This is my pulpit. I'm no preacher. ☮️
A new start for an old blog replaced by "Fading Nearer To Black" , which reached capacity 12/25/2018, which had been focused on specific writing projects and goals:
Having no specific aim going forward...
I get that I am the common denominator in all unfair aspects of this life by the choices I make, such as, surrounding myself with thorny walls of indifference I dare ascend from time to time. Don't mind my blood. I'll clean that up when I choose to be done escaping conformity. yes, boo-hoo. I realize someone somewhere (everywhere and anywhere) has it worse. You won't hear me drowning out their cries. I just confide, look for others who relate. I can't control what most drives me to share here. I don't request an amplifier or soap box or even a few moments of attention. It's cartharsis this discipline called writing. I assume that's why we're all here...
I've gone by other aliases. People remind me of that. Sometimes restrained, it's hard to understand what I write. It will be clear some day. Hard to hide what's in my heart. I'm making no apologies going forward for my feelings. Not interested in the trap of stereotypes. Not sure how we'll feel about that.
What I used to say: 'Maybe, I just don't get it. Watch me fumble with my version of reality, expose ignorance as truth. You don't have to get me, either. But, wish someone would explain me to myself.'
Now I say:
Now that I've figured out the ever changing rules of your game, you take the ball away, no longer engage me to play. You pay a price for this kind of friendship. I lose, I guess.
Should want more
Could be more
But I'm looking at a sun dial
You cast your brilliance upon
Remind the idle
And the timekeeper
One cannot possess
Minutes, hours, days and more
Should want more
Could be more
While I stare at your clock
You cast burning rays upon
Remind the idle
And the timekeeper
It burns to linger
Should seek immortal sand
To bury this burden
Why I'm still
As you fly past
Just playing with words while listening to Jefferson Starship
When I should be doing something else
Anything else while purging here
Song poem ended on...
The girl with dim, blue eyes wore matching shadow -- looked like she was leaking. Was that the affect? Not blended well, or maybe cheap, the stuff clotted like ink -- little beads burrowed ice caps in pale, shallow pores. Hiding freckles?
Made me think -- sprinkle flakes of glitter, dance in dark strobes, hideously melt heads into permanent salt. That could be an effect? I chose not look away. In fact, I felt no fear. I felt no pity. She put herself on display, while I composed these thoughts.
I am a fan of blue
But need look no further than a mirror
For what I see as a true reflection.
I still love you because I can say it while you choose
My bare light bulb burned out weeks ago and I have been sitting in the dark ever since.
There’s a twist to this story. It seems I’m the villain! I never saw that coming.
While accepting this mantle —
It’s a dubious award...but since no other distinction is forthcoming...sure,
why not make me your enemy. Now
go ignorantly into that alleged haunted abode and explore unusual noises.
Would you prefer I leer as I part?
Not who I am
I’m not your sinister.
Go look in the mirror for the forming shapes.
A Seperate Thought, Connected...
What if there are no protagonists? It's just who is the bigger villain. Do we pity the weakest villain? Who are we to judge who's the bad guy? Is the reader the villain? The writer? The publisher?
We should broaden our scope. Really look around the room. Yeah, we're all villains in someone else's eyes and we want the other guy to pity us for being cast in that role.
It's like that glass houses thing.
Even villains do something righteous from time to time, help another, maybe see in others what we see in ourselves: a chance for redemption. But, we're all just fed through that machine, trying to be seen as good. Redemption is not coming...no. The longer the wait, the harder the villain becomes. Truly pity him...because it's really going to get ugly. He has no other options than to play his part.
Life in glorious rewrite
Makes no stops
File under: Moot Arguments and
similar stuff it's unhealthy to ponder
You ever been a part of a group, a team, where everyone shuts you out? Limits your ability to contribute, be the best you can be? When the moment you make a misstep or do something that could be mischaracterized, there is someone on you about it, doesn't allow communication that could help you? Then, you get the feeling they just don't want you around. But, instead of trying to communicate it properly to you, they use their position to diminish you, force you to consider leaving the situation.
They can't or won't give you clear expectations, won't acknowledge or socialize with you. They might treat you as if you are an adversary, the opponent, when you really just desire to participate and be a part of something.
