by Brian KC
Rising Star who went full supernova almost overnight, heading toward black hole.
You are not going to live this one down...|
"Note: Shhhhhhhhhh..... We need to t..."
In an ever-changing world, we need to handle topics at the ready. If you roll over and give in to mindspeak 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 your drama aside. Open minds require 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 your pathetic cries for justice.
You've been distracted with trinkets to appease your fickle, feeble minds. Wake up!
I destroy this blog as I write, not wanting to be noticed or fit in. It's because I cannot live up to the master's expectations shadowing over my own, fading and forgotten and yet renewing as I stray and ignore their self-evident, subjective truths.
Just writing what I feel without the narrative-altering mind f---ing with my head.
DISCREDITED BY COLOR OF MY BRIEF SKIN
"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.
|just spit-balling philosophy
Do I argue I exist, if you have not shone
your light upon my empty space?
Nature abhors a vacuum,
yet, empty, unfilled spaces like this
goes against nature?
This Aristotle would persist...
does a void yield
if you make it naught?
What moves through this hole,
if you can find it, prove it
cannot contain what you bring...
be it light
be it water
be it air
to love, to sate, to breathe...
if you are the earth,
should I reside upon it?
empty, deflecting of all it contains?
I prove in a vacuous state
next to nothing, as you negate.
Harnessing a destabilizing belief,
collapsing all that asserts upon me,
could set the small space free
to inhabit within thee...
in the small spaces, virtually.
In the mind (I have one),
in this heart (I act on),
in the soul of Him,
lacking but filling with guilt from grief,
a mere shadow appears.
In dark, unfillable property,
the indefinable energy,
you would impose your philosopy
that I shouldn't exist...
but I'm here. Good luck
getting through to me with
all the space you put
I do not require an atom of energy,
but persist in sanctity,
of reverence to emptiness
and all who could see, despite
blindness from ignorance
that nature abhors
the very ability of me
to persist within what you dream
the entity, invisibly
you should not sleep at night.
just more thoughts on this vagueness I bathe myself in
BLOG: "SuperNova Afterglow: Universal Writer"
POETRY BLOG: "Antithetical 📝 Jottings by RenownPoet"
2020 WDC Heart Throb Poet:
2014 Dear Me Winner:
Rising Stars Most Talented Author 2011
2009 North Star Award
Award-winning broadcast journalist, former poetry editor, newspaper editor, columnist, freelancer writer in multiple publications.
|A new 'Let's be real' session with myself, in an open forum...
There's this ruminating about THE novel. I look at it from all angles and wonder about my mentality that forces me into this dance around it. I look it up one side and the other, barely interacting with the idea, basic premise, the inner workings. I'm not really inspecting it, but the idea of its purpose. As its master, the need for its creation. Then, I travel down an avenue about writing fiction. It could open discussion to further delay this project:
Does one who desires to be an architect of a story need to be an avid reader of fiction?
To break it down further. I read non-fiction. I've learned this is a trait of a person of my particular psychological makeup. Does this mean my aversion to reading novels is a reason why I don't have the right mind to write a full length manuscript of fiction?
Here's what I know and struggle with. It's not that I don't understand the construct of characters, setting, conflict and resolution or even elements of foreboding, symbolism and developing a subject of worth with context that a reader can appreciate. I can write a hook and I can summarize story.
I cannot, however, create an alternate universe with its own parameters, reality, sets of beliefs and morals with assumed characters without feeling phony, not true enough to reality. Not true enough to my own experiences without embellishing and getting lost in my way and what direction a story could go.
Yes, I could plot a course with outline and characters with things to do. What if I want to deviate or try to make them seem real? What if I just want to write my own story and then change all the names when I'm done, because it feels fake if I change just one detail about them, including any attribution. And that's when I run into this wall of recall. I have to make up words they said, can barely paraphrase. It starts to feel fake again. I'm like some Holden Caulfield who is at war with himself.
I'm in my own paradox. I suddenly want to create alternate timelines with any story where my fictional charcters and real characters run into each other and turn to me, their master, and ask what the hell I'm doing. It's odd that this surreal world I'm in is blocked before I can take my fictional creations any further than a sudden outburst of words that dead-end when I've written into these corners of the mind.
I see an opportunity with Nano Prep. I stopped myself from signing up because the entry form felt a little confusing what I was committing to. I had to give that some thought. So, while I put all things on hold while my life is on hold, I get trapped. I turn to the easy things to write and distract myself instead.
But here's the other thing. Year in and year out I talk with her about my desire to write a novel...The novel. Year after year her interest wanes more. I realize it's gotten to the 'Uh-huh, that's nice dear' phase of this conversation. The point where I have to completely drop it. Now, my motivation is just, write it and surprise her. But here again is me going toward something for the wrong reasons. I need to believe in the project foremost for myself. I have to work out these obstacles I place before me, as I'm questioning if I have the right head for fiction.
I'm not organized. I'm easily distracted. My head is a clutter. I can't focus when I should. I need rewards that leave me in limbo. I should just want to do this for myself. i should not want to do this to shove in someone's face. I need a clear vision, clear goals, to make a path toward something that could be realized and completed. I feel I don't even know my own mind well enough in this self-analyzing psychosis pending state of reality I'm in.
I'll keep hashing it out in blogs and mindless musings, while I wait for a reality check.
Hi, my name is Brian. You may have encountered me running in and out of areas of Writing.Com where i mostly feel like Chang on an episode of Community where my reality seems to be that of a ghost. Since I'm invisible to most of you, I decide to act the part and rattle my chains. Be all big and scary. But for the indifferent...well, they won't see this anyway.
I'm likely Schizophrenic, so take that with a grain of psychoanalytical salt.
|You know that time literally stops when you're on Writing.Com?
But, the moment you duck out time immediately - snaps - back. Whooosh!
This time expansion forces me to miss daylight, chores from the list, that judgmental clock on the wall.
Perhaps, an entire season or a year could go by with nothing to recall. I wonder the why of it all.
