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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... |
| It's so quiet here I treat this space like you're up there in that hidden space still at my table by the window with my guide lighting a path to the other side in my virtual space hidden I treat like a church it's so quiet here I'm so accustomed to you being in that loft, forgetting you've been gone for, how long has it been? my memory fades from this vantage afforded an inept accountant of time spent by a clear pane I look out into that lonely, early street, know it will fill with love calling, spinning wheels at this intersection, bikes and buggies aimed at the park, while wind whispers, louder out there, through visibly aging trees I look through this room, past two elbows -- the frame of a room I'm in, the frame of a door left open, further, where you slept in, most mornings, while I typed, played dreams on a visual stage unseen, heard likely by you, dreamer, who always needed a few more hours rest. Which one of us still exists in this space? "Judee"  7.19.21 -typed in five, edit later, I suppose. Not motivated and shouldn't be creating until I get a handle on me. Swore I wasn't going to add more to "Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋" until the accounting of my works was complete, an audit that could take some time when I see the unedited pieces, some hidden, staring back at me, while thinking of my son, the college dropout, who's up before dawn, gone to a job, still here when I type or play a song and think of this unnecessary need for reverence, quiet. He never stirred when I played songs from my laptop, and I shouldn't have worried. But, somehow, I still do until I know he's alright. |
If you get a cat that cuddles, hold on to that pet. You would be so lucky, as we were with a cat named Pele.  Pele passed in 2018 after 19 long years, the last was especially miserable. Couldn't tell what was happening, but she felt hollow and light when picked up. She might have been blind, but then would do some of the cutest things. We have a landing in the middle of our split level home below the stairs going to the upper level with the bedrooms and bath. She would carry around a toy or anything she could find like a sock in her mouth. She'd lay it at the landing and cry like she was calling for the other cats to come play. Eventually, the game caught on and the other cats started doing it after she passed, as if carrying on the tradition. One of our remaining two cats who we call 'Buddy' because he's more like a dog than cat, crows before dawn and cries through the house as if he's looking for someone to play with all the time, for no apparent reason.  Our other cat is named 'Mels' which is short for Carmella, which is really acknowledging her predominate fur color appearing like caramel. Though it's also an abbreviate for 'smells' because she's always lifting her head and demonstrably sniffing the air when there is a scent that intrigues. For a short time, Buddy would do the same during these moments and I nicknamed them 'Whiff' and 'Sniff'.    Best Friends, though they have their spats that usually turns into playAfter Pele, I have worked with our two remaining felines to see who wants to be my next lap cat, snuggler. Pele was always on my lap and always good for a hug. With her thick fur and her tender purrs I couldn't feel more contented to have her love. It was sad to see her become a hollow shell of herself, sleeping in her litter box during her last days. I hoped I could carry on her memory with a pet who wanted to snuggle, too.  Mels and Buddy are very skiddish animals when company visits. Buddy has gotten more comfortable with certain guests. Mels just hides under our bed upstairs until everyone is gone, leading us to wonder if she needs anxiety meds. Then, one day she found a friend she liked and would stay in Myles room when they had sleepovers, or get togethers. But my efforts to adapt one of them into a cuddler has failed. You might say 'get a dog.' I can barely take care of myself. {e:laughahhsad?}  Buddy will come when he's called. He will flop on me with his 16 pounds of big boy weight. But, I think he has ADHD or something, because he don't sit still. He won't jump up in a lap of anyone on a chair, but will reach someone's leg with his paw and try rub his face on the furniture. Just not comfortable in a kitchen chair, and only a few moments in a recliner. In bed, he'll flop on my wife and even spoon her! If he were a lion he'd be an awesome bed mate! But, he won't cuddle. Squirms away when I squeeze and he's off to another room like I've offended him, because he's my master, afterall.  Mels is just as quirky. She will allow a little hug and she's so slight that I'm sorry to say there's not enough there to satisfy a lonely boy. She sits on my lap at night and will lay there all night if I don't move. But, I need to move my back and legs so they don't tigethen up and then she's between us at the end of our King size bed. She is less likely to come when called, always pensive and thinks something is up when we want her attention. So, I've basically given up on both. Hugs from humans don't seem as good as Pele's. I miss that cat. So, if you get a cat that snuggles. Hold on to it for as long as you can. 7.17.21  This is our cat Glaeder who died before we got Mels and Buddy. He did not survive his first year, with a rare disease. We'll never know if he was a hugger. He was interested in sitting in my lap when I was on WDC, kneading a spot with those claws, making it hard to concentrate. We all sat together with him as he expired just around midnight 2013, with tears in our eyes. We cried and mourned as a family a tragic end to a promising cat life.** Image ID #1036918 Unavailable ** HOW DO I GET OUT OF THIS BLOG POST?  |
| ~ I’m in an old, poorly scripted sitcom and I’ve just answered the phone and no one seems to notice that the phone cord is dangling, unattached to the receiver. Because everyone is going along with it, I start to twirl the cord. Now that I have pointed out the reality of the situation, no one wants to view anymore. Change the channel. ~ I’d like to have a conversation with these people who dictate our logic because they haven’t obviously heard anybody else’s opinion. ~ Each day I examine the evidence and come away feeling pissed off. I walk back into my cave. ~ Nothing means anything. Just don't watch. |