Are you forced to withdraw within yourself, put on a good face, avoid talking out of turn or criticizing for fear you give them further excuse to ostracize you, even when it is their inability to function as an inclusive, cohesive unit that could help everyone succeed?
Then why stick with it? Why not quit? Because they would get what they want. You have pride. Why not find a way to show them the errors of their ways? Be a part of the solution, instead of contributing to their problem. But, you are just one person.
Rise above it. Have the strength in your convictions. Feel sorry for them that they have to result to childish, bullyish, sociopathic manipulations and let the errors of their ways produce ultimate outcomes that will only unfavorably return to them, hopefully teaching them to be better people.
***The plot twist is the hidden meaning in the title.
|Some people don't have what it takes to make it through life, but along the way provide us with gems that sparkle forever. And, at some point, we catch a gleam on the distant horizon. Maybe, draw near and explore or rediscover what was missed -- sad we missed it for so long, sad of what could have been, all the time knowing this soul couldn't withstand a wretched world. Unlucky, or not hard enough, she ceded her beauty while passing into nothing. A glittery sunrise that equaled its sunset, I provide a 2009 cover of Judee Sill's haunting offering from 1971...
"Um, this song I just wrote a little while ago, and someone told me they heard it on the radio today-- it just came out two days ago, and um... I wanted to write a song about this principle: the lower down you go to gain your momentum from, the higher up it will propel ya, but I couldn't think of a way to say that poetically... and I happened to stumble across this real obscure theological fact, and that is that Jesus was a cross maker. That really got in my head, and I knew I had to write a song about it.
Same time, I was having a really unhappy romance with this guy: he was a bandit, and a heartbreaker. So one morning I woke up and realised that "he's a bandit and a heartbreaker" rhymes with "but Jesus was a crossmaker". And I knew that even that wretched bastard was not beyond redemption. It's true, it's true; I swear. It saved me, this song. It was writing this song or suicide, y'know?"
Sill died of a drug overdose in 1979. Https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Judee_Sill
Writing being the alternative, when there is nothing left to share with what you love...
I would describe it now the same way I described it then. Every moment was a warm one. I remember looking up in the sky from time to time and being amazed at how much my life had changed. I had no fear. Just a warm feeling. I can't describe the sense exactly, but now it seems like I was living a dream. --Michael Jordan
No stories from history end in a period. They end in a dot, dot, dot. We're just looking for someone to find the next part. - Marc Nobleman, liberator of the true Batman
Half the day the tide comes in
Half the day the tide rolls out
Never a moment’s rest
Plying brief even tide
Begging the moon give up its secret
Give it a rest —
I’m coming, I’m going
Systematically or diabolically
No will of my own strong enough
Cede I must to Mother Nature
Until I’m beached forever more
Bury me in brown crystal sand castles
Before the moon compels tide
Erode my memory
|Here's we are at this place again. So, I share...
Knowledge is the key ingredient in good writing.
Why I Must Quit
A young heart, beating like the hummingbird,
Could drown a roar of crickets romantic rhapsody,
As I chased black-specked white leather in red laces
Until her delicate voice like Saran wrapped the scene.
Heavy the lumber left in the hall like tomorrow will never come.
|Something I struggle with is my yearly review. It boils down to: did I meet expectations, did I exceed expectations. I never thought to ask what is your idea of exceeding expectations, since year-in-year-out I'm told I meet them. I go above and beyond my station many times, fulfilling the needs of others before my own. They don't seem to acknowledge it for whatever reasons. Self-satisfaction in my own performance can only go so far. Eventually, a thank you and a pat on the back feel like nothing more than patronizing. So, I stop and ask myself why I toil only to realize there is no true oversight or acknowledgement of performance. It's just a rubber stamp for someone taken for granted.
What's important is pursuing what fulfills you. If you have to dial it back and put the focus on the true prize, what's stopping you? Get the psychology degree. Take that three month excursion to a place exotic, spend more time with family. Actually put away the mental dishes and get your house in order, put your feet up and appreciate your true domain.
You don't have to tell your employer to suck it. Smile. Tell them they are doing a good job when you see through their ignorance and deceit, because you don't have time to piddle around with what small people think. Bigger fish to fry here. So what if they only flip you an extra quarter. Take it. Put out in your pocket. Then, scheme on a real dream. Decide what will be worthy of your time and passion.