Perhaps, when I wake tomorrow, I'll skip the coffee and the computer.
Perhaps, I'll wake up one day and you won't be there. I'll be in that other dimension I avoided, the place I was meant to be.
|Ever feel like your living in a bubble? Do you feel you followed a dream to an internet community where you were treated special and could give your special talents to something and feel the love reciprocated? Ever get like this?
"We used to worry about filter bubbles, which accidentally trap users in a certain sphere of information. In the era of social networks, the bubble has expanded: People can easily become enmeshed in online communities that operate with their own media, facts, and norms, in which outside voices are actively discredited. Professor C. Thi Nguyen of Utah Valley University refers to these places as echo chambers. “An epistemic bubble is when you don’t hear people from the other side,” he writes. “An echo chamber is what happens when you don’t trust people from the other side.”
There are some common pathways reported by people who fall into, and then leave these communities. They usually report that their initial exposure started with a question, and that a search engine took them to content that they found compelling. They engaged with the content and then found more. They joined a few groups, and soon a recommendation engine sent them others. They alienated old friends but made new ones in the groups, chatted regularly about their research, built communities, and eventually recruited other people.
“When you met an ignorant nonbeliever, you sent them YouTube videos of excessively protracted contrails and told them things like: 'Look at the sky! It's obvious!'" Stephanie Wittis, a self-described former chemtrails and Illuminati conspiracy believer, told Vice. “You don't even go into detail about the matter or the technical inconsistencies, you just give them any explanation that sounds reasonable, cohesive, and informed—in a word, scientific. And then you give them the time to think about it."
This behavior resembles another, older phenomenon: It’s strikingly similar to cult recruitment tactics of the pre-internet era, in which recruits are targeted and then increasingly isolated from the noncult world. “The easiest way to radicalize someone is to permanently warp their view of reality,” says Mike Caulfield, head of the American Association of State Colleges and Universities digital polarization initiative. “It’s not just confirmation bias ... we see people moving step by step into alternate realities. They start off questioning and then they’re led down the path.”
The path takes them into closed online communities, where members are unlikely to have real-world connections but are bound by shared beliefs. Some of these groups, such as the QAnon communities, number in the tens of thousands. “What a movement such as QAnon has going for it, and why it will catch on like wildfire, is that it makes people feel connected to something important that other people don’t yet know about,” says cult expert Rachel Bernstein, who specializes in recovery therapy. "All cults will provide this feeling of being special.”
The idea that “more speech” will counter these ideas fundamentally misunderstands the dynamic of these online spaces: Everyone else in the group is also part of the true believer community. Information does not need to travel very far to reach every member of the group. What’s shared conforms to the alignment of all of the members, which reinforces the group's worldview. Inside Cult 2.0, dissent is likely to be met with hostility, doxing, and harassment. There is no counterspeech. There is no one in there who’s going to report radicalization to the Trust and Safety mods."
You're in a cult?
|I share a review I wrote:
Review of "Peace"
Dear Prasenjit Paul ,
For a short poem, it seemed a long departure. I looked in on "Peace" and discovered a poem described as fulfillment in life. I had to reconsider the context of the poem upon observing this. Perhaps, this poem is more about the end of one's life. Perhaps, it is actually a sad goodbye.
The only reason I doubt this sounds like one fulfilled is it lingers and seems to draw attention to this narrator going on about 'lonely I will depart' because one has 'done their best' and 'nobody will disturb' before that 'happiness and bliss.' I think the writer is actually trying to get someone to notice. It's falsely modest, but it is nothing to be ashamed of.
We all get in this way where we have to tell ourselves that what we've been, what we've done in this world and for others, amounted to something. It sounds like one reassuring that they have mattered. And, who actually pens a poem before leaving, and makes it seem about a final farewell. A goodbye that might seem permanent?
It might be overdramatized for effect. I get it. I'm there. This is how life seems to leave us...empty, unfulfilled. I lie and tell people I'm fine, I'm worthy, all the time. In my heart of hearts, yeah there's a big hole there. I fill it with delusion or whatever will do. There is a deeper meaning and texture to this poem that goes beyond what a reader may see or believe.
If it's just on the surface, this is just an ordinary poem about, 'okay, I'm leaving,' or 'okay, bye, this is me walking out the door.' Who does that? Normally, just someone who wants a grand exit. We want those arms to enwrap us and make us feel warm, to make us feel like the visit was pleasant with the reciprocated love.
But, this poem is just a person alone, as if speaking to oneself. Is that the echo of our words we hear as we are alone in the doorway on that sweet exit out?
I am totally on board with this. It is awkward, perhaps not on purpose. We write these things when we are in a particular mood. It is self-fulfilling or a grand illusion about life, but it is certainly not providing the evidence to support the depicted description. I've been known to be dishonest with myself in this way. It's humanizing. And, I think it is beautiful and endearing.
It's important to accept we are lonely and that we are self-sustaining as we must love ourselves and the gifts that we've given, even when it feels we are not appreciated. And to me, that overall sums up the general tone and theme presented here.
Thank you for sharing this.
When I begin to think how easy it is to drop 500 to a thousand words on a review, I think about the novel. But then I examine why I don't just plow into it again. What's stopping me isn't necessarily that I couldn't knock out 50k words in two weeks. I think writing fiction is like trying to bullshit a bullshitter...at least in the context of a writing community.
Listening to people discuss their slants on preferred fiction, it's wide-ranging. Not necessarily main stream stuff that they're talking about, and I'm lost. I don't care for derivative styles, not what draws me in to specific genres. Maybe, I'm too vanilla thinking in the context of reality, and what I could draw from...experience. Then, I think, I've been here 14 years. I don't have a crew, an audience, unless it's about poetry. Even then, how seriously am I really taking it?
