%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |   All that remains: in afterlife as 'mainstream' blogger, with what little I know. 20k views |
|
Obshchak Some torn to the ground Some burn to the ground Others removed brick by brick Redesign for the times When the lease comes up Or just fold up When you have a bad day and need a reason... 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... "Whoever fights monsters should see to it…he does not become a monster.” - Some guy, I guess. Look it up? 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, might as well hand over your civil liberties. Voices could connect to true conscience and spirit for honest and open discourse. Why feel so redacted? Unify on issues or don't but put drama aside. Open minds require complete objectivity. Or, agree to disagree and have a beer. 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 - Chris Cornell, RIP Some other stuff ▼ My recent poetry:
Sometimes epiphanies about my insights on writing and life and what goes on... Blah, blah, blah ▼ ![Merit Badge in Rare
[Click For More Info]
I like your work!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/general-Rare.gif) Thank you WakeUpAndLive️😎convalesce  for honoring me with your kind words!Read here some old blog entries...  2018 Highlights ▼ More... 2018: The Quiet Ones ▼  H. Mansell  |
| It’s documented somewhere about my athletic pursuits. A poem about blocking a layup and resultant injury to hand in three-plus feet of elevation to hunt down the basketball Randy Snowden decried was goal-tended (against rules). I’m goddamn Superman, alright? Chose to surround myself with kryptonite. And, since I’m limiting myself to one newsfeed comment a day, a hilarious game of mime begins. So, purge thoughts in reaction to what I read before further musing on hand injuries… What finger? *scrolls up*  *aware of the why* Reads to wife, wondering which notion for response illicits response and type where she hovers across the way in kitchen…Over-use (nothing) Old injury (nothing) *like footballs tossed in thinktank, talks it out* not wanting to make it sexual, does the tree…no, you got anything…? Nah, attempts at humor when someone is ahead of the joke seems like piling on when you want to contribute in that vein. By tomorrow, like Biden, a story downstream. The basketball story came to me after realizing the polar opposite, 19, just moved back home, cape at cleaners, argument with old man over who knows what, frustrated after moving in (maybe too much stuff) and haul out a heavy wood laminate end table, with poly from krypton sealing it. Wouldn’t be enough. Holding it by the top in my left hand I swung and swung again at it with my right fist. Spun that fragmenting structure until every surface exposed, after who knows how many haymakers, until smithereens on the grass. I wasn’t done. Turned and threw my fist full into our full grown apple tree. Immediate regret. Hand stung. It was already red, yet no blood. No obvious injury or remaining pain in this adrenaline-fueled state. Abrasions and some stiffness with swelling over middle and ring fingers followed but really nothing. Yet, when you tomahawk a 29.5” diameter ball and slam your hand into a glass backboard with no gravity to support your body…a little bit worse swelling. Harder to handle and shoot a basketball the rest of that game. My hand never got the ice or anti-inflammatory meds, let alone medical attention. Didn’t get 30 points that night…that much I know. I do remember two things: the guys who told my wife I was a ‘hot head’ in city league and how Snowden remarked once, ‘we knew we could get you riled up’. Surprised by that, not unlike the box and one defenses that I wasn’t aware of, I asked, ‘did it work?’ We had a laugh and a drink over that one. Irony has the word iron in it. I must be steel? 7.21.24 Yeah, just caught some glimpses of this jack-assery. Needs edits... "nailing it (unembellished) "  |
| I could dub myself ‘Slap Maxwell’ but that’s reserved solely for Dabney Coleman. "’They can brush you back, but they can't knock you down,’ says Slap, quoting (baseball legend Ted) Williams's words to him.” (Some ML rules never fade) I’m a fan of the rare and obscure… https://vault.si.com/vault/1987/11/16/slap-crackles-and-pops-dabney-coleman-is-a... *wonders if his VCR tapes of the show survived 20 years in the garage attic, if an available machine and functional cable with television to receive the muffled warnings of a future spent comfortably staring into abyss.* The character/actor/me — not so distant, but parallel in universes. One is my hero. Chapter 1 Either no period or no fragment, but, make a choice. *blink* 7.21.24 Semi-colon |
| Title is a bit of a misdirect. Forgive me if I know a thing or two about drawing attention. At least I'm not Tabloid? Thin-worn Producing news for a Public Radio affiliate I received three state broadcasting awards one year. However, the university-based station took them to display, but had the honor of great acknowledgment. The graphics department was a haven down the hall from newsroom, were stories were swapped with kind, like-minded people to pass the days. They surprised me, producing beautifully crafted replicas, gold lettered, better than the originals. I miss those guys. Guess what's more important to me? When I left town and embarked on journeys to finally wind up with a permanent home and family, the documents had been relegated to a nameless manila folder in one of several file cabinets in our basement. Brightly illuminated are remembrances of a life lived, those stories covered and those with whom paths were crossed in pursuits that embolden. Work on one of those awarded pieces was aired on National Public Radio with help of their producers. "The Sinking of the "Mesquite" was developed for a weekend morning program. Now, a blur, just a memory shoulder-cradling a phone, running sound through a production control board, taking notes and the pace it took to meet their deadline. A degraded cassette recording might exist somewhere. Yet, nothing compares to people who steadied me as I navigated life alone, between two eye surgeries, to eventual collection of a worthless piece of paper, called diploma, with my name misspelled. My last friend that kept in contact said I could have had it replaced. I prefer not, and keep memories alive of everything that perfectly sets life just the way it is. Every document, testaments that stack in the back of my mind, as good as anything, but not better than friends to shoulder you along that frosty path of life. I don't negate the good, even amid all the ice and snow in that 'small-market' university town, preferring to stare at a barren wall, fondly imagine a new creation. When I get bothered, I can react negatively and get cranky. Is that an artist? I recall passion and joy and how it has served me since a child filled with notions of idealism, even after it disappointed and failed me. Even faux copies of judged accomplishments cannot take the place of a thin-worn tape reeling and illuminating projections in my mind. And lacking evidence of true sight without proper correction, I know what to value. I think my kids and some family are going to be surprised when they do sift through the rubble of my life and those file cabinets. I told my wife, do what you want. But, hire a good editor. I'll never put it together. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Offered on first draft plus one edit with possibly no future edit or better title, one of my weaknesses. I've offered more of myself to a strange cyber world than those who accept and kindle an ever-glowing warmth. Metaphor change: Open up the tap, this is what pours out to be draught. My choice to ferment where I've sat in a hollow barrel, however many hours a day, ignorantly diminishing remaining vision. 7.21.24 when I wrote: even after it disappointed and failed me, I blurted 'there ya go'. This could be an eventual recording for YouTube, possibly linked on how and where I settle on topics should that time ever come. Let's fire up the archives and get ready for the past. I might have Wingered this. Let me lay down while I laugh at my own joke. I have pride inside the humble, should you skewer to see what emanates. Wow, still flowing. More? Nah. Thanks for the bulletin board material, BTW. |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
![Merit Badge in Second Time Around Contest
[Click For More Info]
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)
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! 