Through 12-plus years I've enjoyed sharing tributes to my family...especially my children. They have taught me patience and understanding in ways no other could:
Gnarled Giants plucked
Of Autumn hair
Greet the seldom seen
Outside a festive door
Where hollow echoes of
Tapping on cement stoops
Alerts of first arrivals.
Blind doorsmen with their
Sunken orange faces
Gaze upon these visitors
With woolen garb adorned
By Winter's wily truants:
Tiny white kisses that wet
Scented warming trays
And deliverances of cheer.
The door unsealed,
Quick to open afresh --
Embraces ignore the chill
Behind each one, then closed
Before the encumbered relief.
A wet clutter drapes, lingers
Beneath, the lone chairs.
Renewed hearts gather:
Men at the hearth,
Women at the table.
Only the voices
Of children do not disappear.
The accumulated din --
A harvest of messages
To and from each chin,
It's been so long
Since the last greeting season.
|30DBC asks why I write...
I've only written about this since I could blog here.
I can tell you inspiration fires the engine. Knowing you have an audience adds fuel for one who can construct thoughts into readable, understandable sentences.
But if you are on an island shouting messages to the wind, think again. You can go crazy opining to the tree.
The dream isn't to self publish. You want people to pry to read your words. But, lacking status in a community that awards motivated people, it's hard to elbow your way past to be read.
So, instead, I write to make sense of these thoughts. Write to find truth, beauty in expressions through language. Serendipity will find a straggler or two who will drop back to view one who toils in this dark...lend comment...move on. I'm not too welcoming, reciprocating, I suppose...my flaw.
The novel is the true goal. Desire, ignorance and loneliness drive the engine that has made several runs. The vehicle returns to the shop, new journeys come along...and the distraction of poetry, blogs and news feeds. I feel it's getting nearer the older my children get, the nearer my freedom to tether myself to some word machine to tap these Salinger experiences into my one last fling before permanently retiring misunderstood and under-appreciated.
Sorry, it's me, not you.
'Twas twilight in your hair
The parting in my scalp
Hidden beneath waves of Autumn
Summer flowing freely away
To a fading sun collecting
All our warmth
From marrow wracked
By black, persistent Winter
Yearning hunger sated
At our final feast
Shelved 'til Spring
In the chilled alcoves
A gray screen sputters
Yesteryear's colors, huddled
Beneath quilts on lazy chairs
Reclined, sallow limbs pale
Mints and marshmallow dreams
Fill our pillared heads.
|I've written more than a few essays with my blog(s) here, but I'm not about to again. An essay should require thought, necessary research, time to craft, etc. I could whip one up in a day, but lightening would have to strike for it to be one I'd be proud of. And to quote a sassy...um...color-ful lady, 'I ain't got time for that.'
Oh, it could be done in an hour or less. We write essays on tests for subjects we've been studying. I'm not in school anymore.
I could link a few past 'essays' written here that were the result of much reflection before opining. But I won't.
Nature abhors a vacuum. No molecules. Space. Vacuum.
|From the Journal of Whatever the Hell Medicine I'm Dispensing:
(I made that up)
In response to the 'depressed' girl who got my DNA:
It takes a good support system to overcome bouts with depression. You can say and do all the right things dealing but no one is capable of doing it alone 24/7. Knowing you can depend on someone gives assurances. Being able to open up about what you feel and not be judged makes you stronger. Thinking you are the only one who struggles alone and shut the world out and you are right back to square one.
Life's ills have a way of sneaking up on you, outright hit you right out of left field. If you don't recognize signs, prepare, you carry an immeasurable weight that will make a comeback seem impossible, possibly hopeless. What you want to be able to do is be ready to face life head on. That might not always be easy.
If something is holding you back from calling out, it has you. You locked your mind up and swallowed the key. It feels like you should be able to do something, lack desire to get yourself out. Your strength is suppressed, your mind blocked from answers it seeks. Having someone who can recognize the signs, know what works best for you, can get you out.
We struggle with why we feel this way. Accept the disadvantage your DNA provides. If medication doesn't work, there is exercise. Going outside and getting sunlight is important. Fresh air and new vistas for the mind's eye are important. The more creative outlet, the more rewarding how energy is spent, and the better you'll begin to feel. There's more.
