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 All that remains: in afterlife as 'mainstream' blogger, with what little I know. 20k views |
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Obshchak Some torn to the ground ▼ Read here some old blog entries...  2018 Highlights ▼Brian K Compton   -- ![Merit Badge in Second Time Around Contest
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Congratulations on winning the Grand Overall Prize in [Link To Item #2164876] with your beautiful poem, [Link to Book Entry #933358]. This poem really moved me. Great writing!
Rachel *^*Heartv*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Second_Time_Around_Contest-2164963_14.gif) Short answer, mostly relatable. |
| Something I would like to expand upon one day. Want to share this for now: What is it about life that makes us want to live? Is it the color and shape of things, the beauty of nature, the food that we crave to eat? Is it the love of a good mate, to share some dark secret? Is it the desire to own expensive, beautiful things? What is it about life that makes us want to live? Are we vexed by some puzzle we must solve before going to our grave? Have we not learned from others the thirst unquenched on dying lips? Might we wield social power that make others envious, weak in their knees to be in our presence? What is about life that makes us want to live? Are you waiting for an answer? Unsure what mystery could there possibly be yet unknown that could make life worth living? Innocence. We yearn to be young again, to be tempted by all that we desire, and fantasy. Perhaps, we could, just read. There are millions of lives in books yet undiscovered with many truths yet uncovered that could shape our minds with true vision and purpose. What is it about life that fuels our desire to live: fiction. |
| I've been quiet. Good for me. Find me on twitter for latest. |
| The most discriminating person one could expect to have in their life is a mother-in-law. I have had my differences with my wife's mom, a retired elementary school teacher. But she sees right through me sometimes and never ceases to flatter me, especially on the occasion of Father's Day. Written in a card I received: "Dear Brian, I want to wish you a very happy Father's Day! You have such a wonderful family and we thank you for the wonderful Grandchildren you have given us. You do so many things with them that makes Alex's and Maddie's lives special. You especially make books come alive for them as you create so many characters in your reading. What a wonderful gift you have for this. It's given them wonderful ability to become characters as well in reading and drama. All of your playing with them has given them so many wonderful memories to treasure throughout their lives. You have been such a good example to them for enjoying life and the love you have for them has shown through in all you do for them. May God continue to guide you, walk beside you and bless you always." I cannot accept too much credit because I am paying it forward from a 'wonderful' teacher in my mother who shared her love of books and life with me. Hearing these words helps me warmly remember a woman who will walk beside me throughout life. |
| "There has been much emphasis on the audacity of hope, and hope as the energizer of dreams and visions, the warm glow, the bright ray. ... Perhaps it is time to also reflect on the atrocity of hope. I have come to see it as wasteful and unproductive. ... It intervenes in the process of reckoning with the present with clarity about things as they are; it presents itself as a companion of the "miracle," where we expect outcomes without our play/agency. It keeps us wedded to our particular hypothesis. It asks of us to put our faith in specific possibilities regardless of probability." Very long, sad, but illuminating story: http://www.cnn.com/2014/06/14/world/asia/malaysia-airlines-families-narendran/in... |
"Ol' 55" Well my time went so quickly, I went lickety-splickly out to my old '55 As I drove away slowly, feeling so holy, God knows, I was feeling alive. Now the sun's coming up, I'm riding with Lady Luck, freeway cars and trucks, Stars beginning to fade, and I lead the parade Just a-wishing I'd stayed a little longer, Oh, Lord, let me tell you that the feeling's getting stronger. And it's six in the morning, gave me no warning; I had to be on my way. Well there's trucks all a-passing me, and the lights are all flashing, I'm on my way home from your place. And now the sun's coming up, I'm riding with Lady Luck, freeway cars and trucks, Stars beginning to fade, and I lead the parade Just a-wishing I'd stayed a little longer, Oh, Lord, let me tell you that the feeling's getting stronger. And my time went so quickly, I went lickety-splickly out to my old '55 As I pulled away slowly, feeling so holy, God knows, I was feeling alive. Now the sun's coming up, I'm riding with Lady Luck, Freeway cars and trucks, freeway cars and trucks, freeway cars and trucks... http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/tomwaits/ol55.html |
Whenever I get a bump in traffic, I know I've had something featured in a newsletter. After a little investigation, I found my poem "Hidden Flower"  [E] was featured here:http://www.writing.com/main/newsletters/action/archives/id/6313-Religion-vs-Spir... |