I thought, after one zoom session, there are some real people. While I agree with a lot of things they say and can jump in and talk about many subjects that inspire thought, I can't visualize myself speaking very much. The one time I went in a particular direction, I started to talk too fast, felt I could hyperventilate. I remember looking inward, my eyes not focused on the images facing me on the screen. Yeah, it was my first time, and with mostly strangers looking on. I felt afterwards that I was not true to myself, that I was false. I might not have seem like it to them.
So, I stare at the screen. I look on at the massive numbers of words I've created in this community. Would anyone disagree I've written enough for 10 books or more? Why wouldn't I devote all of that effort to myself? It feels I'm being untrue to myself, because I'm trying to serve something outside of me. This website designed a system where some writers are elite of others. My value as a writer here, devalued by that system. I realize that everything I do for this community is not really for myself in the long run.
How am I benefiting from this association? How am I going to tackle that novel if I go on thinking I have not found a group I fit in? Why, why haven't I found like-minded people? Was I so hurt before I came here that I pushed everyone away so they couldn't see how false I felt? Or, could it be that this website has not facilitated my needs in a way that I expected it would or should?
Lots of good questions. No easy answers. I could stop reviewing. I could stop writing poetry. I could end this dance through newsfeed like it is going to humanize me and draw people nearer. It's just some likes, quips and on to the next. I share my face. I see avatars in return. I see real people in zoom and wondered, why public here? Am I the false one? Because, I could really share. But, would that be going too far. Yes, I would like to share my life in Green Bay with the rest of you. Baby steps, I thought. But, I am a baby and that is why I feel like pushing away again.
Whatever is that I have done to make this community so dismissive of me, I need to be educated. I always took any indifference or shunning as proof my provocative statements to draw people out are enough to show my true value to them. I could offer more of myself, and have. But, I won't commit. Not if it's going to continue like this. I know that if I devote all my time to myself and nothing else, it will be the same result.
No one is going to take the time to read my blog, plow through all of this to get to the end. I might as well keep typing, for myself. I have dived into the other blogs and postings of people who seem to need attention over those who get more than their fair share, and it yields nothing for me still. Yet, people in this community seem to know one another, get involved with one another. It might be all tied to the cryptocurrency that is the unit that drives this machine. do I give in to it? Do I want to know the only reason people befriend me is because I drop a couple hundred dollars a year to pathetically draw their ears? Is that friendship?
I've been through all of this and more in my life outside the internet. When I arrived in 2006, I didn't know what I was setting myself up for. I knew I could write novel length stuff. I did not want to self-publish. Do I plow forward knowing that is my only outcome with this craft? Posting on this website is self-publishing and is earning me as much respect and money as I could expect to receive anywhere. Shouldn't I be satisfied with that?
One problem, I stumbled into this place and knocked over a bunch of stuff before I got a handle on things. And there's this matter of listening to all these sorts go on about how their this or that. To listen to these associations that they form for being this or that. Well, I don't need a blue ribbon or someone paying homage to my case color. But, that is the hurdle that stands in the way. That is the thing that forces folks who don't know the difference from my book cover what worth I could be, or have been, in this writing community. If you have peered inside and it remains this way, then I will only have to assume my value here. And, it apparently isn't from reviewing.
While I am rewarded handsomely with the crypto-credit, 20 of my last 100 reviews earned a response from the author. I know an in-depth should do better than that. So, here I am spinning my wheels in my blog. I don't need pity. I don't need fake relationships. I don't know what I need at this point. I do know, I will continue to write and sour and it will be what it is as the days pass. I have tired of the false relationships. I can tell where I stand with people who greet me with words that feel we are six feet apart. Don't need the platitudes, though I'll hear them to continue to know where I stand with each.
I know I won't kiss the ground to earn favor. I know I won't go out of my way to strike out of some sort of animosity. I'm owed nothing, even if I feel I have overpaid with something more valuable than money...to me. And that has been my words. More specifically, content.
I see what is linked in the margins. Some of the most god-awful stuff. For a website that should want to put its best foot forward, you draw in an odd assortment. Imagine the competition among good writers and the levels that this place could go. I have to read material outside of this website for inspiration, often. I find it hard with the flawed rating system to ferret out works worthy of review. Then, I find a few authors I like and the people they like and I read and review and hope to associate. But, there is a color barrier, it seems.
It's unfortunate that when I get to the bottom of this blog post, it's like getting to the bottom of my last cup of coffee and still uninspired. Still wishing I had that special slice of something to go with that Joe that didn't sate. The days are far and few between with this caffeine addiction that leaves me always trying and always coming up empty.
so sad that I get to the end of this and the only thing playing on a loop inside my head are the lyrics from the song, 'no I won't give up...' slowly and sadly churning over and over melodramatically or bittersweetly. ly-something.
Grammar check later. (I had to resist writing all kinds of introductions to this piece, post mortem) DOA
The problem with the systematic way members are put on disproportionate levels leads to less interaction and not more. You have put worlds within worlds with walls that only incentivizes the best activity from the privileged elite which is actually becomes less beneficial than those with the drive corrupted by the perceived division. We're basically all equals...but we're given information otherwise here.
This relationship is f'd up...not just on my end.
|I finally did it. The thing I should be doing and should have been doing all along is right in front of me. I've started to mingle with that novel, the one that has been so closely associated with my life as a journalist. I think 30 years is long enough.
When rereading what I wrote, I realized that I thought my story was too dull to come across to a reader's audience. I was wrong. In recounting the events to my physical therapist the other day, I realized I had more than one nemesis, struggled in the university atmosphere and at a public radio station because of this PC culture I had never been exposed to before, the fact that (lead buried?) I had been the victim of not one but two sexual predators (and maybe more) who used their position to manipulate me, and a love interest that would not be.
