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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 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
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I like your work!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/general-Rare.gif) Thank you WakeUpAndLive️~Happiness  for honoring me with your kind words!Read here some old blog entries...  2018 Highlights ▼ More... 2018: The Quiet Ones ▼  Brian K Compton notes an echo~  |
| 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/ |
| Your paper words blaze Char them all down to the ground A fresh voice crackles Took a few words jotted down on notepad and turned it into a haiku. Originally wrote: 'Set fire to words on paper Char them all down to the ground Your voice is too distant.' I changed the ending to provide a result rather than further the theme. Unrelated, I'm sure, I had written in the column, "save on medication & alcohol." Oh, now I see the math to support that logic. Must have been doing taxes again! Oh, and..."polar vortex winter apparel fluctuations." Winter clothes closet is a mess! |
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. |
A poem of mine was featured in the poetry newsletter this week and would not have known if ßlueyeʐ  hadn't pointed it out. Been awhile since I've been aware that one of my efforts earned attention in a newsletter. Nice to be back.
Whaaaaaaaaaaa..... A short story, too? Dang, I got to keep up with these things. I will have to thank the folks for highlighting my works...
My fantasy of wishing I could off the boss for making me jump through all those hoops only to get forced out of my job in the end. |
| I'm processing a lot of thoughts and cannot find the words tonight for how I should feel. I guess if everyone assumes a position of indifference, there would be such uninspired participation, if any at all, at this site. So when I hear a call to action, there is a part of me that is always willing to help out. Sometimes, I feel like such a sucker. I have enough on my own plate and I want to launch when someone is in distress. My wife is constantly questioning my motivations. "They need someone.." And then it goes on from there. You sometimes find you're standing in the middle of nowhere and someone is yelling at you to get out of the field. You try to lend a hand here or there and get handcuffed while people breaking rules all around you are ignored. And then when you finally offer up your humble offerings you get a 'that's not what we're looking for' and look up to see if the writing on the wall has changed again. This is all obtuse. Some might know what I mean. The more I think people want me to shut up and go away, the more trouble I'm tempted to make. I guess I should just pity their ignorance or their intentions that I cannot fathom. Dammit, why don't I come out and say it. Don't care to be ostracized again, or just don't care? It feels good when you can contribute and do something that could be more positively defining as a member, instead of them mucking it up and taking away all the fun their could be. My head is spinning again... I don't want to believe I've wasted my time as a member of this community. I want to believe their is more in me that people don't get to see because they haven't met the person. Been like a yo-yo these past seven plus years. Wish I could decide...spinning...guess I'm going to lose before I start. I feel sorry for every hopeful newbie who becomes disenchanted because they will eventually not be newbies anymore. |
| She shelters within the weed As they lob cocktails over her wall. You can't see her eyes; veins thick with the mud she uses to douse the flames, rising higher, as she goes numb. Bayonets stab acidic animals floating in her challised waters. Bloody war engines blast their arrival; colorful lights synchronize with the volleys. The diminutive fighter approaches warriors battling, chanting; refusing refuge in their arms, dims her dark, dry eyes and dances to her own song. Don't like the ending. I think I'm going to add more/edit this. Noticed the first stanza wound up with six lines. Can I get away with 'challised' to show how the water is held? Checks his poetic license to see if it is up to date. It's sad that when you end something before your muses are done feeding you thoughts, because it is hard to pick up where I leave off. Hope I can add more to this. |
| I need to find some way I can be me and feel comfortable not having to apologize for it. I need to be able to assert my opinion without the fear of rejection. Too often how I feel about myself is tied to the opinion of others. My dad made me this way. He got to be arrogant and demeaning to others who stood up to him and played the martyr if we did not go along with his game. Here I am wandering around in this stream, wanting to appease my father and uphold all that my mother bestowed me with kindness and a strong shoulder for others. Nothing left for me? These two who left this realm more than 10 years ago couldn't have been more divisive influences on my life, and I am about to crack at my foundation. I want to be stronger and tell people off like I sometimes do and not come back and retract all that my passion will demonstrate. I've had to be a chameleon for so many people, it's a wonder I don't have an identity crisis. Well I do, just not so severe that it has stricken me with insanity. I desire the company of friends and have hated that I was a phony to get in their good graces only to discover that the friendships were more fantasy than reality. Maybe, I tried too hard. So, I stopped trying. I want to crack. I welcome it. I hope there is a shiny, resilient new person beneath this flimsy exterior who can grab the world by the tail and fling it into orbit. I desire peace of mind and an attitude that says you're either with me...well, that's it. Meekly gets off soapbox/pulpit to spend some time in repose to consider his latest rant to the wall. |
| cool. desirable. fire. craving. thirst my flame quench my thirst lost. misdirection. sign. deserving. nod your indication guide my pith. Aimless poet searching never saw you coming Would you just dare pull me down to kiss? Your cool desire like fire I crave. Lost without a sign in this pith -- please guide an aimless, searching... Shhhhhhhhhh Tossedx Handsx Timex Stopx I don't know where I was going with this other than I had a bunch of disjointed thoughts like words bubbling to the surface and then I started putting together the connections to make some sort of message out of it to send to another. It could be like reading someone's own code like morse, synophore, smoke signals or a ouija board. Examples not used here, but could be referenced in a similar poem. In my own cryptic way I try to understand myself so I know what it is I am meant to say. Well, then, the message is delivered and I imagine she hushes me, but return is hard and perhaps I am just hushing myself. The little x's are periods that come with emotion. It's like adding some force to get those words to halt at the end. Perhaps, they could mean something more. I only look at my note book and see them there and know the emotion I felt as I put each one down after those final four words. |
| Something I am working inspired by my desire for some kind of silence... When it gets quiet I hear the fish tank filter bubble water that breaks on the surface of memory and I begin to envision you Where there is no sound lonesome hums of highway traffic yet beckon my ears, in heat, from so far away like you What I seek is silence. I only find an essence of you hidden in the dark recesses of my beleaguered brain. Rain, damn it! Rain! Tears won't come. Why won't you come hush me? Want to rid this of stale language like 'gets' in first line. I want to unplug that fish tank, too! Keep tuning into it now when it is quiet. |
| Had to give the following more thought and I think what I create here is more than extended metaphor, but an allegory. Now, I proceed to babble from the other night: I'm sure no one will get that "Invalid Item"  is a metaphor for a chance encounter with a woman that might dare to tempt the man by communing with him, as he tries to figure out if he is supposed to approach. He is overcome with the feeling that she might be awaiting his advance after her bold gesture to sidle up and is trying to recall and revel in that moment before she is scared off by someone who sends her away. He is left to wonder what was that all about, if he could just communicate to her.There are times, one can't imagine why another would be interested in a courtship. We are so caught up in questioning the advances that these moments are lost. Years ago, I probably answered my own questions about these unrequited affairs with suppositions and more pondering about seeking love..."Invalid Item" .You go through life realizing you are attractive enough to draw one from the 'tender herd', but how to close the deal? Usually, it is because one feels they are unworthy of love to take a chance, embarrassed to realize whether the signs have been misread. Communication is a hard thing and we often feel the one we marvel at from across the room could not possibly lower themselves to speak the same language, one of love. We try to absorb as much as we can in those moments and fantasize the sojourn. He speaks in code, like these metaphorical, dreaming poems he pens, wondering if she'll ever read between the lines. Because he cannot just come out and say it, it is better to imagine he could have loved rather than to have lost at all. I made that up. |
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![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)
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! 
