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 |   All that remains: here in my afterlife as a 'mainstream' blogger, with what little I know. |
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The Idiotic Ideate?? Formerly: New Zenith To Hell…(all started with arc as writer here from the trials of Rising Stars to Preferred Author to WDC Quills Best Poetry Collection to the falling action I feel now that settles in a white case.) Got to hustle to preserve the best of me before fully fading on that virtual horizon glowing more brilliant with each passing day to permanent nuclear winter. if people don’t get it, I don’t need to explain it. We kill all that’s beautiful before we question it’s purpose. So many people find it easier to think in the black and the white. God forbid you get lost straying in the gray. "Whoever fights monsters should see to it…he does not become a monster.” I’ve been to the abyss and back. Not so bad. The loneliest happy person you'd ever meet, when not the saddest person who needs to be alone. In an ever-changing world, we need to handle topics at the ready. If you roll over and give in to the narrative without lending a voice of your own, you might as well hand over your civil liberties. We have voices that should connect to true conscience and spirit for honest and open discourse. Why feel so redacted? Unify on issues and put drama aside. Open minds require complete objectivity. If none need apply, question the unbendable sources for answer. If you knee-jerk react to every issue lurking out there that clutches your neck, you fall victim to your own ignorance born from a life of apathy (no doubt) in pathetic cries of injustice. Just writing what I feel without the narrative-altering mind f---ing with my head. [MY Chorus] In your house, I long to be Room by room, patiently I'll wait for you there, like a stone I'll wait for you there, alone "It amazed me how truth was often suffocated in minutes, but lies were given sufficient air to breathe indefinitely." "You are all better than you think you are, you are just designed not to believe it when you hear it from yourself." ![Merit Badge in Second Time Around Contest
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Congratulations on winning the Grand Overall Prize in [Link To Item #2164876] with your beautiful poem, [Link to Book Entry #933358]. This poem really moved me. Great writing!
Rachel *^*Heartv*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Second_Time_Around_Contest-2164963_14.gif)    "...lasting art is never anything more than a mathematical expression of the relations that exist between the internal and the external, the self [le moi] and the world." -Jean Metzinger I'm in love with carefully chosen words, arranged just so, audible, edible, to inhale. I attempt to post new poems and epiphanies daily with some links to what inspires. I am legally blind with a rare, genetic form of glaucoma. I'm described as "end stage" after two successful surgeries, still subject to further vision loss. Cataracts complicating matters. Writing Can get strenuous but seldom deters what yearns to emerge, despite a documented history of depression and recently diagnosed ADHD and undefinable social disorders and/or PTSD. My recent poetry:
Sometimes epiphanies about my insights on writing and life and what goes on... Making sense of life is maddening. Why do I need to know, when truth may not actually exist? Learning to accept would be a better pursuit? Flailing about in my own mediocrity, hoping to bust out. I am visible. You can put a face with a name. I would like to see other writers, too. Fiction is what you write, not who you are. Reinventing myself. I couldn't continue on the path I was on and needed a fresh start. This time around I want to put the focus on writing and the world outside of this community as it affects my life. I realize now that I have been baring my chest a bit more, as when young. fake me much more boring and unliberated than the real me. A world arriving as silent as that blossom in your garden that I told you about... |
| I reread this today and asked myself why am I labeling them snowflakes? Description should be enough to give the reader a sense of what they're seeing without being told what it is. So I want to go do a rewrite and see if I can work with this more to give more character to the snowflakes without saying what they are. Although, the first line becomes sort of a throwaway. Have to seriously consider how I'm going to approach this without totally ripping apart the poem. Ride To School...A Poetic Moment Snowflakes from yesterday's flurries flock, skitter; vivacious, wild troops reforming, disbanding, rejoining in flowing concentric patterns away from me, faster than I dare drive, visor down, with the milky, orange lamp glaring, daring me, dimmed and sliced into spotty, pulsing rays by disrobed, unruly masts. As I navigate the obstacles to my visual delight, my co-pilot pleads not make a poem of this moment on his ride to school. |
| Writing lyrics again. Yearning to create music once more. I've always had this fire in me, just never found the right time to go after it. Maybe, I never will. Always looking for an encouraging word, another sign, until I have enough evidence. Always putting clues together, but everything remains a hypothesis for what I should do. Listening to Chris Cornell Sing Is it so hard to believe at 6 AM, sitting at your breakfast table? The coffee is cold like the words unsaid on your tongue, yet you can still dream. Is it so hard to feel when you're alone sitting in the dark? No desire for the radio bleeding? Yet, you can still dream. Close your eyes and see. Is it so hard to live? She's gone from here, but her scent will never leave -- her light, haunting eyes that once helped you believe. Yet, you can still dream, if you close your eyes and see... Of course, that is not the title...subtitle, maybe. Piecing together my feeling for music and pairing it with life to see if there is enough emotion to make sense of reality. Playing a game with words in my head instead of dealing. Wish I could write music. Writing lyrics to songs I loved brought me here. I'm masquerading as a poet. Music and singing have been my life long passion. I've only been able to share it through writing up until now. BONUS LYRICS just riding the train and jotting down words emerging from my head... Not Who I Was Meant To Be I am the man in the mirror, just not the man I see. They were successful in changing me But suddenly I see...and I can feel what's rising inside of me. If I put myself out there, maybe I'll find me. I will greet you with a smile, firm handshake, but immediately you see...and I can feel messages your eyes are sending me. This is not who I'm supposed to be. Caught in a game I wasn't meant to play. Meant for more than this, repulsed, I suddenly know...and I start to think I need to slay the emerging monster. It's not too late, while I still have breath. Dismantling the machine after I take care of myself, but immediately you know...and now realize this brain cannot be toyed with. This was not who I'm supposed to be, and it's going to get ugly if you don't acknowledge, back off, not who I was meant to be. Not going to edit that one just yet. Need a break to prep my brain for another trip to gym. Crank the Rage! |