| Got side-swiped last week in a pick-up game. Five days later, I could barely walk. Got no sympathy at work. Decided to be a warrior, rather than point out my inability to sit or contort my torso in any way. Wasn't pleased by the spot check report of my work from five days ago. My wife works with a neurologist who suggested double the daily anti-inflammatories. Figured it was back related, even though it was my hip that got clipped. The pain eventually travelled from my right quad to hamstring and back of knee before I started feeling numbness in my foot during work Tuesday. Within 12 hours, the Naproxen had relieved nearly all my pain. I could walk up and down steps with more than one leg's power. I could stand from a sitting position without effort. And, I got a good night's rest. Now that 24 hours have passed, I'm tempted to quit this remedy because I feel fine and want to see if I can stay off medicine. I can start up again if there is a flare up. I want to get back to basketball. Not patient enough to put in core work right now. That means I'll be injured again, within the month. I lack discipline, but try to make up for it with clueless desire. |
| I will say things in writing to a person that I would not say to someone in person. Does this make me a coward or does corresponding through social media allow us greater access to expression? Now, I will say there are limitations. Inflections, gestures, tone and some of the give and take in certain scenarios are missing. There are certain intimacies that cannot be duplicated in words. The beauty of it for a writer is to try. Can we find the right words to move another? There is power in these conveyances, if we can strike a chord with a reader. I long for those internet embraces. I will be the first to admit I have shortcomings, but am learning every day the impact my words have had on others. I know humility and I know love. It is a bittersweet mix. |
| I'm always intrigued by old stories from my hometown. Was doing a bit of digging today and found a very unusual story. Reporters back then wrote like they were giving first hand accounts, seldom using attribution. Though this piece is published in Kalamazoo, I suspect the information was either taken from a local paper or reporter. It almost reads like fiction. WHIRLED IN A SHAFT Fatal Injuries to Two Mill Employes at Iron Mountain Iron Mountain, Mich., July 8--Kim Harvey, a millwright, with a man named Price for an assistant, was engaged in repairing a pulley in the Metropolitain Lumber company's mill, when the machinery suddenly started. Harvey's clothing was caught, and he was whirled around the shaft. In one of the revolutions his feet struck Price, who was on a beam above, knocking him some distance. Price struck on the floor squarely on his head and received injuries that may result in his death. Harvey continues to revolve around until every article of clothing excepting one shoe had been stripped from his person, when he dropped to the floor. Strange as it may seen, none of his limbs were broken, his injuries being of an internal nature. He cannot live. -Kalamazoo Gazette, July 9, 1898 English was like a second language in an area packed full of immigrants. I remember visiting homes as a paperboy where old women only spoke German or Scandanavian and being told by my friends, their neighbors or grand kids, that they never wanted to learn English. The stories of lives lost in mining accidents in our area are quite sad and yet a way of life. Makes me think of the old movies where people struggled to make a few bucks to feed their family, even if it meant life or limb. My grandpa worked in the mine until he went on disability in 1933. He inhaled a good amount of stuff in his lungs that made it difficult to work underground again. He came to America in 1893 at the age of 15 and settled in Iron Mountain. Second from right, Grandpa in the very old days at the bar where I learned to drink. ** Image ID #1202876 Unavailable ** |
| And the first day back at the gym...every part of me is struggling to function, except for the surgically repaired shoulder. I took a diet pill and nothing else (three pieces of candy) and went to the gym after Jen helped me briefly stretch the shoulder. I think my legs would have benefitted, too. I had time to warm up. All old guys at start, none by end. Told a few people brief explanations for my absence. Played good at start, though very few touches. Made a three and finished that game with a post up make. My shooting wasn't bad. Didn 't suck on D, though they could have blown by me if they dared. Stripped the ball a few times and hauled in a few boards, but couldn't move like I want. The gluts, quads, knees (no patellar straps) took greatest hit. Generally weak and sluggish in efforts to move. Showered and writing here, but will take it easy for awhile. Maybe, play again Monday when the younger ones are back at college. |
| I'll have blood shot eyes if I stay up tonight and watch the first of the tetrad, that is, the first of four blood red moons over the northern hemisphere during the next 18 months. And there's a little story about a biblical prophecy about the end of days connected to this. http://www.greenbaypressgazette.com/article/20140413/GPG0101/304130349/Look-up-B... |
