A nothing from nowhere cast his words to a world wide wind, hindered by periphery. |
...white-hot coruscating genius that more than once dipped its proverbial toes in the obscure. https://ew.com/recap/community-season-3-episode-16-inception/ T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ You get hungry as a seldom published author/poet/lyricist, so quit pedaling words and just enjoy the writing process. The bullshit ‘process’ of submitting is submission. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- My goes through — R S = 2 G M c 2 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ————————- . How I see myself create…in the zone Curry Flurry: ▼ Writing ▼ The beautiful mess made: I had a lover's quarrel with the world - Robert Frost | I'm sorry you got caught in the middle. - me Neurodivergent poet ▼ Best Poetry Collection ▼ Been more than I could imagine or expect here. Why Mail It In? In Latin ▼ Pluggers: You are an icon here. You suffer, but you suffer brilliantly. Wow, what a great writer. And other people’s (reviewers) words…Review of "The Absence of Wavelength" Your poetic muse is on fire! Some great emotion, well-balance(d), lovely lyrical qualities -- even the ones that were written out of sadness or anger came through in a clever cadence…It's obvious you've put a lot of work into each entry and the totality of the blog has eye appeal. Published four times with one a literary journal, including… "The Tender Core (Sedona)" I don’t submit—too much work with ADHD, OCD, low vision in condensate in mental prison of failing memory. I’ve seen a lot of smoldering and snow. Cynicism bred, work hard at openness and consideration. I'm Godzilla ▼ August 28, 2006 this blog opened ▼
No specific aim going forward (2014) ▼ What Was NEW Who am I, you ask? My mirror knows that question, repeated daily. Just trying to create a little buzz, not boost my ego ▼ #amwriting #poetry #blog #contest #freeverse #award #bestpoetry #lyrics #music #video #YouTube #awardwinning Can you believe it took this long for someone to put a quarter in me and push the button GET ANGRY? Mud 4 My Eye: Is that you, Poo? 💩 Secret Back Door ▼ |
I hear you listening. Silence has sound. Scientifically proven, but already knew — experienced the likes of shadows with veils, behind scenery, disapproving, yet revealing value of some kind lay hidden beneath throbbing. Pulsating. Reminding, a tiny red engine can howl, startle even the largest black holes — warn, get the fuck back, shut the hell up, so black cedes to impenetrable light. Melt, god damn it! Or, suck on nothing and starve in your own disquieted, severed earth. I brought warmth, fought a rejecting fire, now merge-bound to a pen’s fractal friction aflame. Your shame is not mine to own. Whoops. ( was here before latest, major addition to end, likely to be revised to get sound expression about silence and how hot rages a disquieted person to erupt when shackled to vague, public opinion, without one soul to clue another in what it is about projected worth versus the value you strongly assert. In fact, I need more horror vacui, molecules branch out within where I find my truest nature. I’m building as the growing atom that binds others when that time comes, whether it tears ears off or attuned as sweetest harmony. These feelings harnessed bring indicate another emergence forthcoming — swear it will tsunami sized compared to that last tidal wave.) 12.19.23 A momentary lapse. Back to meds and your ‘usual’ programming. 5.18.24 No lapse. Not an aberration. It’s no more side-stepping. Demons can deter, delay, reroute. I do not aim at anyone or anything specifically. With the actual help I’ve received in this overstayed dormancy a controlled force aims at society, apathy, arrogant indifference, dystopian ideals in play, to energize the unenlightened to organize and shove the forces back to find safe harbor within and in shared beliefs we can overcome mere obstacles that are molehills. In short: I want to kick ass wherever I go, whatever I do. I’m busting down doors. Not going around them. No score to settle, just mt world to take back from manipulators, blackmailers (if I had shame), and the complacent mindless told what to root for rather than discover causes of their own. First, uphold writers who get it, acknowledge talent when they see it, acknowledge and credit them, guiding them on a journey to self-fulfillment while still keeping the carny-games in play. I’ll not kick anything over, though tempted. No head butting, though I will bust down the doors that ignore writers with true passion, whether you agree with their views or messages. Tear off your hoods, if you want. I’m here and have always been open to fair questions and criticisms before whatever whispered rumors go around in these segregated ranks. This is not a mission for me alone. This is not something that a Judas can walk into fracture whatever values formed. This is about unifying voices that can be just one part of WDC, to counter with that underworld it’s becoming synonymous with, obviously relied upon. Let that be. Bring more to the table