| Own It When you’re a kid playing with Hot Wheels on the carpet with wooden building blocks, you make a garage with your brother and each dream all the vehicles you'll own when you’re a millionaire one day, not realizing you’ll need a billion with inflation. And you grow up and want a particular car, drool in front of the salesman and then negotiate. They take advantage of you, like the bank, but you don’t know finances. So, the dealer screws you, the bank screws you and you end up paying the next six years for a pile of crap, because you don’t know from Hot Wheels what a real car should operate like. Then, you wonder if your dreams just got 1,000,000,000,000 miles further away as you kneel on the carpet with your kid to play…with trains. By the way, mom got rid of all the Hot Wheels, trading cards or anything collectible from your nostalgic childhood, fading from any remaining happy memory. So, you go out and write about it, thinking something tangible could be salvaged. A lesson learned. My brother became a service manager. We don’t talk anymore. Yeah, irony. Supposed to be humorous. Maybe, to you. I'll laugh at the next guy... 7.15.21 |
| It's easy to see now. If you guys want me to whip out my credit card (so you can get your cut), you need to be able to recognize: Water Symphony A lake symphony set to begin, my ears cleared by green bassos, single notes gulp an opening silence. Brown minstrels grasp surface air, whoosh water, vacuum twilight wings skittering a surface to escape. Pinholes in an ultraviolet horizon gasping, last rays angle, strike the silvery surface below. On my shore, lawn chair erect, violinists in the green pit harmonize instruments in unison, lay undiscovered, build a sound-bed consuming ears harvesting a cacophony of familiar notes. Eyes trust a rising moon clear-cutting a path to the dock, stretching across dimpled water illuminated. A water symphony punctuates. Glistening, dark cellos splash-snap, splash-snap a delicacy of movement. Metal creak of this woven seat, finite! I ease back, wonder if this calm allows a mind to dream, forget mosquitos masqueraded arrival for an unexpected banquet, preparing me to pay with my flesh. I try to tell myself everyday there are competent people out there, in here. That there are decent people. Feels like I have to hold up a fistful of bills to get attention. Producing content that draws in fools like me is the sad irony. I've said it before, I get better at my craft in spite of the ignorance. People said my honesty when I used to review was negative, though it was objectively truthful, and just my opinion. And, I'm getting sick of this, what's going on right now. If we're going down this road, then I can take the kid gloves off again. |
I've been adding notations for sometime now, especially in "Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋" , to help readers AND judges realize what's at work within some of my poems. In the case of my latest entry for Writer's Cramp, having to bitem my piece, I added several informative links for readers and the judge, who let me know it was helpful. Even if not award-worthy stuff, I can keep shining the light on different writing approaches, including how-to poetry, more specifically, free verse.
I've taken the liberty of re-editing the piece to remove highlighted prompt words, so it won't distract. The original is still in blog, "Love Fool: A Distant Memory" . I usually start in blog and develop a poem from there. In the case of Writer's Cramp and its restrictive entry process (bitem only), I usually delete the original and maintain blogged versions with notations what inspired. Now, if they were daily handing out ribbons to adorn winners, it would be tough to trash. If I don't renew premium in fall, I know what folder to clean out when the time comes: "Invalid Item" I'm at 266 total items now with 15 mingling in my trash can. I seldom make statics now. I could get 10 reviews easily 15 years ago. I average about three now. Why not just blog? Easier to edit. Easier to link. And, contests are accepting blog posts as entries now.Poets Needed: "Invalid Item" Group above is in development. Sorry for delay; deciding what direction to take it. Little time devoted to new ideas and development. Reception to "Wheelbarrow Group" was lukewarm, being more calculated? Newest idea: free for all forum to promote anything, as long as it's poetry/poetry-related. Kind of a writer's support group meets a poetry newsfeed. Had a catchy title but did not store it. Afraid it's gone. Memory.  |
| Being diagnosed ADD didn't feel like the divining moment, because I thought it was more, something else. There had to be a better explanation for my childhood and everything until now, so I could stop feeling shame and pain for the way I am. After another visit with my brain guru, yogi said nope, I'm not a highly-functioning-whatever-you-think-that-is. You're just a high functioning person with Attention Deficiency Disorder. Why can't they give it a cool name like Asperger's or Autism?  I couldn't sleep tonight. Like a power puppy (one description I use for my condition), I got up and started noodling with googling and found stuff when I asked in the dialogue box 'how come I feel' this way (not in so many words, but in many different words) until I found a link that said everything perfectly that I'm feeling: https://www.additudemag.com/slideshows/what-does-adhd-feel-like/ Reading it makes me think I need to go through my paces, slow down a bit. I do at times, but then I start running away from myself like a child with a new toy until I become bored again. I needed to tell myself not to bite off too much of life, just the way I eat sometimes, inhale everything because I moved on to something new and can't think about food anymore. I was told to try mindfulness once, got bored with the exercise after a few tries. This makes me think of people who workout but don't have a good diet, never make (desired) progress and wonder why. Wrapping it up. Though, I'll wonder more later. Until