| I get it. Watching a character struggle with self-doubt is a turn off. We want our flawed hero to be optimistic because we are on a fence of our own. We read for escape and not to be dragged back down into the morass that we elude on a daily basis. Conflict-resolution becomes a sticky subject to tackle, because a writer wants to implant his own insecurities to supplant in the escalating action. To be honest with ourselves, there are few true supermen and their stories are seldom dramatic like the struggles of a loner who yearns to fit in. Maybe, one that picks up that sword to battle the white page and hope that someone will respond to the visions in words spilled forth. The separating line between fiction and reality is a clear division, but one that this writer wants to blur a little more each day. I spend x amount of time with the distraction of a good tale and x amount of time surrounding myself with a support network. But, when you cannot control the ratio? A lot of time alone leads to delusion. May happy times lie ahead in the words with good friends and our readers. |
| I've been rereading my first blog, from the beginning, and remembering what I struggled with and how optimistic I was starting on the path here. I became disillusioned, as I am sure many have, because my expectations were not met. I yearn to find a place in this internet dungeon where I can envision a glimmer, just a crack of light to help me escape. I want to get back what little innocence I had when I started here and begin again. Just doesn't seem like I will find what I am looking for here, maybe nowhere. Embrace those newbies and let them know they are loved and don't quit on them during their awkward phases and struggles for worth and recognition. Expect people to be a little unreasonable. Be patient and help them understand, if you truly are angels. Unconditional support will help them see, while I still cope with this self-imposed dark hole I put myself into. |
| I had a break through this morning thanks to the sermon in church. Found some words about John Wesley that I can apply to my life. I have been living in the flesh and not in the spirit. Whether or not I am accepted by god, which it feels I am not, I can be more spiritual. That means appreciating life again and stop stressing over the details. I just need to do what makes me happy. I could appreciate more time with the kids and find a balance that does not include wiling away the hours in places I am not welcomed with open arms or lifted high on shoulder for the things I know I do well. Got to find my voice, then my audience and preach! Okayyyy, need to tone it down a bit. I was blessed by a good mother and corrupted by a soulless, loathesome man whose approval I never won. You would think over ten years after his death his influences on me could be unshackled. I could live by my own convictions that could fill this soul daily. Need those little deposits in the bank, a therapist once told me. Well, I'm not earning any dividends by wasting my time with trivial, mind numbing endeavors. Time to move on. No seriously, I need to get up and go now. Take my feet off the couch and go live life. Outdoors, it's nice out? I'm going to get to it. Starting a checklist that starts with Find Your Will. |
| I'm in the bath again. The waves are washing over me, trying to take me out to sea, I've tethered myself to the mast. Wish me luck as I sail aimlessly on this lost sea. Want to wash ashore in some forgotten paradise. Alone with nature is what I plead. I want to medicate, but I'm a big boy now. Learning to deal with these emotions with the chemicals in this vessel is all I require. I hate what I become and that few can comprehend why I am me. It's hard to seek love, earn it, keep it because the monster wants to kill the Dr. Jekyll inside. I'm sorry to those I have wronged.
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| I've decided I need a place where I don't feel compelled to be politically correct and chose the current internet den of iniquity Twitter. Don't know where I am going with this, but for now the more humorous 'rant' side of me that separates from the writer in me (sometimes). It's already an odd mix. Bringing two of my worlds together in a sense. Going by bron glaedrfly...for now. Since I'm not famous enough to be known by one name...or be known. If you are new to Twitter or thinking of joining, make your 17th tweet a haiku (use #thweet to tag) like I did. Or senyu. https://mobile.twitter.com/glaedrfly/ |
Want to enter this in the 'Shooting Star' portion of the 'Shining Stars' contest this month. Not sure about the voice and depictions.
Just something fun that I found... http://www.pelorian.com/deerletters.html |
| April Fool's Day is nearing. Pranking someone is not my thing. Being pranked...not so much. However... Something to chew on...
Spring break is coming. Might be time to take a much needed break from this site and recenter myself in the real world with people who apparently love me?  I require a break because I need to get my head out of cyberspace...have gotten into that rut with writing. My family doesn't understand me as a writer, but they do require my attention for awhile. It will be good to get back when I have something new to share with my friends here. |
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