It's been so personal and real that the biggest part of the story that I discount is that I had glaucoma. The pressure of being at college and my abuse of alcohol created an even worse scenario. I had to buckle down and keep my personal and public life under control while I went through discouraging encounters with doctors and two surgeries. I also managed to be a full-time student holding down two part time jobs while attempting a social life that included pursuit of a girl introduced to me by my backstabbing roommate who threatened me because he and her were 'mentally ill' (he ironically a victim of sexual abuse by his father: claimed) that I think he was using to get closer to her. However, he was jealous of me and her apparent attraction to me. But, through some guise I couldn't see, he managed to lower me in her eyes, though I suspect that didn't matter. She would have an incident with police that landed her in jail and set her off on a journey that seemed to force us into a platonic association. Maybe, it's because after one night out at the bar I wrote on a slip of paper for her to see my actual desire for her. It was never discussed. But, it was pointed out at one point why we could only be friends, because she didn't want to lose what we had. It could have been out of respect for her friend, my roommate. It could have been that I was truly the mentally ill one, though I thought I hid it pretty well. Ironically, I was the sanest when I was with her.
Which gets me to the next thought I had when revisiting this. Does one try to make fiction out of a real story, or just make it an autobiographical piece. Do I use fiction (definitely for dialogue) to glue together a story that I cannot imagine without embellishing to flesh it out. Maybe, as it develops, be able to recall events. Perhaps, the whole novel could be about a search to understand what happened in the early 90s. Why I walked away from that life and never looked back, because it burned me out, failed me, and I failed it...by my own ignorance of how to handle it.
I have regrets. That is essentially the motivation for going back.
Here's what I wrote as a new introduction (very rough):
The song Slow Burn might best describe my life at the end of 1989 on varied levels. It's a story that could begin in so many places (and still does when brought up in reflection/flashbacks) and could end just as quickly.
It’s taken me nearly thirty years to weave together journals and fictional attempts to account for the years that brought about a mental awakening. This new sobriety in '89 was aided by what was coined as negative capability, which I had been learning to apply and eventually deplete. My use of telephones would become one casualty, oddly (a phobia?).
Like any story with a prequel, it really all began in 1984 when I was recruited by a community college after I responded to an ad for a seminar in town on writing careers and more. I was sold on getting paid while working for credit at a local newspaper. Though the Daily News shot me down, a local shopper grabbed me up. The fuel was provided to show my rejecters what they were missing, as I started a misguided journey to prove my talent as a writer.
After five and a half years and a fine arts degree, with two and a half years spent chasing news stories as a broadcast journalist for a local radio station, I was staring at a huge change for my life: an attempt at a four-year degree while a student news associate at the university Public Radio affiliate in Marquette.
Many will remember and fictionalize my journey differently than I account, because I was not stronger than the narrative that would be applied to me for the two years it took me to get in the door and then rush out like it was some turnstile at the end of 1992.
I was naïve and didn’t realize people I encountered didn’t play fair. I had many failed relationships before washing the slate clean in December of 1989, and it included demolishing my car on New Year's eve, right after getting affairs squared away in Marquette.
Though, this story is not a religious journey, it was after a plea to god to help me that I rolled my car after a night in my hometown to celebrate. I didn’t give Him as much credit as deserved for that auspicious start to the next two years, even after climbing out of an overturned Oldsmobile at the bottom of a ravine. It rolled several times on the way down. I was not wearing a seatbelt. I used my arms and legs to brace myself inside the cabin all the way down in that machine.
I walked away with a gimpy ankle that clicked in cold weather for, ironically, the next two years. I had been sleepy, I guess, the moment the car gained speed climbing that hill from the club a quarter mile away with only two miles to drive. It made no sense as the car climbed that it would cross over the centerline, which I could vividly remember for years. After cutting the wheel, the Cutlass Calais with the Quad-Four engine seemed to slide across the 'cut off road' toward a guard rail at the top that would inevitably be sheared off.
Steering out of the car’s new direction on that fateful night (do I believe in fate and destiny?), it seemed to steer and propel itself, as if it had stepped on a bar of soap in a wet shower. To this day, I believe I may have been drowsy but not drunk in my weakened state after a few drinks following an exhausting evening of basketball. I could not imagine it was enough to cause me to send the wrecked car awry.
What I was ticketed for, I don’t recall, but it wasn’t drunk driving. I wondered if my days communicating with the local sheriff in my capacity as a news reporter helped change the outcome. I don’t recall anything more than a sobriety test, which was simply counting backwards from 100. And when it was time to meet with a claims adjuster, my prayer was answered. I had money for college. I was able to pay off my auto loan and put an extra $2500 toward my living expenses and education, until I earned enough to get me through the next two years. It wouldn’t stop there.
I took a second radio job part-time while earning 16-20 credits per semester. I didn’t have to take that many classes, but I was about to become an overachiever who would pull down three state broadcasting awards.
I was Mr. Serious to other student interns at the PBS bunker where we gathered. They tried to get me to integrate and loosen up. I could have become the next director of that radio station by the summer of '92, but I did not want to be part of that atmosphere anymore. When I denied the station manager’s request to oblige his request to seek the position, he turned on me. It got colder and even more divisive. Little did I know that he would become (and had been) a sexual predator who used his position to get close to guys like me. Young, attractive men he could keep under his thumb.
That's as far as I want to go with the current synopsis.
|I encourage you to share this (too) if you agree or disagree, though not much for asserting opinion as much as framing factual information and other's theories...
I don't defend him. I just know how our family handled the Covid19 situation. We prepared a room where my wife could isolate if she got ill working in an environment where the virus could spread. Be damned if she didn't get it, knew instantly she was compromised and for two weeks was sequestered, going through hell with that virus alone.
We advocated all the things people could do to protect themselves: masks, hand-washing, anti-bacterials and isolate. That last one was the most important.
As a nation, we have our government, but as a world that was going through this pandemic at the same time, we had all the governments with all the doctors of the world advising. There wasn't a sound unison of voices at the outset.
It feels China was tight-lipped, but did not hide how they were responding. Information flowed from every direction and what could be used as treatment, including hydroxychloroquine until it became the lightening rod, because the most watched leader in the country and world was taking it.
So how are we to act today? Betrayed? Misled? We had the same information from multiple sources and many people have the right to decide what they should do before states decided fates.
