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 All that remains: in afterlife as 'mainstream' blogger, with what little I know. 20k views |
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Obshchak Some torn to the ground ▼ Read here some old blog entries...  2018 Highlights ▼Brian K Compton   -- ![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) Short answer, mostly relatable. |
| April is poetry month… I expect to write. I wonder about commitment If I don’t honor this statement, what rule reveals in literally a sea of ever-changing text. If someone wants to punish you…still…they’ll come out of the woodwork, unfortunate fool. Well, I have email. Maybe tonight; maybe tomorrow. -Carnac 3.31.25 |
| 3.26.25 prompt for “Get The (vanishing) Picture,” yellow road sign on a long stretch running through a southwest desert that reads, “Absolutely Nothing For The Next 22 Mile” Here’s My Sign You’re headed the right way if you got lost looking for my house Avoid the abyss…um…everywhere. Quantum mechanics will guide you there…we hope…one day. I live in a crystal between two atoms. If you synapse, you’ll miss it. Sorry about the mess. Bosons … you know.  T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ |
If I can get through this day without giving into the temptation to freestyle Limp Bizkit, I know there’s a chance I can still make it. Just keep rollin’, baby. And stick that  …3.25.25 T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ |
| Sundowning echoes linger, soft, low. faces drift, softly go. laughter ringing, sunset gleams. fragile, memory of life’s dreams. echoes soften, come, go. these gentle breezes, soft, flow. silence but them, risen ghosts. can’t recall, and nothing to boast. 5.20.24 Quite literally. Milk almost went in the bread drawer. Also, salami. Mm, sando? |
| Even if I could get your blessing, rabbi I still, sadly, cannot be consumed, said the pig. Not cool to be pious, permutations of core values. Circumcised, these traditions circumvented, and waning — slowing until only true value left smells good on the table. Get ready to eat! Yes, rub those hands. Food seldom blessed tastes any different. Without fortitude in spirituality, ghosts exercised, excommunicate from their dulling souls before blatant ignorance — you aren’t praying enough? Pick what you want to believe, but no faith without trust. Eyes only imagine God, never to visualize, sans Jesus to never materialize, as we self-edit ourselves without ‘proof’. A complacent race boasts, impugns any integrity. The woke were yesterday, longer reside, here or there Doesn’t stop systemic, word redaction coalition dapping up ignorant influencers doing their bidding. Until we find the next meaningless, past tense verb-noun for frowny clowns, but blurt, “There’s a Boomer with Karen!! This describes your foundation? A formation following demi-gods, self-professing how good they look in the latest, cheapest haul, Asian-labor-produced? At least we create jobs with our spending? If Musk had his way, we’d be retrofitted cyborgs of tomorrow. First influencer to do it will be colonizing Mars. I hear social media ‘looky-sees’ and attribute-less media mouthpieces’ outpourings. Don’t need no education, or God, to tell: right, fundamentally wrong? Debate?? Worship what’s meant to entertain/distract you, feed, bleed heart and soul into monetized, streaming technology that Aha! Got your credit card!! and never look back to that solemn pew, a warmth pouring from stained humming with organ families with hymnals rejoicing in their devotion. Divided, fabric disintegrates, beware cloistered lung, free fresh air. Ask any cyborg mining a red planet ability to inhale, isolation not with creationism A community once supported one another, fading — until all alone, disregarded life knocks at your door. But, fearing to answer Him or if Kremlin, knowing what you avoid is civic responsibility, now politicized, as whisperers, that guy doesn't like you, while whispers to the other, he said he thinks you stupid. Egged on. Lies keep us apart where question for knowledge heal. But, it’s ‘choose a side’, ‘with us or against us’. Guys! It’s just football. Sit down and watch the game. Pass the chips? Ask, why is it two parties, us against them, neither a Hatfield nor a McCoy. Humans are family, would-be friends as neighbors, across that division. And, you might walk away from it all if recall the long, wooden bench, wait for the music, inspiring a chorus to drown out the defeatist nihilism of “I have just one vote,” take back what whisperers disparage most, make powerless, exit from where you hide, point and click U-N-S-U-B-S-C-R-I-B-E. and make room in that soul to plant a fresh seed, hope it will grow. 2.17.25 5.13.25 Edited, added, refined for clearer read of subject emphasis 55 lines, free verse, or with Coda, 61. Did you join leprechauns in the rainbow-directed search of holographic pots of gold? Oh, man. You’re missing out. It’s a really cool…hey, where you going? Out. For fresh air. Enjoy Mars, BTW.  In dreams, In the latest news, an overnight media sensation is creating a buzz about… *CLICK* Nope, you are. Shills. They’re pre-programmed everywhere because of failings of our forefathers…soft touch. |
| Updated the old review page. Love the little guy on the cover, and my best friend… https://www.writing.com/main/profile/reviews/ripglaedr3 Tooned—  The kitten Kid…  |
| https://www.writing.com/main/profile The guy with his paws in my slippers is my wash room attendant…could have been in a previous life? When I head upstairs, he sometimes waits like that and moves ahead of me to bathroom. I wrote a poem about it. As soon as he sees I’m at the vanity, comes up to rub head or chin on my bent elbow as I brush. It’s routine if I don’t keep odd hours. He does brak at us if we haven’t gone up by 8mpm. He’s rooster in the morning. I keep the bedroom door closed. His shelter name was Prometheus but became Mohawk when his fur first grew out by six months. He and his step-sibling adopted at the same time after many visits to spend time with lonely animals. The two came to meet our aging cat that looked Maine Coon. Three musketeers, if one was sometimes cranky.  |
| Hi, Brian. Hi Whatcha doin’ Just sitting here talking to myself Yeah? What about? You know Oh, yeah. Right. *idles* *taps* Did you see the… Yup. Yeah. Not really good at conversation like this. Ditto. Did you hear an echo? Only the one I’m imagining. |
T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ Nope. Yup, that’s it. |
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