All that remains: here in my afterlife as a 'mainstream' blogger, with what little I know.
The loneliest happy person you'll ever meet, if you don't catch me when I'm the saddest person who needs to be alone.|
"Music Vid Links"
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.
"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."
"...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
Time to reinvent, remap, and redress my approach to writing & life...before it's too late!
Reinventing myself from start to finish. 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.
|Chimpanzees recognize rear ends like people recognize faces (and other articles not researched for this blog post)...
If I tag one of my poems or blog entries with that, you'll know what I mean.
Always researching through Google and investigating language for prompts with a sidelong, or sideways, glance/glare. *guffaw*
Now on to the menial tasks of a new day...
|How’s this going to play out? I’m waiting for explanation while Rand Paul is preening in his corner, ready to have the referee hold his bloody glove high…
There are losers…and they were the unwitting participants. How can we know how much the NIH is responsible? When, instead of getting out in front of this Letterman style, they lied to Congress? How are we supposed to believe people in science? How will accountability now factor?
Just waiting for more to shake out.
|When coming to terms with identity, it shouldn't be sexuality or gender that we're grappling with, but humanity, and within in that, morality and how it acts as a compass for our behavior in society. Aren't we just a little confused on the edge of conformity, looking out at the sea of possibility, where we are restrained from really getting a good view? Why are we constantly mired in debate about our basest desires when we struggle to come out as the rare, unidentifiable unicorn that even eludes our own grasp? We are in some kind of conundrum/mystery (not meant to be a riddle), on display and not wholly alone within ourselves, nurturing our every whim and desire to seek what suits us best, without shame or remorse for outcomes. We second guess, triple guess, and more because we factor too many things and think too much with that brain that's rewired, recircuited through a labyrinth of mazes we shouldn't puzzle with but pass right through. Why leap? Why dig under? Why the hell are we going all the way around to those horizons we dare to glimpse, imagine possibility?
I could walk out into the world and trip on the sidewalk of life because of a crack and blame myself, call myself stupid, rather than accept these obstacles are difficult and not meant to be easy. We are on a journey, an adventure, and we must assume there are lions and tigers and bears and might get eaten. That shouldn't scare us, but exhilarate, because we can overcome if we choose not to be scared but daring to stare down the uneven pathway and yell louder than the blood thirsty creatures lurking about.
But, we also have to get a handle on how we are to proceed and need a compass. Wouldn't that be a lovely tool to figuring out just exactly what we are before 90 years of life sails past and we still haven't reached the precipice to understanding? To even view our brilliant sunrise dappling a water flowing beneath a heavenly construct glowing in our eyes?
I'll take a minute to consider what I just wrote and how it applies, because this is just one flowage of feelings of words surfacing on a long journey where I rest by a sign post that I read from another writer on the internet. I know they are searching for themselves, as am I, and share now their beautiful struggle and scrawling to share with others to absorb like a ray of light from that horizon we're all summiting:
And I would ruin in it when reiterate, I am not confused about gender or sexuality, but that I am a monster than would wreak ruin upon another because I lack the right amount of humanity to conform to the standard ethos of society within a world that would push me back if I don't act nice, behave as others would inside the construct? That I am living down ever base impulse deemed wrong since I could crawl?
I do have a secret to understanding and watching a human up close melt down and rebuild day-after-day because of what society and oneself imposes harshly without a moment's consideration for unity within one another. Hmm. Vague?
On the Camille Ferguson piece:
I only read it once and thought: 'get out of my head', until it turned in directions I would not go, but came back to me time after time. Great potential for a young writer who has surpassed me and would never consider me on their journey, except to acknowledge a word or two. There is a struggle revealed in these words boiled down to a reviewer's restricting introductory descriptions that identify with the gamut of sexual and gender identity. Can we just consider the writer expresses foremost revelations of humanity and how who we are, and not solely about what gender or types of people we desire? I think this is where the world has gotten stuck in this liberation battle, like looking at the edge of something instead of looking past it to the horizon. There are greater monsters out there and yet the greatest resides within us, and how do we navigate within our DNA and how it is instructed?