Were people forced home? Yes, mostly, but not all at once. Repercussions like penalties might not have been enforced or were ceremonial, but stories did surface of extreme penalties for people breaking code or curfew. The best any state could do was enforcement, before that was compromised.
Did businesses shut down? Some were resourceful, some had no clue. I think where meat processing plants were concerned, health departments dropped the ball and it raises some eyes. Not all stores enforced masks in the first months until that summer wave and state governments had to step in again and really enforce health rules. There was not a lot of compliance at first until it got real.
Did we have the medical supplies to meet the needs of a country? Some would say no, maybe, but assuredly, it would be supplied eventually. Masks and respirators were big concerns. Many large businesses pledged support, but it would take up to a month to be fully stocked to protect. We were at best, off guard. I think China and other countries had first dibs. AT least, there were resources still available, but availability of N95 masks would be at the top of our weaknesses.
Was testing available? We'd like to think there was. But there is more to it than that. If you can get a test, it has to be administered (and how) and it has to be processed (how and where). And results? A week? It seemed unreasonable and incomprehensible. Tests were needed for sick patients before the public at large, until enough time had passed. This goes to lack of preparation, too.
Did hospitals have the necessary resources? Here is where we get to the meat of the matter. Would people overreact and want to be tested and treated for every little symptom, when there was a strain on hospitals that would overshadow patients who truly needed care over those that were scared. It was the 'you're on your own' statement that applies here best. States would have to figure out that part of the equation because we are so spread out with populated city centers and access by highway or byway. Strategy was best in the hands of state government, where the federal had it's hands full trying to advise and secure an economy that could go in the dumper and pandemonium would be worsen.
After the first market swoon, there was a lot at stake. Our country needed to steer clear of a recession so bad it could've equaled the most famous stock market collapse. That would be more work than a country would have to dig out of (for a decade?). Money from the government was earmarked for people to stay at home and many took good advantage of that, to the point that is could have had a boomerang effect and strap businesses that needed help.
You have to look at the big picture. It's not just about public health. It's about focused health. Testing was limited at first when it was not available. Then, it was focused in areas to trace the disease to focus resources. But, then summer came and so did the idiots who partied and couldn't stay away from holidays or events. And then, riots.
Let's point out that a lot of tests are going to pro sports leagues and more, over a nation at large. NFL, three tests per player, per day. There was a definite drop off in tests available to many hospitals recently. Some are, even now, disregarding employees concerns about spreading the disease after being infected in respective workplaces. It's basically the old military, don't ask, don't tell policy. Hospitals don't want to lose their bread and butter and go back to testing like running a MASH unit. So, those people on the front lines in the beginning who knew and were ready, are still on the front lines and still dealing but even more quietly now about all the risks they face.
If a conspiracy nut, let's put this on the table. Was some or all of this manufactured with an important election year coming? If I were an opponent of the incumbent and knew my only chance to defeat him was to stir the pot, what would you come up with? Are we so naïve to believe that politics played out on both sides of the aisle? And if not, what country or countries could plan this to weaken the United States specifically, a country with a leader who has imposed restricted trade and more? It's all important to consider that many might not have played fair, preying on the weaknesses of the US.
What you need from your parents is somebody strong and willing to act. Our parents made mistakes raising us, but hopefully, with the best intentions. Hopefully, they knew what was most important. To show strength is one thing. To show strength while holding our hands takes great character. We don't have the ability to really choose our parents. There are only two initially, if we're lucky.
We have one parent who wanted to take on the role and did what they thought was best for the family that they foster. Did they make mistakes? I think it's really too soon to tell. As with a trial, you have to get all that information out there, make it official, then decide. Even then, court of public opinion will debate ad nauseum. Get used to it. Politics will rear its ugly head and all stories (the bigger the better) will play out.
Will we ever be totally convinced? I think we have just one court of opinion that could truly weigh in. There is enough time for arguments either way. If everyone gets a chance to speak, then it will be decided. And the fate of one country, and the world, well, that's always going to be in the balance no matter who serves.
I will say this, Dr. Anthony Fauci is a clever man, quietest behind the scenes.
I will continue to check my facts against assertions and I will seek to clarify what I say and illuminate anything I've offered. It's just one person's opinion. I'm not about to sway anyone but ask people who are quick to judgment to consider every bit of evidence and try to place it in that puzzle. It's not easy. It takes some time and devotion to follow public information, events, and with experience, consider what it all means.
These thoughts could get all flipped on their head at any time. What I do know, the media is as big a culprit as anyone in the way it disseminates information for undereducated people to consume and process. We all just want our sports back, don't we? Well, you did get that. I'll leave it at that. Although, if Ayn Rand could weigh in about distracting the public, that would be helpful now. Where are all her fans?
My response to another blog flying below the radar (for preservation):
"Nicely crafted. I shared it with my wife. She gave me context so I could be sure what you alluded to.
Lot more factors than just public health at stake. I wonder how the book quotes will be framed for context. Mr. Know-It-All is not a Mr. Do-Nothing without a reason. I need to hear a good defense, or I have to buy into some conspiracy to mislead...for financial gain? To help the rich? Was he trying to avoid a market collapse? Keep our country solvent? I need a smoking gun, better than those titillating quotes. I need context.
We need another Deep Throat."
I respect all opinions on this subject. My news background prepares me to be as objective as possible. I'm not waving anyone's banner.
|"Brian, why are you here?"
"Oh, hey Joe."
"You're not on the guest list."
"Is there hors d'oeuvres?"
"Did someone invite you? How'd you know about this party?"
"Oh, I've always known. It's not a big secret."
"But, you're not supposed to be here. You weren't invited."
"You know, Joe, you need to relax. This party needs me."
"Stephan! Stephan! Come here. Come-come, I said, come-over-here! Aahhgghh!
"Yes, what is it you want boss?"
"Did you let him in?"
"Who, dis guy. Yeah, why not? He's big man on campus, no?"
"He wasn't invited."