I can sort myself out, I shouldn't be taking on project after project until I can learn to just complete one thing. My research, as yet, doesn't fully explain why I don't find friends that put up with me. Should be happy I found my wife? Or, why I don't acknowledge people in my life as friends. Why I don't open up more to people online, fear manipulation (from all the other times I've been taken advantage of) and frustration and shame that I'm not the person people need me to be. And, I go running off before any matures into something real. More blathering after a good, solid discovery that should relate me to others. Not that I should feel the need to...just that I can't...don't know how to...where to go from... 7.8.21 I might quit blogging for awhile. Or, wait until the meds kick again. Been off those pills three plus days. Keep forgetting. edit later, maybe add some blurbs from link. Wait for the two clicks on this blog entry to know 'someone' read. Probably to make sure I'm not off my leash, so they can call me back, 'good puppy.' 'who wants a treat?' I'll stop there. Poets Needed: "Invalid Item" |
| We've all had them, good and bad. Write about the best boss you’ve ever had. Um, my mom? Definitely not dad. I think you're asking the wrong question. There are soooo many bad bosses and lots of great anecdotes about the stuff they do, bungle a work situation. I quit over a half dozen jobs in my formative years because of bad bosses. Whose with me? Who wants to tee off? Kåre Enga in Udon Thani  , I'm hearing your blog battle cry again (lacking a better expression). Hm. Okay. The guy at the explosives manufacturing plant where we handled nitrate delivered on trains from Chicago. It was a three man operation. I don't remember either guy's name, but had access to keys from the trailer where we logged in, took my breaks. That got me access to another trailer with actual explosives sold to demolition companies. Not much to tell. We took a one hour lunch to watch General Hospital or All My Children? Seemed like a family atmosphere. I decided to leave that job suddenly and move back to Michigan. The owner/operator was cool with it. Even bought me some road food before I left town. Not much of a story. Maybe, if I had stolen some explosives or he let me take some dynamite. Had some teenage bosses when I was in high school and one of them picked me up when I needed a ride to work? Plus, all those managers partied and drank, letting me join their parties. Bunch of alkies, but good people. Hm.  Poets Needed: "Invalid Item" |
| You’re out with friends for the evening and have ended up at a Karaoke Bar. You’ve all agreed you will sing at least one song. What song will you sing? Why that one? I've only done karaoke once, on eve of my wedding, after they fed me fuel from the bar. I'm not a public singer, though I could be. I sing around the airport when I'm alone. I sing in the car when we go on trips. I sing from the front row in church and during children services before Sunday school to lead the group. No has made me shut up, which is good. I like to sing, all the time, which gives me pretty strong vocal chords for a soft spoken guy. So, if I'm going to nail a song at a karaoke bar, if there's one around here (I've been asking for awhile) it would be, "All of Me" by John Legend. Pretty much all the songs I link in "Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋" I can sing, at least along, or accompany. The list would be pretty long, because I've been singing "Amie" by Pure Prairie League forever. I'll join Eric Clapton on "Lay Down Sally."I do prefer female artists, though. I like the challenge of matching Sara Bareilles on "Gravity" and Sarah McLachlan on just about anything, but the penultimate would be Jessie's theme from Toy Story 2. I can wade into the first two albums of Norah Jones with ease, too. I've written my own lyrics, but lack skill for instruments. Though, there are plenty of musicians in this house. Just no collaborators. I've considered singing my songs acapella but find it hard to share, unless perceptions change. Youtube audience varies from one to five hits. Someone here once said they would collab with me long ago (Michelle), but we drifted apart. That's more than you wanted/needed to know. What is it about me that wants to share? At least, I fulfilled the July 5 obligation of:Hey, Bethany. Remember when I sang, 'give it away, give it away, give it away, give it away now'? RHC If you don't know who she is, it's a bit of a recurring theme in my blogs now. Inside thing. Poets Needed: "Invalid Item" |
| I'm reminded of my child who won't take care of their issues, would rather deal with others problems to deflect. I tell my wife I write for catharsis; but, what if I do it to deflect? Just taking the time to objectively opine why my kid will always struggle is ironic, as I've been floundering nearly all my life. And then, I see another who struggles. I relate to their struggle and want to lend some encouraging words? What am I doing? Am I taking away from me, especially since my attempts might not be on point, or unwanted? I can do for me. Reaching out to others can do for me, too. At what point do you tell yourself they don't want your support, just move ahead? In fact, it feels like it can be intrusive to give unconditional love, being overly cautious not to overstep your bounds. And when you back up, turn in another direction, easy to get lost which way to go. Kind of sad, you know? I remind myself. I had direction before. Just get back on track and stay in that lane. It's sad. I can relate, come equipped to know struggle, emotional sensitivity, the issues with self-worth and identity. It's natural for me to want to help others before strengthening my own resolve to focus on what gives back to me. And, if I ever find my kid spending more than five minutes in our house again, I'll remind them that if people only take and don't give back you'll feel empty. If you give to someone or something that can use that love to feel better, repair onerelf or become whole again, it can redeem you. But, if it does not, walk away. You can always go back. But, maybe you should just let the wounded animals be, so they can get help from true experts. Breathe.