to quash critics to overinflated value so this place self-sustains without unfair questions of … integrity? You divide within…not a good look. Talk out of both sides of your mouth…people catch on. Passive aggressively make adjustment to the canaries that sing…feed the songbird spirit true love of its passion, not its message. Then, tout inclusivity, especially for the core, but also the components that can draw new writers, readers and interest from the world. Now, you’ve got an up and coming coder in the midst. Fresh blood, regal lineage. Rewrite code and get a modern look. No easy task, I’m sure. If you only have so much resources, server support to work with, understandable. If not, go back to partnering and tutoring new members to acquaint them quick to the best parts of WDC, so they can integrate quicker, more satisfyingly. Help them learn rules, how to post and review with info not about content but what they can do with tools to make it better. Make contests easier, fewer reviews. Poetry, subjective. Fiction, consult Max Griffin, otherwise, subjective. The smarter the identified judges, the better the results? Now I’m grasping. I’m tired now. Back to me. My wife watches all this lay out…one finger on tablet. This is passion (value it?) from true blindness, and also, tangled neuro-network constantly creating, editing, framing, re-editing, creating more, never-ending. And I’d still be reviewing…and then family, and now, Spring, renewal. I’m determined a book will come out in June or July to celebrate my brother’s life. And with it, a reminder to find a better purpose for mine before curtain completely comes down. No editor. No one I rely on. Edit later Apologies if anyone feels targeted. I believe in the value of truth than employing BS. Constructive is the aim. |
You're In My Way I stood in the path of a black bear twice my weight and ten times my strength. I wasn't going to run as it was twice as fast. I'd never turn my back to it. I stared and dared the thing to roughly dissect my anatomy. I screamed and yelled at the dope like it was my monster-tormentor. Before it could shred me like a woodland pup tent I woke up. I hope I see it again. I'll cover myself in bacon grease, my blue-red eyes blaring hot in a frozen white scene, bells around my neck and rocks to hurl. I want one shot at overcoming every odd to defeat this grizzly goliath. I'm more dangerous because I don't care, once I smell it's disease breath. My eyes hard close like five thousand pound, stone doors no animal will withstand or scale. You're mine, every hairy, little bit from mouth to bowels, until I no longer exhale. 12.10.23 33 lines, bean counters free f-ing verse. Title plays to both camps. It's implied meaning is up to the reader. Poem in a word -- fierce. Two more words -- death wish. You should see what I wrote before this:
whose the precious little MF when they suggest you leave the room? Dumb or not, this gift to you is my magic act. |
In a word: Nothing Comes to mind… Can’t slow. I’m snow: You must shovel If you want to drive To get what you need. In your treads Every inch of the way… I’m still falling… Gently heap… Cover bushes beneath the bay Overlooking the adorned trees On limbs: Resting, waiting For you to witness Before moving me Aside. 12.4.23 As honest as can be, before I lie To feel worth? To feel a part of your world? While we coincide, I’m at your side Looking for something, a clue And why it seems cold Outside Of you. Investigation of 👣 yet to come. Prompt (newly edited): "Pretend (the long halls)" |
Voice in night anchors me, disembodied Where I lie alone in dark Where I float, reach But cannot touch a soul With words uttered, muttered In the chosen black romance Too dense for images to develop, enveloped In fear, nothing near Sound rises, raises me, interplanetary, Adrift on fading belief Something could rescue Pluck a being from tempest deep, haunts I long to keep that held me Held me down, spine, organs, Heavy blood matting deep In the fibers of a vacuum That swallows dreamers, spits out A cynic, poorly dressed, unclean For the immaculate deceivers Who couldn’t possibly be Angels to me High the sound escapes, divided by tide silence, rolling over my body Washing out into a thin horizon, Gray all the days; I beg for night, For something warm to hold tight. Eyes penetrate this space, Frown upon a fool disgraced. Doesn’t want to lift up, sinks To silt bottom like stones cast. Raise the rim higher, pound A tempo upon these cans. A racket. Door closed. Louder A voice rises above all the rest. A song I hear buried deep in breast Flows out my chest, skims and skitters Across your fog waters. Yet to see If the sun will rise, shine on me. Don’t seek it, reluctantly veil All in my heart with every wail. Swallowed whole in arriving tides, Anchored, won’t find any shore. Voice in night never feels fright But free from any who can’t conceive The true identity you won’t believe Resides in a callous heart, long deceived. 12.2.23 I’ll revisit another time. Not really trying. Just going whatever way the wind blows my pinwheel mind. Poetry:same results |