"Oh, that is impossible. Look! Everyone here knows him and they are having a good time."
"Fine. Go on! I'll take care of this myself."
"Brian, hey! Brian! Geez, why do I have to do this?"
"Oh, hey Joe. Still waiting on those hors d'oeuvres. But none of that pate crap."
"I'm kicking you out. You're not preferred."
"Joe, settle down bud. You're killing the vibe in the room. Besides, you need me."
"I don't need you. No one needs you."
"Listen, I think everyone here begs to differ. Just relax. It's a party. Did you forget?"
"Last warning, pal!"
"Hey! Easy on the threads. That's genuine silk."
"Oh, that looks expensive. Sorry. Look..."
"Okay, tell ya what I'm gonna do. Let's be reasonable. I've got a bottle champagne in my car. We can celebrate."
"Sure, sure Brian. You do that. Hahaha. Go out to your car. Okay, fine. Stephan. Psst!"
"Yeah, boss. Did you pssst at me?"
"I need you to go over and lock--the--doo-oor. Ya think you can handle that? Huh?"
"But, Joe. Not everyone is here yet."
"Just do it!"
"Okay, if that's what you want."
"Everybody! Can I have your attention! Can you, ah, turn that music down for a minute. Just for a minute. O-kayyyy? Thanks. Alright, we're heading to the rear ballroom. Fun and prizes!"
"Yeah, it's gonna be loads of fun. Steph, you lock us in?"
"Kill the lights."
"Everybody, we're going to hang back here for a bit."
"Where's the games?"
"Yeah, and the prizes?!"
"Coming. It's a little early. Just--let's just be quiet, for awhile."
"Yeah, Joe? Why?"
"Surprised to see me? Hey, everyone! I made it! Champagne?"
"WhoHoo! Brian, you're the man!"
"Who's got cups?"
"I want some. Oh, yeah!"
"Me, too. Gimme!"
"Geez, what do I gotta do to get rid of this guy?"
"Boss, I don't know what your problem is. He's been around a long time and people like him. Look."
"Yeah, I know. He'll just spoil everything."
"What? Afraid he'll get all the attention? You let more guys in like that and this place will be cooking."
"Whatever, I'm going upstairs. I got a headache and I need to code 4 Terabyte of something, or update my virus software. Just...clean up."
"Brian! Brian! Brian!"
"Let's pump those jamz!!"
"Ain't no party without BK in the hizzy!"
"Can you believe that guy. Thanks, Steph!"
|We can vilify and dehumanize a person before acknowledging they're human and prone to err. When in a position of public service, we expect the best from them. The public might be quick to judge in some instances how they conduct themselves. It does not make excuse for their resulting behavior; but if they are genuinely good people, its unfortunate their lives are sacrificed for a larger cause (or greater good) that tramples them in its wake.
And you have to wonder again about justice; if we are too quick to convict, at least without knowing all the information and the true hearts of caring individuals. Again, not a defense but a call for objectivity, which even the media struggles with nowadays. Journalism is akin to gossip rather than serving the public hungry for information. Maybe, trying to get a jump on all the media sources out there. Get ahead of a public that is ready to type and hit send on those social media buttons before fully comprehending in this cancel culture, dehumanizing process that self-convicts a race of people...
"What I like most is that you’re dealing with people on perhaps the worst day of their lives and you can try and help them as much as you can and make that day a little bit better. And that, for the most part, people trust us to do that for them. And it’s a huge responsibility, and I really like trying to help the people. We may not be able to make a situation right, or better, but we can maybe make it a little easier for them to handle during that time.
We’re in a public service job, a customer service job, and the public is our customer. I think that, especially with the officers that we have here, everybody strives to make sure that the public feels served and happy with the services they receive. A lot of officers go way out of their way to make sure that that’s done. … I think the KPD really embraces that."
Rusten Sheskey. Kenosha bike cop, 2019
It seems the folks in Kenosha are disillusioned by what is happening in their town, as if they cannot stem the tide of this anger that has swept through their community...
I may post more later. Still perusing Sunday articles and other items that pique my interest.
|I had a funny thought on a Shakespeare line that I misquoted in my head.
If you cut me, do I not cut you back?
But the quote from Merchant of Venice is:
"Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh?"
Imagine, me being flip and getting half the expressed quote wrong in my parody? Does not come across well, then. Can I not just have one perfect memory to store all these clips from the past to alter for my pleasure?
Yeah, I'm not going anywhere with this today.
|It turns out that both coffee and alcohol can help your brain with productivity...in moderation. I mean, coffee? Duhhh. But, alcohol? Who knew?
As to my own self, coffee was a late participant in my life. I was ridiculed at one employer in the 90s as 'not a morning person, huh?' Granted, it wasn't the most stimulating work. But, it recalled a similar experience when I worked as a journalist in radio. A PR guy from the paper mill in town, after concluding a phone interview, pointed out I 'sound like you just got out of bed' when I did my first news report at six a.m. I had to up my game after that, if people who are a part of the news are listening and started getting up earlier. Back then, I was 'using' Coca-cola (better not say Coke) to get me self going in the a.m.
But alcohol, yes I should have known. You have always been there for me. All the odes alone at night written with Boone's Farm wine. Help me, I was a poor, college student who had yet discovered the finer things in life. I could sit in my dorm room and pen my odes to some unrealized love or the moon and could feel deep connections to other-worldly feelings where my imagination seeped in psyche. So, definitely, alcohol gets a mention in my whenever-it-shall-be-written-and-then-published novel, as an inspiration.
But, these two in moderation? If I have to realize what each does to me when I go off the deep end.
Coffee will give me the jitters and I get ahead of myself and cannot compose my thoughts at a pace my mind can comprehend. It can be quite unpleasant and I have to do things to settle down. Detox. Whereas alcohol, we know more than a few drinks induces 'sleepy time' and the fights with windmills. Everything from 'I'm going to get my son back' to 'I think I can fly.' Wait, am I still talking about alcohol?