7.4.21 I really do care. People who question my intentions don't know me. No hidden agenda. There are agendas all around. If I have an agenda, it's self-preservation foremost. |
| Here in the United States, we're celebrating our independence today. Is this a special day to you? Will you do anything special? Have we as a country forgotten what this day really means? Yes, I know, several questions there. (If you do not live in the United States, please apply this prompt to the day your country celebrates as Independence, or a similar holiday.) Answer as you wish please. I could shoot some fireworks, bottle rockets or Roman candles that shoof! shoof! shoof! Into the night. I might drink beer, grill thick steak, eat a slice of watermelon in 92-degree heat on the front porch step, spit seeds, wave to passing neighbors, admire sweaty kids racing bikes into the nearby park. I could fish. I could dig and grab a couple squirmy earthworms, stick them in my tackle box and just go. But, I probably won't. A plane will fly over every now and then. Soon, another night of fireworks sparking the sky with neon clouds wading soft like vaporized jellyfish. We'll sit around a campfire, spray repellent. My kid will come and go with our truck, not stay for marshmallows because they have more fun with summer friends, If my son takes a brief respite from video games, he'll eat a cupcake, go back upstairs. My wife will stir a fire, formerly raging, after an evening coating our clothes and skin with a charred remnant that lingers in hair most. We will sigh when embers cool and groan to lift sodden limbs from padded patio chairs that creak and whine with us in the same metallic effort. Oh, there were fireworks, to be sure. The city's display not enticing enough to park, In a field, view, chill and stay awake under blanket. Not the same with grown kids with other agendas, reminded we always did it for them. We made sacrifices so they could grow tall and strong and have reason to smile, reason to feel free, do as they please, as we get old. I think I'll take time to consider those sacrifices, the effort to keep us strong, free from tyranny. And, share that joy with others. Peace to all, wherever you may find it on a brilliant night. A poem. I'll write this poem. Mmm, steak, marinate! |
| Do you have a list of inspirational quotes that you might refer to for guidance? Share one with us! I do have inspirational writings that I refer to, but seldom anything that is a 'quote', unless we are to include things that I've written to myself. Writing notes to myself has been a long standing tradition, not unlike the Writing.Com contest in January called 'Dear Me', which I won, coincidentally in 2014. "Dear Me WINNER: Crossroads" Writing notes to myself started long before an old poem I posted here that was scrawled on a piece of paper to be keep in my wallet to pull out from time to time:
I could return to reread that poem or the Dear Me contest entry, but what I find cathartic is posting some inspirational things on Twitter that help remind me, as well as others. (Click To Enlarge Images Below)  https://twitter.com/glaedrfly/status/1045110283126140930?s=21 "On my equatorial highway to senectitude." The photo might say it all if you consider POV and where the horizon is. I borrowed the word 'senectitude' from a fellow WFOP poet, because it relates to how we feel in our latter years.  https://twitter.com/glaedrfly/status/755077152626933760?s=21 Rather be awkward trying, if always discovering Vulnerability is beauty Complacency ugly It's actually an idiomatic poem I wrote about how I feel 'baring my chest', as my high school English teacher would put it. I would rather risk falling on my face than not try. Also, feeling silenced by society rather than speak your mind to have opinion be heard applies. Sometimes, voices are silenced by the machine. Sticking your neck out should make you feel better, having bared one's chest. If no one backs you up, the only bad feeling you might get.  Sometimes, we just have to put the pen aside and be in a moment. My cat knows how to do it. Why can't I? Thinking of Springsteen lyrics from Jungleland: ▼  Pushing a pile of words from corner to corner, adding more to the mix, for life. I added #amwriting and then #amIwriting? It's really how I feel about writing poetry, the add in, add out process and moving the structure around until it feels like a worthy poem. Seriously, not interested in self-promotion. I get it, just don't like it. I think it takes away from creativity. WWEDD? WWSD? (see if you can guess?)  That's my son on the beach in Mexico, the antithesis of 'no ambition'. But seriously, I bite off more than I can chew and feel nothing but regret for all the things I don't finish, especially bigger projects. What am I thinking?  "Perfection is lost once we try to conceive." When you've got an idea and want to jot it down. Something is brewing and that magic doesn't last, because we have to build a structure, frame those words, put this idea in context. The shine seems to leave that gold. But, I add to 'keep writing'. Words might fail at first, but notice if I keep digging: hidden gems, even if not what was sought...and, maybe better.  https://twitter.com/glaedrfly/status/1043194792291708928?s=21 Rough hands do not bespeak a gentle mind It was a rough heart that taught gentle hands not be weak Another idiomatic poem that sprung up, reminds of my dad. Some say I'm reminiscent of him, the older I get. What I'm reminded: he was rough and taught my gentle hands to not be weak. His hands were rough from labor. His working man ethos rubbed off. I'm no slacker wherever I labor. Thing is, having a rough exterior doesn't define me. I'm gentle and prefer not be as rough as he. What's unfortunate is I give off a gruff exterior without intending. I can feel villainized or treated a monster. Striking that balance is difficult, makes me feel an awkward social animal. But, the old man also taught me to be a cynic, sometimes confused with a callous heart. In summation: Hard candy shell, melty chocolate inside! But, don't tell anyone I said that.  This kind of summarizes me as a writer in a community like this. Obviously, after I type something, I don't have to hit send. But, then where am I? So, I put myself out there, speak my mind. It can get dicey. Have to accept that. I know what people prod me to do, trying to get me out of my comfort zone. And fear, if I don't acquiesce, lose them. If I do, I lose myself. You say you don't ask for much, get indifferent if I don't play the game. Just keeping it real. Just want to be a writer who's judged on the merit of his content. I pay my dues in many ways. It involves a lot of my precious time. Hey! Like this, see? Happy to share a part of myself with others and long to reciprocate in return.  https://twitter.com/glaedrfly/ 7.3.21 |
