Why I like My Snapchat Videos: They Showcase a Lifetime of Experience
According to my acquired belief system, these videos possess many virtues and capitalize on a Lifetime’s Wealth of Experience.
Their virtue begins prior to my birth with The Invention of The Photograph and the Resultant Cliché that “A picture speaks a thousand words.”
They’re able to make beauty from the ashes of my many Wasted Years as a Wife AND in Chemistry and Algebra to Fail to Recognize a formula for success, even if it equates!
Regardless of my track record, I feel in my gut these videos marry the Dramatic Flair I FIRST began at the onset of puberty with my Ability to Phrase My Words Poetically…
Honed during my years as a writer to Think Poetically In The First Place!
The end result should be POTENT DRAMA, wryly age-fermented into one self-effacing, surprisingly-impactful, socially-irresponsible yet hopefully still-entertaining multimedia of a cyberbyte.
When that inevitably fails like all my prior marriages, I find myself paying a premium to My IPhone Memory Plan, resorting to my inherent Gift of Gab, videotaping 100% of Everything I blab about for hours, rely on my Natural Aesthetic to Recognize The 1% that’s salvageable, and ultimately return to my aptly-titled B.S. degree in Radio-TV-Film to Edit The Useless Footage Down, hopefully quasi-coherently.
Of course, I never forget to swing by my long-term, prestigious highschool-memory banks to Cleverly Spin and Repackage this mere fraction of useless chatter about Everything into “Much Ado About Nothing.”
I hope you find them entertaining, too. Frankly, they’re easier to make than the poems, and I’d appreciate the harmless self-promotion.
Shadows Boomerang in the heavily-shaded absorbed silence of unglamorous Self-Reflection while simultaneously bouncing in shades of The High Echo of a reverberated-while simultaneously-shining dulcet patina of an authentic “BON VOYAGE! I can’t WAIT to see you again!”
I have to blow through A lot of fuses, and Refuse a lot, too, Burning through Lots of refuse, Blowing, burning, And refusing through That, too, Then re-selecting, reworking, And re-tooling Even previously-refused Piled-high refuse, Re-tooling THAT and Refusing It YET again, Hoping to eventually End up with Any Old Garbage I can first refuse Then, ultimately, If I’m very lucky, Dumpster Dive And pick over A whole landfill of Scraps Spaghetti Confetti To discover a tiny little bit Of infinitesimal filthy dirt, Soiled then Re-Spoiled Enough to actually Be of Any Use.
It’s either that or throw it on The Giant Heap of Rotting Trash And let it decompost naturally.
A CAUTIONARY TALE: DON’T MARRY ASSHOLES IN DISGUISE
(They have some convincing costumes, so please don’t start “Poet-Blaming” for “Victim-Shaming”; I wrote a poem to honor her, Which honors more than empty words)
I’m so sorry The Freshest Rosie Was Bound and Married into a useless posey, But because she poked so slowly, She identified her murderer, And indexed Death’s Most Pointed Finger At Her useless excuse of A lame-ass husband; He poisoned her with cyanide And never cared about The Cars Nearby, Driving on Ways both Motored and High.
He might’ve been a Husband, true, But in my always-humble opinion, Yazeed’s Phylum is more Rat than Human. This isn’t fact nor scarcely truth, Though I’ll be glad to school Anyone with less than Half a clue. My lessons are so free, You’ll think they’re a Dream-come-true. In fact versus fiction (Yes, I’m aware of the Inherent contradiction), I can only offer a special Priced at so low a Price And at CooCoo Crazy Costs Because I actually talk This Way. Oh, how it drives me so insane! But what can I do? And what can I say? It Always comes out Rhyming Any and Either way, Every nano-momentary passing Of Every Single Day.
Which Antidote might you advise To under-dose Demise-by-Rhyme?
Those who are Composed Of 100% Criticism And 0% Creation Result in an unfortunate, Unimaginative Equation And useless, tasteless formulation Whose “feedback” requires a Considerable Imagination To follow, concoct, Or barely swallow.
To Whomever says “Aging Sucks”, I offer a flimsy rebuttal: If you should find from clouds You hide, Raining your Droplets of Pain Into significantly-pesky puddles; The older you are The more vexed and perplexed You can pretend and play. “Minds in a muddle” Are easily faked And of minimal Trouble. Truly, the sole choice of Sense For those Plagued-by-Age Is to slap on a sign screaming “Ignorance.”
This is what happens when you “Do Poems All Day;” You come up with Snappy Titles Which say Your Poem in a different way, Often removing its jumpy taste And baking a Better Poem in the end. THEN, The Poem Mix upon which I depend Ends up Baking a Better Poem in the end, And once a Better Poem Mix is found, And A Better Poem is made, THIS will be The New Poem Mix I will choice to bake.
This compulsion to “Document My Life While I Still Have The Time” Is a Giant Waste of Time. People have both Lives and Time, and They can’t waste Either Reading piles of documentation About How I LIVED and SPENT Mine. Frankly, it’s boring and they don’t have the Time or the Mental Space to waste. And it’s not as if THEY’RE wasting MINE! So I’m not Surprised to Discover the Fool in Me Descry “Writing’s actually NOT A vacant waste of time. Nor an empty waste of space!”
And I know it sounds hateful, But I’m so Grateful We’re all so Wasteful! So let’s remain Thankful We’re a band of “Empty-Vacuum-Burn-Right-Through-You–Despised-and-Wasted” Merriest of All Time Wasteful Wastrels!