The writing was expressive and visual and seemed like a focused stream of consciousness that is grasping for meaning, to which I can relate. I've often said, I write to discover, but especially myself.
This was just a quick and raw reaction to Ferguson's piece and wondered if this is a man identifying as a woman. I don't want to be quick to assume, but seemed a natural conclusion to draw. Should I reread, or reconsider what I have written here, I might further fathom the piece and/or my own thoughts displayed here, warts and all (suggesting the potentiality for ignorance on display in full or part).
Me: Life is a slow burn you get used to rather than salve to overcome, because it's persistent and unforgiving while desire for Truth is grasping at tenuous constructs that fall apart from the most tender grip.
Like tears, it rains.
|Sometimes, I like to mash up words to get new words. Today, I thought of genudeflect, which is what I sometimes do. But, somebody already thought of it and gave their own definition:
I thought the caption under the link image was funny --
"DEFINITION: To reject a compliment. May indicate low self-esteem, or false modesty, or even a psychopathic aversion to flattery."
When I genudeflect, I think about things I revere but steer away because I don't feel worthy. I also feel it diminishes me when the thing I covet doesn't reciprocate or acknowledge in some way, for which the definition above applies externally. I prefer to ignore that pretty woman, rather than saidle up.
Regarding the comic characters at that link: he looks like he would think she was hot. I only find her attractive. One of the commenters humorously suggested she take her shirt off.
This paper focuses on the concept of fear and the monstrous human. The first part of
this paper treats Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein as an examination of fear as a cycle that
produces rage when confronted by the moral detachment and shaming of others. The
second part of this project addresses aspects of societal fear manifested in the zombie
monster and set within the paradigm of the zombie apocalypse as posited in Max
Brooks’ World War Z. The conclusions reached in this discussion suggest that
compassion and reason are the antidote for the social toxin of terror.
I claim no credit for this thesis, just the feelings that caused me to google and stumble upon it.
|I don't know why, but I always feel worse when I talk with someone about what is bugging me. It's not like I got it off my chest, but got it out there in the universe.
I'm dealt with limited parameters to knowledge, to complete understanding. And when I'm issuing forth my concerns, what I share is a complex formula of what I'm affected by and a search for knowledge like truth to hopefully fill out an asymmetrical thing.
I'm not going to give an example, though I can imply for others to infer. The whole point of having communication with others is to get on the same page, get resolution. Even if we are looking at the same thing from different vantage points. It's hard to walk in someone else's shoes and I wouldn't expect others to fully realize my conjecture.
But, there are words, phrases, mannerisms we have been taught to give another comfort, some sign that we acknowledge, to alleviate concerns and to empathize or sympathize. The latter I would rather not have, if someone is going to talk down to me, lecture me, unless I deserve it. And, that is for me to decide.
What is this about? Trying to understand a spouse, an employer, the salesman, or the people at the doctor's office or bank about what's ailing/befuddling you. You know these people come with some information you don't have that can help shape perception, inform a person who feels vulnerable from the weakness of not getting a complete picture to solve the riddle, dilemma, predicament. In fact, the process can get tainted, sullied, darker from those you allow participate in that process of knowing.
In the meantime, we are taught to be meek and step back and give others space around us as a courtesy. Don't bother us with your ignorance is all I may feel from some who are downright callous. And, they may be in a position to make someone feel safe, whole and to not worry so much about the not knowing everything you'd like to understand so you can sleep better at night.
Some people deal with their problems by saying I have more money than I have time to get to resolution. Me, I'm thinking I may need that money for when I really need it. I'm not just going to throw it at each question hoping for resolute answer. I live by my wits to figure out the system to get resolution. Systematic is how a lot of stuff feels. And, it feels dysfunctional with a purpose to keep me off kilter until I back away and go look at another unsolved formula written on the chalkboard walls that surround my un-equated life.