| We've all read about them, we all probably have a favorite. Do you? Tell us about your favorite conspiracy theory. If you don't have one, tell us about one you recall. I've handed in my reporter's credentials long ago, but have always been curious about conspiracy theories. I think for me it started with the JFK assassination, though aliens and Bigfoot/Yeti might be forerunners due to those Enquirer-type rags at grocery checkouts when I was a kid. Oh, can't forget obsession with Elvis and his death with those claiming he was alive, as will happen with many icons. Saw a blurb today claiming Michael Jackson is among the living again. I don't have a favorite conspiracy. Usually, don't rank things or claim an absolute. I did google to see what the most talked about conspiracies are. I found it fascinating, though I don't think 'flatlanders' made the list. Here's an excerpt about one of the things I never heard before, knew little about, that intrigued: "Top Democrats are behind a child sex ring: In October 2016, the emails of Hillary Clinton’s campaign chairman, John Podesta, were leaked. Podesta wrote about possibly holding a fundraiser at the DC pizzeria Comet Ping Pong, and mentions ordering cheese pizza. Seemingly innocuous (but) fuel for the wild conspiracy Comet Ping Pong was (a front for) child sex-trafficking...run by Democratic leaders, including Clinton and Podesta. Cheese pizza, theorists claimed, meant child pornography. As in so many conspiracy communities, the emails became a cipher only insiders could decode. A few weeks after Podesta’s emails were leaked and “Pizzagate” started gaining traction, a 28-year-old man walked into that northwest Washington pizzeria with a rifle. After his search of the premises yielded no dungeon holding sex slaves, he fired his gun at a locked door before surrendering to police. The gunman later told a judge his actions were “foolish and reckless,” as Pizzagate conspiracies proliferated online, becoming the seed for the equally fantastical QAnon conspiracy. In October 2017, an anonymous poster called “Q” began posting on the messaging board 4chan, claiming to be an intelligence officer in the U.S. government. Q expanded the foundations of Pizzagate: Not only are politicians and Hollywood elites really satanic pedophiles, they also harvest the blood of children to stay young. The only person who could stop them was Donald Trump. (Despite President Biden's election, some in the Q universe insist he's an illegitimate president and Trump rules from the shadows and will one day emerge to take power, after arrests of everyone from Clinton to Tom Hanks and the Pope.)"Yeah, it's titillating, but hardly provable. Wasn't some guy and his madam connected to this and ran some sort of sex ring on an island? He went to jail, supposedly committed suicide (or was silenced Lee Harvey Oswald-like before he could go to trial) and the madam was in hiding before caught and it's gone quiet? I don't know. I think this is the stuff that drives writer's imaginations and has produced countless novels and movies and adaptable episodes for television. Law and Order called it 'ripped from the headlines' with the disclosure that 'hey, it's fake/fiction. don't sue us', get over it. we need 'believable' content. oh, look! a stray laugh emoji that was intended for some part of this got shoved all the way to the bottom. Hmm. I'll investigate later, when I edit.7.2.21 Author's Note: Personally, I don't assume anything but collect information bit-by-bit until I have something that seems circumstantially strong enough to pursue aligning facts to support. And even then, I have to wait for argument that could take out the pillar(s) of whatever theory I'm working on, before I decide I can work on the other cornerstones to logically lift and decide, with little hesitation, that something I've wondered about could possibly be true. I do it all the time (maybe, compulsively), but not obsessively. Just until I get tired and need my brain for more important things, like a hobby: writing, basketball. It takes a lot to get me invested before I crawl up inside something and root around for evidence. Provocation is usually the key. If someone is giving me signs to back off, I smell something. Did I mention my jam was investigative journalism at my first 'professional' gig in radio news? I wound on taking on some of the hometown elite, which didn't go over so well. Shook out a lot of good information, when I realized helpful people pointing me toward 'the truth', and some who were overzealous or trying to dupe me. I can smell out a ruse from the real thing. I'm surprised at my age with my experience, people still toy with me. I have my struggles, but I'm prideful and hard-nosed. Another blog for another day? |