Oh, no. Drugs, you weren't invited to this conversation. Well, you sort of were. Your cousins, anyway. Maybe, for another time. I'll tell you about climbing that one hundred foot pine (yes, that thick-branched, sappy tree) and all the people standing below from the wedding reception I crashed begging me to climb back down. Daring.
So, in summation. Wait. Ahhhhh, coffee all gone. Maybe, another time.
I said, NO EDITS!
I will just say that I like that my palms don't hit the touch pad while I type anymore. You know, where it quickly highlights a block of text and then a keystroke wipes out all the blue highlighted characters before you can stop. I know there is a restore function...if you're doing it on a word doc of some kind, but not on these tempting dialogue boxes. I'm writing live without a net, baby! Yeah, dumb, I know...if you want to save or store stuff. But, you see. I don't know how far I'm going to go and then I get deep in, and Bam!
I do stop to copy and save when I get in deep and start thinking, 'don't lose this.' It doesn't happen too often. Maybe twice a month or week? I don't know. I do some writing in docs and then copy and paste here and then edit some more and think I should copy and paste this to the document of the first part, and by then, I'm so tired of going back and forth, switching screens and trying to find the other and figure out where I left off that I..just...give....up.
Is all this writing worth it? Is this the grist of life that we seek to transpose and illuminate an otherwise unsuspecting and unaware world? I thought...zzzzz
by Brian K. Compton
(this article as yet under review)
Honesty is rare but not something sought or coveted until needed. And even then, we stand back from its glare.
Reviewing is a double-edged sword. Cliché. Here we have writers who share and get critiqued for their efforts. But, what's on the other side of that door (cliché) is a bit daunting. How will the community receive us: like, dislike, ignore?
So, when I see the responses (or lack thereof) to my reviews, it's a gambit. Some are pleasant and appreciate with their takeaways, some are short and thankful, some put on defenses that range from short to point-by-point reasons, some just seem like the obligated acknowledgement.
No one really goes off on me. I see it restrained in some backbiting comments that could be taken two ways. I honestly get it. If I see someone review my work in a way that does not convey what I intended, I can have a knee jerk reaction. But, don't.
Writers should do themselves the favor of actually trying to see it from the reviewer's perspective. It can be hard if it is words that contradict what we thought our efforts are worth, or about. Perhaps, visualizing how others see us is a step toward progression and maturity as a writer. That is the audience. What is the audience saying? Is it syncing up with other reader's thoughts?
Chances are there is not a large enough sample size. Perhaps, writers here have gotten use to having smoke blown up their ass from all the false flattery. Try to separate from the people trying to massage more participation from you and look objectively at what has been given to you as an honest review.
You still don't have to agree after you've taken the time to assess. You just need to get over yourself. I've been learning and am still learning. Sometimes, it takes the simplest person to help you understand the basics, the foundation of what you offer as writing. Perhaps, we get too deep into our minds to realize writing is not just about us. In fact, it is intended for people to see.
I'm not saying give people what they want. Figure out what it is you do that draws them in and that they appreciate best. Look at those suggested weaknesses and wonder if there was something you could have done better that would have made your talent for writing sing a little sweeter.
We don't come with these built in tools for conveying storytelling into words. Hopefully, we all went through a vetting process before allowed to graduate from some institution that taught about critical thinking and processing everything into forms of understandable communication. Writing hasn't been around as long as the ability to verbalize, if even just a grunt.
Maybe, you don't like how reviewers grunt. They might seem too gruff, direct to the point. They don't spend enough time dancing around the 'I think', 'I suggest' or 'I suppose' lead ins, but rather 'I didn't like' or 'you should' do something about this or that.
You don't have to respond to reviews. You should consider, even if briefly, what the reviewer is trying to get across. Of course, they don't know enough about you to make an informed opinion. They're going off one evidentiary block of writing. They don't know you, yeah. There you go.
If you do acknowledge a review, try to realize why they shared. Was it incentivized? Did they mail it in, perhaps only skimming or reading the first few lines? Or, was it someone who shows knowledge of what you offered and can convey it in words? Did it sting just a little? Did it make you want to write off a missive in retaliation? Don't shrink from it. Own it, let is pass through.
These are normal things to consider, and normal responses. How we act on it and utilize it to make us better writers is what is most important. You might be lucky to get any attention at all. If you are a newbie or preferred member and higher, it's easier to draw attention. If you are 'other', then you likely work at self=promotion a lot more. Perhaps, the more you ply for attention, the more prone you feel to a heightened awareness by readers to intensely read and respond to your writing when you were just hoping to share something you love.
You might be involved in community activities that keep you in inner circles where you have core followers who you follow back. All good. Whatever it takes to get noticed, a reviewer at your door is always a good thing. Eventually, it will give something we can use, even if rare. Even if it feels phoned in, you might notice something common in all that fluff.
In summation, my takeaway from reviewing in this community is don't be discouraged, as a writer or reviewer. Read and respond to what you like foremost. The obligation is to your craft first. If people see something good in us that can be better, broaden your horizons if you desire. And hopefully, even more and better attention will keep coming back to your door.
How do you like to respond to a review?
What is a common response you get from your review?
|Torn between going Premium with my account one more full year or making my gift points last two on this planet.
I don't plan to add more statics or deliberately add to my stash of crypto. But, I could go out like a bang and upload everything I've written offsite. All the thoughts that I never dared share.
Or, just keep it to myself and ride this wave out.
I do this nearly every year. I don't get a nudge from anyone either way. It's like I really don't exist. *pinch* Nope, felt that. Just a dark reality.
TOP 35 ALL-TIME Writing.Com AUTHOR:
Rank 32nd, 8/2020
BLOG: "SuperNova Afterglow: Universal Writer"
POETRY BLOG: "Antithetical 📝 Jottings by RenownPoet"
2020 WDC Heart Throb Poet
Most Talented Author 2011
2009 North Star Award
eternally dead in this world
|For Sunday, I'm reading and learning about a strange movement that apparently intensified during the pandemic, using fear as a motivator to get people interested.