Can I just tear it all down so I can stare at the barren ground? What is this metaphor and what am I talking about? There is purgatory like a prison inside of my mind, where I'm different and jailed for not being able to decipher what might seem life's easiest riddles to solve. I could take medication for it and still struggle, but differently. I could do my due diligence daily to go through certain processes to keep life's little worries on my doorstep, away.
I'm still going to the porch for the milkman's delivery. Even though it's not there anymore. I can be trapped in my little home because I'm developing agoraphobia for the intensifying complexities of an indifferent, unfeeling world where neighbors put up taller, thicker fences and the only connection you get is to a Netflix account where you stream endless entertainment until he day you die in your recliner, face half-eaten off by the cats you employ for comfort, when they find you.
Is it me? Probably, but not entirely. I have a wallet with a credit card, but still not tempted to use it. I've gone pear-shaped with my obtuse-ness.
Just something I was feeling after my last few daze. Really nothing related to my online life, either.
|If I were to offer input to someone struggling with obesity, it would start with cut the coffee and cigarettes and start walking if you want to enjoy the waning years. It seems simple, but when you consider that these vices make you their bitch, it might be a wake up call to take back the health that is rightfully yours.
We worry about the stereotypes of being healthy. People look at it as extremism. But, high heart rates, cholesterol, or whatever can be avoided naturally, or with Lipitor, whatever. I am not qualified. But, from personal experience, I could quit the coffee. But, I don't need to.
After my rotator cuff surgery last summer, I've worked my way back into the gym and to having my moments of dominance on the basketball court. I can challenge the best players in the gym because I mostly do the things that benefit a person who might be genetically superior to the greatest portion of the human race. Maybe, a reason why I shouldn't talk.
My dad dealt with hypertension, didn't take care of his diet, even after told to watch it by a physician and my mother. Being Italian, lots of carbs in that diet that he wouldn't sacrifice. He wound up with cancer twice and took his life after the second diagnosis, at 83, when he was still robust and full of life. He just didn't want to go through chemo again.
I have glaucoma, and that is where my defect resides. Somehow, surgeries on each eye have held for nearly thirty years, making me part of less than five percent who can claim that success. But then, how many had the surgery as young as me? I might be worthy of study in that respect. My diminishing vision does not prevent me from stepping between the painted lines at the YMCA court where my love for the game resides.
I kept thinking the knees or an Achilles would give (beware now after saying for the 100th time) by now. People now call me by my first name, not the color of the clothing I'm wearing when assigning defense. And I plow through two, sometimes, five hours of basketball in a day. My hamstrings are sore. My knees don't bother to complain. My feet would like to be soaked. But, I take care of myself.
I will down over a gallon of water, watch my food intake before and after. I sleep as much as I can, making sure to keep turning so rigamortis doesn't set in . I can get tight. I stretch, I keep exercising. I snap back. And my heart? Thanks to FitBit, I can track resting heart rates as low as 52! I didn't think I'd get there again, since it's not been that low since 2017.
The rotator cuff surgery was like a reset, a step back. I was able to collect, refocus and double down on this basketball life. I've guarded guys from 6'8" to 5'2", speedy or strong and the long and feel always prepared and up to the task. I have my health, genetics, mind and whatever else to topple anything that comes in my way. I know, ultimately, time will tap me on the shoulder. I know that I will not struggle unless cancer knocks on my door, or something as evil.
The day will come when coffee will be exchanged for tea, when I need one more advantage. If I have to do yoga frequently, and not just when my limbs need a little disentanglement and elongation. I will eventually walk instead of dribble drive to the hoop, if I'm not pulling up for a long range jumper. I'll always have the trash can to receive my aim, if nothing else. I'm sure I'll have just enough eyesight then.
Blessed. Sometimes, I need a reminder for purposes of perspective. Take pride in what God (or the equivalent) has given me. Even if it's to just thank my lucky stars. Believing in something, even if it might seem delusional, helps with this process that is my life.