| I thought about posting this in newsfeed, but it's too long: Working on a new bio, because I have to submit stuff for publication and I have to write a blurb (gah). So, I started thinking and redacting as I went: Let's just stick a fork in me. Former accolades: broadcast journalist with stints at six radio stations, news director, three state broadcasting awards. Sold copy to AP wire service, contributed to national CBS radio and National Public Radio. Former newsprint reporter, employed by four publications, stringer-reporter for the Milwaukee Sentinel, freelancer for other publications. Stints as News Assignment Editor and News Producer for two Tv stations. Editor of college newspaper, and editor of college literary magazine, while contributing content for each. Trained in photography and film development. Five-time published poet: one national publication, four state journals. It kind of tales off there. I have personal interests and hobbies, but I see other writers seldom go there. I also don't know how to describe my activity here. How to summarize and what parts are considered prestigeous? Like winning the Dear Me contest in 2014? Or the Heart Throb Poet in 2020? Or, just detail the 1k plus poetry written and what little short story efforts I've had. Oh, I could say I am activite with two blogs, one where I write and examine poetry daily. I wish I could say I successfully functioned to run my group. But, that's for another day. I'm sure I'm leaving stuff out. 7.1.21 edit, reconsider later. |
| Prompt: Have you ever been the recipient of, or observed the kindness of, a stranger? Tell us what happened. I tried to find a previous blog entry where I wrote about this incident December 4, 2017. I was playing pick-up basketball at the YMCA when I thought I would try to steal an alley-oop pass, leaping quite high in the air. The player who the ball was intended for got tangled up with me in his effort to locate the ball and I was turned upside down mid-air and came crashing down on my back, neck and head. Some swore it was like watching me fall 10 feet and the sound was like something hitting concrete. I was dazed and didn't know what happened, couldn't recall the play for much later. I couldn't even piece together what happened for days. Why I do recall is that I struggled to remember who I was and decided to go through a mental list of questions, while trying to respond to people around me. It's was then I realized one of the players, Nate, was asking me questions and trying to get me back to my senses. I blurted out I knew I had a son, but couldn't remember where my wife worked, but that it was at a hospital. Nate was trying to get someone to call 911 and get staff from the front desk. He made sure I was elevated, too. Eventually, it was all rushing back to me. Kevin was another player who kept checking to see if I was alright, if he could give me a ride home or to the emergency room. I could sense he was real concerned. Eventually, I remembered how to contact my wife so she could come get me and take me to the hospital for a scan. Usually, when someone gets hurt at the Y, that player will hobble off and everyone on the court impatiently waits for a replacement. This was a special case. I could see all were concerned, even the player who upended me who only came back to play once since. I felt bad that I may have stole some of his joy for the game. It was just good to know that people know how to respond and that they truly care about people in these situations. I watch some of the reality shows with my wife about paramedics and all the side stories of how people keep victims safe and alive until help arrives. Even if people don't think they can help, they seem to naturally step up. I was very thankful and donated extra money to the Y that year, and since, to fund basketball camps for underprivileged youth in our community. Though they seemed like strangers, like most do at the YMCA where we play, I've built some associations over the years. I look at Nate and Kevin as solid, reliable people who I will always respect, no matter how annoying they can be to still play basketball against. I enjoy it more when I know they're on my team. 7.1.21 It's late and I want to get to bed, so I'll edit this tomorrow? |
| It's been written somewhere on these pages that my life has been like playing handball against an uneven wall. That's about the gist of what I shared until I realized I have to share this with my therapist next week to explain this weird obsession I have. You see, to extend the methaphor, there are easier, flatter walls to the left and right and probably all the way around. I'm obsessed with learning this one wall that returns my serves in such odd ways it seems unfair. You would think I would stop mentally abusing myself and play against the proper wall. This obsession is trying to calculate every angle, it's a belief the wall cheats, conspires against me. The way it sends balls back and away, making it hard for me to play, doesn't seem fair. I don't even consider blaming myself in this regard because I believe I can master this all knowing wall and win one day. I've made significant progress with life as a highly-functioning whatever I am (can't say autistic without a diagnosis), yet I run into new obstacles all the time that perplex and intrigue me, make me want to try. In the beginning, it's very defeating. When I decide the wall is being unfair, I claim partial advantage. Because, not every thing is a wall but a living, breathing thing that I can mentally challenge, manipulate. Just the way I feel I'm being mentally challenged and manipulated by these scenarios I come across in my daily life. I should just walk away when the fix is in. Nuh-uh. My brain sets to work, leaving behind a rational, functional side of me. I figure, talk to the therapist about this obsession. Explain some scenarios where I must overcome odds. A simple one is gaining acceptance for my play on the basketball court. I should have hung them up many years ago. I just keep getting better and confusing people how I am able to achieve some of the things I attempt. I can't dunk a basketball anymore. But, I can nutmeg a player with a behind the back pass to a cutter for a layup. Look it up, if you care. Or respond here, I'll try. The thing is, I just keep watching and learning and preparing for each day I go to the gym. No one my age should be getting away with this stuff that would make me a Harlem Globetrotter. It's the same with words. It's the same with numbers. It's the same with complex equations. I do it with solitaire, cribbage, Words With Friends. I just keep learning and mastering play until it gets boring and I find something else. I need to understand why I do it, if I can stop. What will the outcome be if I keep ramping up at this pace. I'm learning about stocks and investing and making some side bets. Why am I saying all this? Guess I was just bored and prattling on after my realization about that wall I face everyday. It's not like Everest. It's not some abyss. It's a knobby, old wall that seems to mock me. Maybe, one day I will figure it all out and the wall will tumble down. I might be sad. I'll probably just look for another wall to master. Yeah, I need help. 6.29.21 typed in dark, edit later. |
