more knowing than a watchful moon spied by gleaming eye. It’s been around the world, sees you too. Silent like a stranger has no message of you. I linger in a white, soft chill, numb bone. Precious lost, can’t comprehend preservation. Jab the embers, coolly flow, wisp-thin. 7.7.22 poem added |
| i lost three days, or three years. who knows? i lost memory, steam escaping time-warping mech in my addled head. i lost you thirty years ago to what? was it my simple ignorance? i lost memory of then. this machine is a trap forcing me relive fictitiously, fill in the gaps of time with false memory time warping mech addles me as i count lost days i'm lost in a daze who knows how long spent here? i managed to lose you the gaps of time reappear as often as disappear inside this space i'm lost in that old gaze steam escaping like time, i wander my white rooms with and without you, fiction, embellishment of your face that addled me on the day i left was it my ignorance? i managed to lose you just as i lose three days, years or thirty years of my life, reliving, recreate second chances parallel exist in time warping mech these recollections relived, trapping me ordinary life fills in many gaps that i manage to lose just how i lost you just how i lose time mech not a friend in white rooms traveled metaphysically we meet like dreams that reawake ignorance, an addled head should i continue looking in the white rooms for you? should i walk into shadows and hope time still exists, since i cannot reverse tides, just how i lost you and lost myself? i think it's time i think it needs to end break all the clocks 4.26.22 |
| With Cup Seeking Knowledge In Death From a dull tin pulled from drab pack, I scoop, almost greedily, from found, clear pool in creek shadowed green, straining to arrive below twig, along furrowing root to supply a dry mouth. I know thirst, eager to sate. But from the right angle, gleam — earliest, the sun discovers my crime. I see the bottom. My health longs invigorate in your clear minerals bonded, as mysterious as the air I trust inhale. Denied. Rust cup slides through the well-worn seams released in unruly forest, where skin scrapes, infects flesh, ravaged evilly. I was sent there. Sent away from angling light now mocking a dreamer. This forest is dead but for me. Two diseased hands steal your ample, pure flow for knowledge. I roam unbound forever and unfound — malnourished, yearn safe harbor sealed in a black divide, where moon and stars spin high, remind I’ll not be alone in death. 4.23.22 4.26.22 edit Must not obsessively pull on those strings of images that need no definition. |
| She locks the window, the door, Her heart Overfeeding a fool no longer Flowing In and out of her rooms. She’s taller than the ceilings, Lowered, Concealing space to gather Restricted Within her bitter house She looks out, behind a door, No heart For a fool not so greedy Fleeing To the stars for comfort He’s smaller below the floor, Lowered, Concealing, shame in a soul Constricted Within her bitter house No better than a mouse He doesn’t want to grouse About shaded windows The endless nights With nowhere to go But in. 4.23.22 |
| William Carlos Williams was a word economist, a pragmatist with the English language. Would not be a fan of flowery stuff I effuse... "Saxifrage" |
| while you're so golden, let my dry eyes take in summer skin, sun-soothed. shapes perfectly reveal in this light. I'm scared to lose it, lost to sands swept by turbulent surf, sent beyond oceans of time. as you nimbly display form on tender brown, hands obsess for essence of youth, once mine, now sealed all these years, captured only on thin film in decay -- because I'm scared to lose, lost by an ocean's discontent, while a hovering moon implores day in, night out we each wither and die to the tide. if memory true, afford me youth soothed, so dry eyes contain golden sun. 4.21.22 4.22.22 edit interchangeable words, inspired by beauty equal to mine in youth. |
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— 21
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— 29![Merit Badge in Shadows and Light
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A huge congratulations, to you!
You have won a very deserved Honourable Mention in [Link To Item #shadows] , round 112 *^*Smile*^*
Rachel](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Shadows_and_Light-1936078_14.gif)
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Brian,
Congratulations! You won 1st Place in [Link To Item #shadows] with your fantastic poem, [Link to Book Entry #1037176]. Fabulous writing!
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— 9
MAY 
37
APRIL 
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Congratulations on the third place win at [Link To Item #hpc] for your poem: [Link to Book Entry #1030482]. Thanks for making me laugh, and keep writing the funny stuff! *^*Bigsmile*^* ~Lornda A.K.A. The Queen of Comedy *^*Crown*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Humorous_Poetry_Contest-1875103_14.gif)
MARCH 
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Here's to a world where we wouldn't have to keep reciting the words woven in your excellent poem [Link to Book Entry #1027990].](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/Kudos-Good_Things_Take_Time.gif)
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Thank you so much for your poem [Link to Book Entry #1026670]! Please don’t ever stop being you, both as a writer and a visionary of love!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/genre-Gay_Lesbian-680.gif)
JANUARY 
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![Merit Badge in Accuracy
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Congratulations to our 1st Runner Up of [Link To Item #2254385] Round6.](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/general-Accuracy.gif)
![Merit Badge in 30DBC Winner
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Congrats Team Pedantic Poets Platoon on winning [Link To Item #1803384] during WDC's 21st Birthday Festivities!! Well done!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-30DBC_Winner-2064535_14.gif)
![Merit Badge in Every Moment Matters
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A work of art which did not begin in emotion is not art.
― Paul Cezanne
Thanks for your participation in my 'art' challenge via my notebook feed.
Keep on being inspired! *^*Bigsmile*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/Kudos-Every_Moment_Matters.gif)
![Merit Badge in Brilliant
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CONGRATULATIONS on [Link To Item #1145690] winning a place in "Honorable Mentions" in [Link To Item #2254385]](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/Kudos-Brilliant.gif)
Thank you for sharing it! It's genius.
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