| Ride To School...A Poetic Moment Snowflakes from yesterday's flurries flock, skitter; vivacious, wild troops reforming, disbanding, rejoining in flowing concentric patterns away from me, faster than I dare drive, visor down, with the milky, orange lamp glaring, daring me, dimmed and sliced into spotty, pulsing rays by disrobed, unruly masts. As I navigate the obstacles to my visual delight, my co-pilot pleads not make a poem of this moment on his ride to school. I started out wanting to comment on how snowflakes don't know their fate like happy children...seemed too depressing to go down that path. Just really fun to see them playing, waiting for more snowflakes to arrive to begin the winter season. Was playing with the words outloud in my truck when my son implored me to stop making up poems. I was just inspired by the moment, nature, that big, round sun that wanted to obscure my appreciation, though it was equally as beautiful. I could be a writer, I think. |
| Something I wrote after watching a music video that I am not going to edit, just yet… Life, if not Love By BKCompton I reach to touch your hand but it's already gone I heard your song Another thud against our window Unmoved, I know it's another sparrow Couldn't pass through here And will it die? I don't even know Your song ended You were never near I love, I fear Merciless, death claims another Dead in our bushes or on the doorstep to be swept aside when I go out to search for you again Why do I fear I've lost without ever trying Somewhere you're crying Autumn came while you sang Clinging, tender leaves wet from rain want to remind me of loss and all the days you were alive Why don't I cry anymore? Somewhere you hide I'm dead inside I only hope the mindless sparrow lives If not for me, then for you. |
| Hindsight is great and all, but without do-overs what's the point? Learn from our mistakes? How about bound to repeat them? You can have a positive outlook on life, but if you don't find the right situation(s) and surround yourself with the most suitable cast of characters, you're delusional scenarios for a happy life will not come to fruition. I'm not sad about that. I'm becoming a pragmatist and putting focus on the things that give back to me. Family, sports, a few hobbies, but not much else these days. As I get older, I look back at what I missed out on...what is in the past can never be. The shadow of time has lapsed into darkness. I'm spending less time thinking about what I don't have and what I have left to give. I could take up drawing and painting again. But, I have been mostly about instant gratification. Writing is my passion. But work ethic is low on my list. I have lots of great ideas and a lot of dust crowding out that chalkboard. I don't have friends in my everyday life and can't get enough time or attention from my wife to give me the kind of input, motivation, cheerleading that I desire. I need too much. Probably why I feel abandoned by friends. I accept that. It doesn't bother me. I'm a lifelong confessional writer...too real for most. Yet, not honest enough with myself...until now. Haven't been able to tone down my emotions enough in casual conversion. I turn to clowning around, a penchant for word play and observational humor to feel a connection with those willing to offer a laugh or smile. So, I do need human contact like medicine. I desire it more from those who can be like a drug. Like always, I start these blog posts with one thought and follow it with more words to see where it leads. No conclusion seems apropos, though I believe all these open conversations with myself are leading me somewhere. Though, like a dog, I tend to chase my tail. But, I'll eventually tire or need to eat or something else will distract me and I'll be down the street after a car, digging up the neighbors bushes or trying to bite a kid on his bike, because it's all a game. I'm a dog. I seldom think about consequences until I've been snouted with a newspaper enough times to know where I shouldn't pee. Okay, then...(humor, again) |
| Fun new tool I found on the Internet to help me with redundancy. I used it to see what words I use the most and get more analytical with my writing. Maybe this link can help others looking for a different way to improve their writing: http://www.writewords.org.uk/word_count.asp Have fun! |
| "...a not-so-accurate reality that is skewed toward butterflies and roses can actually be a solution to life stress and adversity...Optimism is not merely some kind of fantastical happiness bubble to hide within as reality crumbles all around. It can actually have concrete advantageous effects on reality. Optimism leads to hopefulness and engagement, which leads to greater social success and confidence, which, in turn, leads to happiness - real or perceived..." https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/reel-therapy/200909/the-office-the-secret-m... On the other side of the coin, there are people who will get in your ear and tell you everything you long to hear. If you lack admiration from others because you lack it in yourself, you troll for anything that will help with affirmation. You need it like a drug. If you get too much of it, and doses aren't coming enough, daily, you start to act out. Maybe, feel you were lied to. Perhaps, you assume people of good intention were just snowing you. Maybe, they just drank the same koolaid as you. It has a bitter taste. You're running out of metaphors and examples. It's late and you're reaching. A person might be compelled into restraint and compliance when they long to hear a word or two to help keep the delusion going. But reality has stayed too long. This is an unedited look into the mind. |