| I really, really want to believe I'm smart. My wife keeps telling me I'm the smartest person she knows. I want to believe her, when she's not belittling me for some small detail I fail to pay attention to. I'm always trying to solve the largest puzzles, from shaking down a guy at the dealership for a good price on a vehicle to any provable evidence, say, that the US did NOT land on the moon, like conspiracy theorists say (by the way, I stay away from that crackpot stuff from the world is flat to who shot JFK, not that my wheels haven't spent time on it). I move on. That's the point. But, when I'm daily, routinely, involved with something that doesn't add up, my mind is drawing pictograms and graphs and charts, or whatever, in my head. Something in my psyche needs for things to balance, so the coins on one end of the scale are equal to the gold being assessed for value at the other. Does that make sense, or was that reaching as far as metaphors go? Why should I bother, moving on. I'm confronted with stuff I shouldn't meddle with everyday. I find that my inquiring mind cannot stop, because I know there are motivations on the other end of interactions that affect me that I cannot stop to ponder about. The longer I ponder, the worse it gets. I've learned not to draw attention to myself when thinking aloud, or say, writing my feelings here, for instance. I'm just compelled to pry, poke, prod and do whatever it takes in a sidelong, sidle-up manner to see 'what's the deal with that?' I offend people all the time. It becomes part of who I am that I have to accept. So, I don't even notice when I've done it. Unless, I lay out traps to see who comes to my door. It's as simple as divining from a few words a person's intent, watching their behavior, adding up circumstantial evidence so tedious and boring that even I check out from time to time. Sometimes, I get so distracted, when I get back, I don't remember what I was investigating. Just, some things keep coming back again and again and I can't help start it up all over again. These things take up a lot of my time and energy. Wish I could cut to what I need to do, sip coffee and start the day. I have a lot of time to idle. I'm told I have a big brain. I'm far more learn-ed in the past 15 years than would have expected to be by now. And, I'm not dead. Everyday is just the start of another journey in my head. So many incomplete master-level puzzles in this head that I hope one day to complete one to share with the world. What are they? I don't know. A lot of this computation goes so far into my mind that I can't retrieve what I'm working on until I'm faced with something that becomes the latest obsession. If that seems facetious, take it for what it's worth. I'm not mad at the world, not sharpening my cutlery. Just bored and my mind needs challenges. You could say I don't know how to construct a poem, let alone a metaphor, but know what I'm attempting when I write, like right now...without getting to the point, because I'm rounding a reaaaalllllyyyyy long corner...now and in life. Again, facetious. I get that. Haven't employed it all that much. Give me this one and stop questioning my intentions. It only tells me people who are overprotective have something to hide, instead of engaging me and letting their guard down. Why are people so afraid to approach? And when they do, why are they so intent on controlling the narrative instead of just letting us both vibe and get in sync? I'm down for whatever, even though what you just read might make you think whatever. I'm saying, don't let all the red flags pop up. I read between the lines. I look for evidence to support my theories. I'm drawing out conclusions within hypotheses inside conspiracy theories inside my addled head trying to put it all together. When I say 'addled', I don't mean drooling like a half-wit. You get that, right? There are people in my life that call me a genius one minute and look at me like an idiot the next. I think that says more about them. Did I just use all those words correctly? Probably not. But, I know what I'm saying. How are you? fine. Thank you. Odd. Another day, walks away backwards with finger pistols. Got an axe to grind for my employer tomorrow. 6.26ish, edited 6.30.21 and made public now! Yay!! Facetious. Only as it regard to myself. You get that, right? But, it's a little bit the rest of you. Step up. I won't bite. Toothy; too toothy.And I'm exhausting, but you people have conversed with Schnujo is Late to Lannister  , right? Meant in a good way. How you been? |
| I know I shouldn't say this, but sometimes I just need to get it off my chest. I wish I could get through a day without someone in my family saying or doing something that I will feel bad about. That's about as simplistic as I can put it. When I get up some mornings, fear and flight arrive my mind right away. There can be a cringe if I am not alone. Is she downstairs in a good mood, or bad? If she's got her mind made up to do something, will I be coaxed into not wasting another day. I get that I avoid life; I find distraction. I'm a fairly indulgent person who overdoes something when he finally decides to go after it. I sit in their judgment of my choices. I don't want to deal with this or that, I write, dawdle on the internet. I have designated times I can escape to the gym, usually right after work, or on those wide open days with nothing on my 'planner,' as if that would be utilized. So, I started the practiced of asking each night before bed, any plans for tomorrow. She's usually