Eat right. Good food can help. Avoid sugar and carbs that will affect your desire for more. Snack less. Get help finding best foods, meal plans to help. Obviously, substance abuse affects depression. So does the wrong foods. Be careful what you put in your body. If you have setbacks with diet, acknowledge and start over again. There are no failures and plenty of do-overs.
Find an outlet to be the best version of you. What are your interests? Writing, art or something more functional like cooking, knitting, or maybe, reading. When you are being creative, exploring new worlds, you can build as a person. You can try a new activity, do it with friend or family. Experiencing what you like and sharing passions at home and in the community creates extra reward and incentive. You develop interests and grow as an individual.
With depression comes feeling overwhelmed. Doing something like a task and mentally checking it off can feel good. When you reward yourself with an hour of something you like to do, take a break to do a chore. It doesn't require a planner or reminders. When you are ready to reward yourself, think of something to do afterward as payment. You get two rewards in this way, maybe more. As you find yourself getting things done and enjoying yourself, those rewards earn interest. You may feel inspired to get a lot done. It's important to take breaks from things you enjoy. Be sure to get a breath of fresh air and a new perspective.
Now, there are times we get in a rut. Don't blame yourself if you got off track. The moment you recognize is the moment you have that wheel in your hands. Gently return to doing the things that reward and do not bother with that rear view mirror. You can even ask your co-pilots and navigators for help. They say it takes a village. Supporting one another keeps us all strong and happy.
It's important to remember we are human. Our feelings count. We can learn to rely on ourselves. We can have fun and enjoy life. If we can't deal with problems head on, ask for help. Understand, we all have obstacles in our life, just not all the same. We can come together to support one another.
BTW, this is in response to an essay her eighth grade teacher wants to see published, unable to know the true drama we have witnessed that comes from bad habits, not wanting to do chores/homework and hormones uniquely befitting a 13-year-old girl struggling with becoming a woman. Hang in there baby. You emote well, even on paper.
Maddie's article not provided, her copyright.
Just noticed my latest poem was featured in this week's Spiritual Newsletter...
Also, my 2018 Quill Award nominee "Lost In The Shuttle" earned a great honor from "Second Time Around Contest"
Thanks Choconut ~ is 4!
Great opportunity for those who have contest items that earned honorable mention or less...poems or stories. Was a pleasure!
|I might share a poem with you
I shoved it in your face
You might say, it's nice
When did you write it?
Thirty years ago
But, you look as though
I wrote it this morning
in response to something
the way I always respond
And, I learn
from our little interactions
you don't know me
like you say
I tell the same stories
until they're cliche
But, what you know
is what you chose to see
hidden between those lines
in your reality --
fiction imposed on me
of original glances
without deeper introspect
I desire, maybe
from one as discerning as you
But, I'm watching
learning how you observe
from one so unwitting --
realize, you changed me
I'm the same
after thirty years
but, not exactly
you envisioned me to be
Because, I'm escaping
on a horizon --
a ghost searching
looking for a man
I was thirty years ago
once so amazing
want to introduce you to
when I find him
I'll write again
tomorrow and tomorrow
hoping I'll get me right -- that
you'll catch a glimpse
so I can begin again anew
Thirty years --
a long time
to be stuck
in that frame
to smile back for you
I'm not me.
|It wasn't just mom at the table
It was five mothers who entreated a child
With baked goods and compliments
While men, gruff, killed animals in their tales
By the glowing mantle of the living room
It was cozy and bright at the round table
Some knitted, wore shawls by the cold wall
Something warm formed a smell enticing
From nearby oven, aroma of coffee tempted
If you spoke, each scented lady responded
The men never noticed, took time to feed
A curious child's ego should he near. But,
There was a knowing boy, much younger
Sitting on our father's lap. Allowed to touch
The stock of a long-barreled gun. And,
When he hungered, the moms would come
Entreat with their adoring haloes, present gifts
Of fresh baked goods from our round table.
And when they exited the door, his cheeks
Pinched, protruding belly prodded, Hair
Rubbed a mess, with a smile still knowing
As I stood empty, deflecting a lifetime.
Same old theme and raw, needing edit with fresh eyes