Until today, never heard of QAnon and their strangely tabloid style of rhetoric for whatever reasons. Just makes me think of a creative Reddit thread, and odd that I don't see that website attached to QA. if 4Chan or 8Chan or whatever it is now had a plan to compete with Reddit, I image this might be a way to start. But, they've had to keep folding and moving around for whatever reasons.
I'm reminded of Jon-Rene Ramsey and the allegations of what could have been her ritualistic demise to Satanists in Colorado 20-some years ago. Or, the reports that the rich and famous went to an island to have relations with teenagers. All of that could be fuel for some sick fantasy-like interactive storylines being played out to see how far they can move the meter on public conversation. It's no doubt intriguing to read about and worthy of further investigation, but to say government officials are drawn into this war on alleged Satanic pedophiles within the Democratic party is as far fetched as UFOs. Hmm?
I'm not getting immersed in the rhetoric, just the knowledge of what all this "Storm" reference was about today in the news, pitting party against party somehow. Republicans say it's a biblical reference to Psalm 29 while others cast doubt, referencing alignment with the QAnon movement hungry since Trump's acknowledgement of their movement in 2017.
|I don't have a sad tune in my heart today. I think I'm done feeling pity for all the fools who would let people manipulate them into doing things that are supposed to upset me. This endless manipulation of human souls only wears people thin who just want to get on with the business of writing. I'm uniquely attuned to the psychology of it, am aware of it. So, no to sad tunes. No to nostalgic, warm feelings of yesteryear and what could have been. They who control the narrative have the story collapse on them in the end. The audit is coming.
Took a nap. My kid had online high school orientation on my computer, so i took a break.
Just checking my internet email inbox for a response to my query, if it every comes.
|question is, Writing.Com: do you want this bee in your bonnet? Because my stinger is sharpened and I'm ready to get after it.
maybe, the expression should be yellow jacket?
My dad was a lot of things to me: withholding, arrogant, indifferent, a manipulator, abuser, martyr, biggest critic, gaslighter...
I had one thing he didn't have...the inability to know when to quit. to turn green like a monster. when i had enough of him, I sat on that man and hit him in the head until he shut up and got off my back forever. and now he's dead and i still have a whole lot of angst to unload on gaslighters and manipulators who think they are clever enough to put me down while trying to crawl up inside my head. I know all the rules of your game. You never met anyone like me. Bring it.
And that's coming from a top 5 writer. Ask around. Oh, that's right. She only comes around and emails me about it. Yeah, I could repost all those emails. I made a folder. It would be a fun adventure into the mind of a manipulator. Is that you dad?
The audit is coming.
|A cautionary tale that has seen a path blazed since the rise of Silicon Valley to modern day (in some regards, a new Grapes of Wrath)...
Even the internet isn't a safe place anymore...
Hollywood Is Dying, possibly a slow death. Expedited by a virus and maligned by one quote stood out from the article I'm about to link:
“They don’t make movies; they make hats and whistles.”
Something to think about going forward. There will be a noticeable shift in the makeup of our world, the economy and entertainment we choose. It's likely we'll all have greenbacks to clutch, as most of us will also adjust. Maybe, some new career options?
We have to watch where the big investors place their bets and see what trends play out. But, dropping all that dough in a stuffy, crowded theatre suddenly doesn't seem like an industry that can fully support itself anymore. The costs to produce these epic films and risk venture capital to see flop after flop after disaster would mean Hollywood has to go in some new directions, team up with some unlikely folks (we are trying to get Netflix on the line) and see how they can virtually survive. Five major studios...scramble! It's go time! The newspaper and magazine industries went near belly up, what are you going to do now?!
Okay, I've got $20 extra dollars, assuming I can get popcorn and a soda, who wants to entertain me? *watch*
Brian K. Compton is a respected journalist and an eye for current events oozing with an ever-so-dramatic twist. Sadie Saxton could be his spirit animal. You're Welcome!
|I relate to this, partly why I continue as a member of this community...
"At some point in the past, some characters have had a traumatic experience, found themselves dishonored, committed a crime they could not repay, lost everything worth living for, caught an incurable disease or just became bored with continued existence. For whatever reason, rather than turning to suicide, they went off seeking battles to fight, hoping to find an enemy who would kill them, and achieve an honorable, heroic, awesome, or otherwise acceptable death, sometimes going as far as outright surrendering and offering their life to their enemies. Martyrdom Cultures may regard such a character as a role model, even if upon closer examination he or she might seem like a Martyr Without a Cause. In cases of cruel Irony, Death Seeker characters who snap out of it and find something to live for often end up dying or getting killed shortly afterwards anyway.
Compare Heaven Seeker, when a heroic death is viewed as a means of being rewarded in the afterlife, and Suicide by Cop, where one engineers a scenario where someone else (it doesn't necessarily have to be a cop) will kill them. Contrast Immortality Seeker, for those utterly dedicated to avoiding death. Compare and contrast Not Afraid to Die, where someone is definitely unafraid of death but isn't actively seeking it out, and Worth Living For for something or someone who pulls a Death Seeker out of this mentality.
Likely to cause a Threat Backfire to any death threat, for obvious reasons. These characters are, however, prone to Revenge by Proxy. See also Miles to Go Before I Sleep and Suicide by Assassin. Some immortal characters who contracted a bad case of Who Wants to Live Forever? may also become Death Seekers if they know of one hard-to-obtain way for them to get a peaceful death."
Not that I seek death in totality. I need to either become that hero or die with this craft of writing. But come to think of it, this is no place to start that summit. I'm in hiding.
This is the hole in the center of the universe of writing, a kind of purgatory where writers go to delude or punish themselves for not trying. I can commune among monsters that can't taste my flesh and feel nothing to fear. So, yeah. Maybe, this doesn't apply. This is just an ongoing dream of mediocrity I'm in bed with.
I have an urge to binge 'Rick and Morty' now.