reluctant to say, grunts this or that like I should know. I want to know what I'm in for. I think she is already insinuating I shouldn't plan on coasting through another day, in her mind. In my mind, I'm uprooting trees, lifting houses and repaving roads. Everything I do feels like I'm tethered about the neck and pulling a combine with my teeth. All of these expressions come from the imagination that lays awake most nights, when the brain finally gives up, shuts off, only to begin again with the first eyelid lift. I'll try to bury my head under a pillow, but it's no use. I roll out, come down to the kitchen. That's when I know, is it safe to come out as me, do what I wish, or will it be lend my hand to a dish? Yuck, poor expression, but it rhymed. I could ramble on in this blog post, like I'm doing, as if I'm clearly relating a point I wanted to make, which was....was...rolls to the top of this entry, rereads. Yes, I feel trapped in my own home as someone who is misunderstood or not tolerated for not having the same approach, values about situation, my situation. And, I'm discovering and learning what it takes to survive in what feels like a war zone. I get that I'm being dramatic; I'm making the situation worse. I overreact; I overcompensate. The only reason I feel like hiding until it's safe to come out is because I do not feel tolerated anywhere I roam. Maybe, I'm making a game out of it to survive? But, I've heard the woman's discontent. Our children echo feelings, not concerns, about my idiosyncrasies as if I'm an upsetting their lives but not conventionally behaving. I just realized, I didn't give much evidence. Hmm. I'll have to consider, unless I'm avoid talking about that in blog because it is too 'traumatizing' to relive and retell it all again. When, I just want to find a little brook in my mind, where I can slip my shoes off and dip my feet in a warm, bathing stream. Dream of koi to nibble my toes, as a gentle breeze tousles my unsheltered hair. Where deer and other wildlife come to lick in that bath, nuzzle my ear. Where I can...sorry, got to go. Just say the car rounding the corner. Got to look like I'm doing something, or still asleep. Whatever. Just another rambling that sort of makes a point, but doesn't strain to create a solid piece of writing to function like a normal topic/dissertation/(word here) for consumptive, illuminating minds to follow the way it should. I'm not even sure what I just typed. Just got to go. |
Thanks to Warped Sanity  's newsletter (I should hunt down link), I wrote:"This is interesting. I hope to learn more. I found the link to this in newsfeed. I thought about attaching my reply there, but want to contribute to this newsletter foremost my reaction and thoughts (to give at least one person a better vibe about me): I'm self-confident in arenas where I'm not diminished. I find with writing or being on a basketball court, I'm in the right element. There are good days and bad days as with anything, but I have the confidence to override and even influence a few around me. We can be having so much fun, we don't want to quit. We do form bonds and associations in this way, as we 'vibe'. There are negative elements in these arenas, too. Some come with a different narrative and try to find someone else, even me, to blame for their bad day. They also divide, try to influence others against my good intentions, as if they were bad. These people just haven't figured out that it centers around their own aura. I'm learning to lean away from these people so I can shine on my own, wherever I am. It's tough sometimes not got get caught up in someone else's bad day or obvious negative perception of me. I can read the room, now that I am older and wiser. I'm more at peace as I age and don't work as hard, as if I would be empty if I don't please others. I just need to take care of myself, attune. Writing and exercising are great ways to express, decompress and release whatever is trapped inside...for me." I'm working too hard at proving my value to others some days, when I keep driving through subjects and more that cause me to opine and get into old unresolved feelings and thoughts that I thought I was done with, to see them surface again. It's like anything. an addiction; you try to kick the habit. But, you're on your own, no sponsor. It's hard to find people who can get on the same page with me, who'll (for real) be in my corner. I've found a few that remain, some new, but many who won't come over the fence between us to meet, visit again. And, I probably am the same. Knowing the neighbors in this community is difficult when I need to put a face or something iconic to a name. So, I keep to myself more than I intend. When I put myself out there, it's more than people want to know, or need to know. And, while brevity is my friend, it does not untethered what still anchors in my soul, waiting for some kind of approval from some unknown master for release. I'll plow through millions of pages of internet offerings hoping I'll meet with something, myself to say this is what you've sought or to just pack it up. I'll sit quiet a day or more, let life sink in a bit. Maybe, not dabble in it, mind erased and do this all over again. Another tack, another way to figure out what it is that needs be said with finality, like seeking perfection. Like death. It's inevitable and unavoidable, but we dream on just the same. And that's what I'll vibe about for now. However it's taken, negative or positive, I feel it's constructive, but not purposely so. 6.20.21 |
| I wrote something today that dovetailed so nicely it made me realize I need to pack it up, rather than double down. I'm not getting enough joy out of life by idling over things, while aiming for perfection, while missing the true beauty that abounds, surrounds. Better stop before I make a poem out of that, too. "Picturing" Even the entry number on this piece (that I can't edit even a bit) ironically adds to my ongoing theme. Bookmark this life? 6.17.21 |
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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! 
