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 All that remains: in afterlife as 'mainstream' blogger, with what little I know. 20k views |
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859 (including private) entries: 189 entries with the word “love” 0 entries with the word “hate” Rando search on a whim, 4.12.25 Two blogs: 1313 entries, 278 entries with ‘love’, 0 ‘hate’. This was not by design, but dislike for a word I prefer not utter. I’ve had more than enough. Frankly, should be twice as as much love. What’s holding me back? Search engine failed…we have hate…even haterade…let this be a lesson in trusting your sources and spreading falsities. ————————————————————————- Obshchak Some torn to the ground ▼ Read here some old blog entries...  2018 Highlights ▼Brian K Compton, sleep-writing   -- ![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. |
| Part 1: "Note: Western Wednesday
Howdy Pardners!
Golly..." Answer: Corrupt tumble weed town met by a traveling agnostic preacher asking what’s the frequency? The Dan Rather attack in 1986 is a riddled mystery that lead to a pertinent R.E.M. song that can become a setting for a Western. ‘We don’t cotton to your sorts in these parts’ is basic. Western themes can deeply explore morality, amid corruption, with travelers as mysterious as aliens from outer space (yet knowable on a personal level), and settlers just trying to live the dream on 40 acres (struggling without that common sense rifleman and his son around). Natives have a right to be angry. Trail of tears is a travesty. Casinos and destruction of an indigenous people and their culture in trade for pearls and gamblers’ paradise would make me seethe, too. My character will fly in a hot air balloon from town to town, a jovial sort who likes a good root beer or sarsaparilla. He’ll tell you what you want to hear, whether you’re manipulative or oblivious. No one size fits all. I have some cumulus to check out. Children: keep your feet on the ground and keep reaching for those stars - B. Casey Furball. Better now. *Continues to lick fur*   T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ I’m making everything private or public here now??  Irony gets the iron, with starch. Careful not to wrinkle. |
http://www.theblogazine.com/2013/02/gianni-berengo-gardin-at-casa-dei-tre-oci-in... Her nails lacked the color of polish. He let the strapped camera lay, then swing at his side, leaning in. Gentle, smooth skin, pampered, she couldn’t have been 30 or known menial work. Her nail beds were 10 pale moons. Fresh and as smooth as any prized catch from the waters below, the regal hands almost glowed. Gianni reached for lighter and pack, puzzling, before the cigarillo was lip-clamped and mindlessly lit. This was not the ordinary example of a mafia message. The diminutive photographer knew of their self-centeredness, sense of grandiosity, of henchmen like his Capotelli and Bartolini cousins. Incapable of feeling remorse, they muscled in on his father’s fledgling business, before not a lira to his name. He just disappeared, leaving Mama and his four older siblings that could ‘take care of themselves’, she said. Gianni seethed at their lack of empathy or compassion towards Papa, when his mother pleaded they help. But now, for a mob hit to provide a cleanly severed pair of hands on the waterside rail, police were more than riddled. Foremost, learn if any woman in the Venice area was reported missing — no easy task. Finally capturing images for his giornale, the Il Gazzettino, Gianni knew Corriere della Sera editors would make national news with his fotographia. Another pay day for an award winning fotogiornalista. The emotional coldness and parasitic behavior of the mob broiled under his skin again. ‘Too far’, he thought, more than violating law and undermining Venice society. Long overdue was a visit to the mobsters he knew. He’d just need to collect the freelance il grano first. And, he would need a body guard.   T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ Brian K. Compton is a former media journalist, photographer, news editor and manager, and freelance writer for multiple news outlets, with two national pieces and one state headline story, along with three Michigan news reporting awards to his credit.  Who writes this BS?  . Oh, that would be me. *sober* *nope*  I see my value now. Community S1E1 reference. Unrealized.  18 years writing = 0 novels produced (yet more than enough words to match the length of 10? 20??  |
| Amazon Kindle publishing for online and print on demand. Easy upload. Can have a print copy sent before approving release. All kinds of self-promotional tools. I’d have 20 books by now. ADHD, OCD, low vision, other stuff. It’s been the process that’s served me. Possible children’s book now? for my niece’s daughter in Sweden who discovered a love for English and is teaching her preschool sibling. So, I proposed writing some books (to wife) to help cultivate that interest with some stories of their mom when she lived with us over a decade ago. Need a purpose to write something that actually feeds my soul. I wrote and shared a short story for contest last year that might catapult. Self-publication wouldn’t seem ‘vanity’. It’s not a waste of time in this way, such as a personal biography to share with family to preserve heritage. My kids know squat about my parents and other family members unmet. MIL just did this to produce a hardcover tome to give to all. She got a format to follow from some publishing company. I could do a book of poetry. Just don’t care anymore. T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ 4.5.25 |
| TGIF Tiny Tim tiptoed through the tulips. Gary the goat gobbled green grapes in the garden Iggy the iguana imitated an inchworm, inching its way across the ivy.” Fluttering fireflies form a fascinating, flickering fleet. Thank Google I Found Alliteration for this acrostic from an internet web search. If any recall, once small How alliteration in poem Tickled our hearts There are more below: https://www.examples.com/english/alliteration-with-a.html Time to ideate, investigate and collab to create this from begin to end, including Writing ML, post link properly in forum, enter in blog was a use of an hour. I should never explain… R.3.25 T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ |
| 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  …3.25.25 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 |
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