I really do have that strong of a heart. Something I'm reminded of frequently. I'm pretty sure no ailment there. My mom had angina and a murmur (for those collecting data on me ).
|Somedays, I have to run my thoughts by my wife on something I know she understands better than me, but launched at the opportunity to respond to Angela's blog today, as she attuned to these matters surrounding the decision to vaccinate against Covid, after an Uber driver dosed her with their own, unsolicited, opinion:
"You are not that special"
You're too nice to the Uber driver. You are entitled to that space between your ears so you can get prepared for your day. I'm too nice, too. I would let them go on. Regardless, the Uber driver's task is only to drive.
Your testimony is worthy and much needed. What you outline are reasons the unvaccinated use, even when they don't fall into those categories, because they feed into that larger narrative. It has affected my brother-in-law, a retired state trooper and his RN wife, who would rather quit her 100k a year job than take the vaccine by the October mandate deadline. Both are healthy, athletic, non-smokers and Trumpers. They buy into the election rhetoric and more, moving to the country to prepare for something worse, in Michigan. I have very little clue what happened to the them. Extremists at this point.
I think if we can all step back, acknowledge FDA approval is a mandate for the (one) vaccine, and urge people to get us to herd immunity, those who dosed will not have done so in vain.
And, we do have to respect those who cannot take the drug for reasons you've outlined. This just shows how little due diligence people have done before deciding for or against vax. It shows we buy into the spin and the emotions of something that was highly charged politically and put the fabric of our country/world at jeopardy.
If I were to buy into a motive the division caused by politics surrounding Covid, it's a need to dumb down a world that's getting too smart, and to thin out the herd as were prepare for overpopulation. Seems selectivism (is that not a word?) would be the advantage for all of this. But, that's beside the point.
Keep testifying and maybe run this back to the next Uber driver, if for no other reason, social experiment to see if people can consume information objectively, and respectfully. What we all need a little more of.
As yet, haven't shared with the wife who is plugged in to a podcast, mid-living-room-paint-job, right now. When she needs to decompress. I hope I got it right.
|Got your attention?
I have to rewatch this video because he must have ADHD to go with that superior intellect to be able to decipher any leaning on white privilege, which I do not feel I possess, but maybe a richer man.
I will say I had/have some of the other intersectional things that privileged me to go with my male whiteness. I never felt it was anything more than a foot in some doors, only to be inevitably defeated by life's pursuits. And if I had it too easy, things handed to me, well I don't have the moxie or additional skill to rub elbows with the privileged few. Just take my 14 years as a black case here. Can't say I've arrived or even risen above the settling fog, but a dew upon a blade of grass near the future headstone marking my journey six feet deeper.
Nah, I won't watch it again, just yet.
Many of you can successfully argue for what you want. I'm just gaslit and dead tired of life's spin.
PCness can kiss my ass, because I know it is even more limited in conjectural theorem, 1984ing ourselves into mediocrity, hypocrisy while lacking any understanding of our past to now.
And now...am I done?
And, I'm moot. Not on any public stage/no pulpit. I will see you all in hell, I guess.
|I think this is the biggest news I've heard in awhile. Trump says 'take the vaccine' in Alabama, one of the worse vaxxing states in the country (36%):
He got booed a little, according to the story. Hm. I know a lot of 'normal' people who won't take it. Not even compelled to help the rest of us reach herd immunity. It's sad.
I don't know if Trump stumping for Covid medicine will sway at this point, because he has never spoken like this...until now. Seems those who've made up their mind will only see him as a turncoat at this point, positioning for another run at the White House.
There are a lot of things Trump has to retreat on to make this statement more true. For instance, stop saying the election was rigged. Further, say it was a fair election and accept the results.
Un-spin the spin, I guess. I don't think Machiavelli would support that. Liars like murderers stick with the untruths until they day they die with blood stains on their hands. That's politics.
FDA approval of one of the vaccines would be another direction to compel Alabamians and the like.
I'm just learning all of this now, putting this all together in my mind. If someone were to write a synopsis, or headline, it would be a 'that's what she said' moment. Another way of describing it, not by me, is this could be a 'Saigon moment'. I could not conceive of what happened in the 70s anymore than I can now.