| I want my head in a musty old tent on an Indian summer day reading old comic books until I have absorbed the last ray of light. I don't know how to say it better. I will keep trying, as long as I have a pen in my hand and a muse in my heart. This late in the year, the blooms don't need my help. I watch them grow with anticipation, each day hoping for some new, brilliant surprise. I planted those seeds and I moved the soil, supplied hydration and whatever else before letting the sun's rays direct it's energy to what I fathered. In my early years as a gardener, I was neglectful. Either I was ignorant of what I needed to do or too stubborn to try the proven methods. With the light dimming and briefer each day, I hope God will shed extra light and rain to extend this final season. I've seen the ravaged leaves from blight and pests that I must protect against. What could be perfect and beautiful becomes a marred and mangled mass with unruly vines and half covered blooms. The dedication and talent it took to spawn my creations from fertile soil makes this shameful gardener fence himself from the world, allowing a peek here and there of what will impress. I don't brag anymore. I don't boast of my potential. What I could have done is in the past. What I have left is only what little time and God's grace will give me. Some days, when I rise, I don't even venture out to see. I've become too distracted with the musings instead of appreciating what I have sown. Then something helps me remember and I take a gander. Usually I'm surprised. Sometimes disappointed. But it's always an adventure. So, when I see the fragmented sentences and the untended words, I realize I could've done more. When I see an unedited poem that could've used more inspection, I realize I could've done more. And that doesn't mean they're still isn't time for me. But I have wasted most of it. I have mused about what I could do and what I could be more than putting those talents to use. I am still happy with me. I don't have to be filled with regret. They say we are supposed to look beyond our own horizons and see what we can find for ourselves beyond where we stand. I have looked for a long time without ever moving. I know there could have been more for me but I do not have the tools to achieve and become accustomed to only seeing my shortcomings. There have been my cheerleaders along the way. I disappointed most, if not all of them. When I look around I feel as though I standalone. That was my own choosing. Does not mean that people abandoned me, but rather I abandoned my dreams. Or ran around aimlessly trying to figure out how to find them until I had to give up and noticed no one else was around. People have written books on how to be successful as a writer among other things. If I have to live by other people's books, then I am not living truly to my own needs. Who should I be like? I should be myself. There are role models that inspire us to try new things, but after the testing we should know who we want to be. I could set goals for another year and say that this is going to be the year. But I would be fooling myself. I think as long as I am seeking what I truly desire to be, I am on a path. If I take myself off the path, I fail. I will go round and round trying to figure out what it is I should be doing instead of just doing. Do I digress now from my rambling? Or should I continue to search in my heart and head where these thoughts take me? More later... |
I don't want to overthink a poem while editing to make it more meaningful. This poem wound up in this week's spiritual newsletter and got me to revisit the phrasing and form of the poem. It lacks little structure, has its symmetry, but used the word 'pass' twice I noticed. I gave it a more themed spin, referencing faith and the rapture. I don't consider myself deeply religious, but find some poems want to send a message as this....
Thanks to those that recently took time to read and point out I had another featured poem. I would have to read each newsletter in anticipation, surprised that my offerings are so frequently noticed. Very humbling and pleasant that others would take the time to make my writing known to others here. Brian |
| Cracked upon the watery rock, brilliant, clear, glinting in virtuous light, spread out and cast beyond with immortal waves of time, each word growing, further apart, from the impact. I've never seen this place in my mind but I know it's there. One image, one memory, fractured, fading into the recesses; I cannot coax it out anymore to love, cherish, radiance lacking warmth, without someone to help me remember. |
| The only thing I ever wanted from anyone was their love and admiration and I would give wholly the same. I have felt rejection, the denial, the scorn and more all my life for my mistakes, failures and misunderstandings. Too ashamed and hurt to own up to my human condition or try navigate uncertain conversations, I've sealed myself off from a lot of the world instead of seeking kindness or forgiveness. I do not come equipped with the ability to open doors to the past, but live in the present and look to the future holding dearly to the loves I have now and hope that I do not fail again. That doesn't mean I don't waste time wondering what would have been if I had been a more fully functional being in my past. |
I imagined being challenged by someone to get their attention because they didn't want to go by a name. How would you talk to someone who didn't want a moniker? At first, a college professor or some accomplished writer might choose not to acknowledge me unless I was descriptive enough to say something that would hold their attention like a professor who would get me to talk about the weather without using the standard terms or the word 'nice'. The poem immediately took a turn as I started out by trying to address someone (completely fictional) using senses like smell. I googled fragrances and got ideas for future odes that use methods of identifying fragrances like wine and how scents are described like music. I enjoyed this fifteen minute effort. I think I could write fifty poems a day. Where is my novel? So easily distracted with notions like a child, leaving projects out before picking up another and another until the room inside my head is cluttered and I have no desire to clean and go out to play. Hmm. 😒 |
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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! 
