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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  "Invalid Entry"
  -- WINNER -- ![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) Auctions and Raffles (why we need them): People who play with house money: They are shilling for the casino. A shill is a player who is bankrolled by the casino and whose objective is to encourage others to play. Oftentimes this is done at table games with no players as many players are hesitant to play at a ‘dead’ table or at a poker table with only a handful of players (a Texas hold-em table typically seats up to nine players; anything less that five is usually considered to be short-handed.) Short answer, mostly relatable. |
| April is poetry month… I expect to write. I wonder about commitment If I don’t honor this statement, what rule reveals in literally a sea of ever-changing text. If someone wants to punish you…still…they’ll come out of the woodwork, unfortunate fool. Well, I have email. Maybe tonight; maybe tomorrow. -Carnac 3.31.25 |
| 3.26.25 prompt for “Get The (vanishing) Picture,” yellow road sign on a long stretch running through a southwest desert that reads, “Absolutely Nothing For The Next 22 Mile” Here’s My Sign You’re headed the right way if you got lost looking for my house Avoid the abyss…um…everywhere. Quantum mechanics will guide you there…we hope…one day. I live in a crystal between two atoms. If you synapse, you’ll miss it. Sorry about the mess. Bosons … you know.  T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ |
If I can get through this day without giving into the temptation to freestyle Limp Bizkit, I know there’s a chance I can still make it. Just keep rollin’, baby. And stick that  …T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ |
| Sundowning echoes linger, soft, low. faces drift, softly go. laughter ringing, sunset gleams. fragile, memory of life’s dreams. echoes soften, come, go. these gentle breezes, soft, flow. silence but them, risen ghosts. can’t recall, and nothing to boast. 5.20.24 Quite literally. Milk almost went in the bread drawer. Also, salami. Mm, sando? |
| Updated the old review page. Love the little guy on the cover, and my best friend… https://www.writing.com/main/profile/reviews/ripglaedr3 Tooned—  The kitten Kid…  |
| https://www.writing.com/main/profile The guy with his paws in my slippers is my wash room attendant…could have been in a previous life? When I head upstairs, he sometimes waits like that and moves ahead of me to bathroom. I wrote a poem about it. As soon as he sees I’m at the vanity, comes up to rub head or chin on my bent elbow as I brush. It’s routine if I don’t keep odd hours. He does brak at us if we haven’t gone up by 8mpm. He’s rooster in the morning. I keep the bedroom door closed. His shelter name was Prometheus but became Mohawk when his fur first grew out by six months. He and his step-sibling adopted at the same time after many visits to spend time with lonely animals. The two came to meet our aging cat that looked Maine Coon. Three musketeers, if one was sometimes cranky.  |
| Hi, Brian. Hi Whatcha doin’ Just sitting here talking to myself Yeah? What about? You know Oh, yeah. Right. *idles* *taps* Did you see the… Yup. Yeah. Not really good at conversation like this. Ditto. Did you hear an echo? Only the one I’m imagining. |
T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ Nope. Yup, that’s it. |
| …if I missed the insanity, written, unedited from 1.25.25 Dystopian German man and gummies geek convo, unrealized We will squeeze you of yourself and fill you with… Bavarian crème? No, no… Raspberry filling? No! You were closer the first time. Wait, what am I talking about? Your German accent is funny. Lemon Eye roll. Ourselves! Ha-ha-ha-ha!! That wouldn’t taste good. Have you tried these cherry gummies? Tried them? Bitch, we made those for you. Dood, you’re a god! Yes, it’s right there on the label. What’s so funny now? Catch your breath, hyena boy. Knee slapping. You were talking about turning us into mindless donuts and the donut holes…dough…huh..holes. The holes are our brains? Thinks… He’ll never get there. Holes are…jelly is…yogi bear and boo-boo. Boo-boo-boo-boo. I can’t stop saying. Note to self, cross market Yogi Bear, Jellystone Park and certain varieties of fresh made doughnuts for about…oh…twenty-dollars apiece. And raise the price on coffee…everywhere. Juan Valdez will never be out of work again. That’s all I got…Juan and his ‘family’ why’d the music stop? On a break!? Who’s messing with the in store play system. Oh, it’s you Quantan mechanic. Carry on. You know when already. T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ |
| In a particle accelerator, a boson, like any other particle, can travel at speeds extremely close to the speed of light, typically reaching around 99.999999% of the speed of light, as the theoretical limit prevents anything from exceeding light speed. Thus, updating the ‘driving like a bat out of hades’ expression to ‘like a boson in a particle accelerator. My reference conversion theory.  T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ The greatest that ever was never. I never wonder. Ponder. |
| Sun Tzu, a Chinese military strategist and author of The Art of War, is credited with saying, “To know your enemy, you must become your enemy”: Sun Tzu's advice is relevant, resonating in war rooms, boardrooms and chatrooms  . Hhis other wisdom: "Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night" "When you move, fall like a thunderbolt" "Know the enemy and know yourself; in a hundred battles you will never be in peril" That’s all. But, you never know. T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ |
| At the end of looonnggg conversation…after sign off…the thought “How do you tell someone ‘You’re not the enemy…unless you’re trying to be’?” My life did a u-turn from compliance to ‘you don’t want to go there’, once absolutely known a manipulator in the midst wants to do more than shame but control a false narrative. I give a lot of rope to too many because I know I can bear the brunt of all the traction in other directions, as counterweight. One yank on each line will be felt, but not by me. No rope, no slack, not Samson trying to keep a temple together. If a house divides, Abe’s going to have an ‘I told you so’ for all the ignorance. And…not my problem. I’m being oblique. Had to get it down. But, we’ve made our mind up about shod feet and who has who’s shoes on. You can check my grammar here…but that’s it. 👔 T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ |
The novelty wore off after one and a half plays. Advise you only listen once…it could nauseate me. T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ |
| My credo begins and response ends the same…then, I board a bus looking for trouble, every fang day of my life. I’m a good man, I’m a family man who… It was a tie for me against the tree. My film…not yours. Deep down I knew it was a facade…but it lasted longer than expected… Nobody 2…2025: T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ |
T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ |
| https://youtu.be/Qgh4wSxAKqo It must have been 2000 when this guy at work was saying Nickelback was Death Metal, better than worn out Metallica, when I almost said a ‘shut yer tapper’ but let him have that one. Then, “How You Remind Me” and where was he so I could crawl all over him? Metallica didn’t have to sell out, rock good enough for a symphony, and not the key to get in a teenage girl’s…you know what I’m saying. There are some things that don’t tire me out like an infant crying all night between fits, diaper changes and feedings. I’ll give it to Savage over the Mint Canadian, who I’d cast ahead of Princess Bride boy. Yup, I caught all the references there, missing some context. Give me fuel, give me fire. Give me that which I desire! 9.14.24 |
| Whoever Fights With Monsters… https://youtu.be/_2un1aU7mT0 Hutch ultimately gets back on the bus and tells a bystander, a young woman, to run away while his assailants realize they’re in for a world of hurt. “A lot of it is one take after that — he’s just https://youtu.be/_2un1aU7mT0through them, knives to faces, knives to legs, very rough and very hardcore. Those five guys on the bus would have done something nasty to that girl and Hutch should never be hurting people that don’t deserve it. It’s a fine balance, because it’s a movie about violence, where you try to make something as dark as it needs to be to tell the story without crossing over into darkness just for darkness’s sake.” https://www.vulture.com/2021/04/nobody-the-hardest-day-on-set.html
From the real author with new books on way. |
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| 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... "Invalid Entry" |
| 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 https://youtu.be/6RfZAbluwYc 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. |
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