There is so much we cannot know, but if I am to assess from what little I read, the prez doesn't consult to get input from others (generals). I wonder if he'd be more patient/considerate as a younger man...that a lot of civilian lives are at stake, or that NATO is only there because of US presence and pulled up the stakes as fast as waning commitment of the Commander-in-Chief? And, did we give peace a chance?
Not trying to be critical of a political leader but the lack of bureaucracy, when there's so much that's not needed for progress in Washington and around the world. Anyway, this rests on him, however it plays out. It's actual lives that are at stake foremost, however, let alone what could happen to 'democracy' (and safety of young women) over there.
I don't know. My gut reaction. My life moves on, as with anything else I'm delivered as news. Not getting any smarter, just wise.
Furthering my knowledge of the situation (well, that escalated quickly…):
from Brian Williams' lips, but not mine (8.17.21):
One week later (8.22.21):
The trail leads back to a post 2020 Election Trump Administration decision to leave a little present on the doorstep of the incoming President to deal with:
|These brief dissertations start out as newsfeed posts and evolve into these notions of grandeur that attempt higher thinking only to float back down to the ground wanting to know, 'what aim?'
And here it is --
I might be confused which character I should be (as if that is something yet undecided), aspiring as a 'brilliant repository of...killer one-liners', per Stephen Fry:
The difference in American comedy and British seems one is a little bit rock and roll, and the other, country. And, we do know which derived from the other.
For comedic effect: here, smash my guitar. Oh, what? I'm not supposed to hand it to you?
Hmm. I might be British. Plug this one in and see if makes the same sound.
Might just be one form riffing off the other inside of my mind...constantly, as if I'm to evolve into some higher comedic life form. In as much as we borrow from British comedies (ideally, 'The Office'), our American comedic art seems to find it's roots and aim a little higher than Jim Carrey now.
I do feel Fry fails to acknowledge that while we wise crack, our heroes can show pain in an aside. More depth. Some are anti-heroes, perhaps, rehabilitating from a life of poor choices or general ignorance. We are not truly above it all, just desire to be.
Much of American film of yore might attempt escapism or be Utopian in scope. Today, they craft new movies like, 'Free Guy', that I judge from trailers to be beneath an aspiring intellect, settling more to frame this unwitting character on an adventure he collects the girl's heart on the way to surprisingly overcome by naturally serendipitous instinct in video game-like odds (that may or may not involve an extra life or two along the way).
Perhaps, the new Utopian comedy is to suspend natural disbelief for the surrealistic quality of arcadian dreams.
Yup, add arcadian to list of words I've made up. Capitalize, not capitalize? Of course, doesn't matter.
Must be Sunday. Sounds like I stepped up to the soap box, once again.
|Perhaps, with the advent of the internet, social media and websites like this, we could all call ourselves recluses for idling here rather than go public with our offerings (for one reason or another):
I know I have plenty of chances to put myself out there (not in here). As been oft iterated, writers like myself don't have a true measuring stick with words spilled within these virtual walls. Perhaps, it's self-aggrandizing to know we can get likes and pretty little virtual ribbons for our efforts to construct conceptions from a tome of English to never truly come under scrutiny by those eyes hungry for fiction or paltry poetic endeavors.
So, I stay cooped up (literally and figuratively) -- retreat from a glaring social stage, because I'm screwed up in little ways that have not deterred my ability to rub elbows with the human race. I just feel a bit too human on soccasions and doubt my ability, my voice on stages constructed to hold potential efforts like mine.
I could work on a short story or novel that was concepted on vacation. Or, could cool it and just put focus on things social like pick up games and the YMCA. My physical health comforts my mental health at these interstices that insist step back from purging anymore thought from this logjam of weighty thought. Just letting stuff work itself out. But, thinking to, how like E.D. or Salinger I could be, for various reasons.
The Beatles were good, but the whitest band of all time.
|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.
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?
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),
Undeclared, sort of
|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?
I'm not gonig to edit this piece of s***. 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:
My response. I don't give a f*** 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?
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 "Antithetical📝Jottings by UnRenownPoet" 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.