INTENDED AUDIENCE
I tag “writing” and “writers” on most of my posts, but I don’t write FOR writers.
I merely write to show off for a hopefully well-read, well-explored, literate audience.
inspiration
The most self indulgent activity
The most self-indulgent activity
It’s surely writing;
You spend half your time focused on your thought process and the other half processing the varied ways to communicate your thoughts.
Either way, you can’t get out of your head.
P.S. How does any writer find the mental energy to be an extrovert? At least full-time?
The Right to Write and Life
The most violent thing I have done which violates my most inviolable belief system is drafting a post simply because nobody liked it.
In my book, that was a Chris-Watts kind of thing to do.
WEDNESDAY WRITING WREFLECTIONS
If you’re advocating I ditch my entire wardrobe in favor of a BRAND NEW WARDROBE, I won’t require much convincing. Shall we charge your credit card?
My Co-Dependency
MY CO-DEPENDENCY
Sometimes I hide behind my poems and stories.
Other times, I use them like a diary.
It depends on how I feel about myself at the time.
It scares me how much I depend on them.
What will I do when they leave?
[For some reason, this one cost me something to admit, as well as a few tears on its exit].
FOR THE “PURE WRITERS:” Why I Happen to Like My Pure Videos
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 and resorting to my inherent Gift of Gab, videotaping 100% of Everything I blab about for hours. I then 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.
Advice for The Tough Times
I burn through LOTS of inspirational quotes when I’m the grips of a really complex plot twist.
This is the Best Piece of Self-Expression I Have to Rain on Today
SUCH BLOOMING NICE PEOPLE!!
I only post anything here if “What I’m Saying” demands that I say IT “in polite company.”
Then clearly, I have no choice.
Same disclaimer as before: my jests are ALL Hold-Harmless, Empty Jesters if THIS is the first time that THEY Have Occurred to ME.
TWINKLING SECRETS
TWINKLING SECRETS
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!”
The REAL Reason I’m Mad At My Dog
The REAL Reason I’m Mad At My Dog
I’ve been mad at him ever since I learned from both
A) The Groomer and
B) My Mother
(Basically, the only two people he’s EVER around other than ME)
That the whining pathetic noise he ALWAYS makes to communicate with me (the only sound he’s EVER used) he also ONLY uses
only WITH me
and ON me.
I’m not even upset with him for blatantly attempting to manipulate me. Good for him for trying! Nice try, buddy.
What I’m mad about is that He’s NEVER ONCE tried to reason with me logically, illogically ASSUMING that the only appeal capable of REACHING ME would have to be (and apparently CONTINUES TO BE) an emotionally-cloying, not to mention noisily-annoying, solely-heartstrung and overly-sentimental one.
THE STRUGGLE OF FLYING SOLO
THE STRUGGLE OF FLYING SOLO
I have to be highly entertaining because I’m a tough crowd, and I’m both sole performer and sole audience member most of the time.
Not to mention, I’m really hard on myself.
And while most people would agree I’m highly agreeable, I’m ALSO notoriously difficult to please or impress.
So… I imagine you can imagine my inner struggles.
PS. If I didn’t have such low standards, I’d be too afraid to perform at all.
CREATIVE LITTER
CREATIVE LITTER
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.
[PS. Where do you think
I found YOU?]
A Great Face is Hard to Fake
No amount of time
Can stake a claim,
Claim to waste,
Or attempt to erase
A truly great,
Greatly True face.
To even acquire One
Requires EXTRA time
To build and bake,
Then disgrace
Into The Greatest
Of All Faces.
It’s The Last Act
That’s halfway Gracious,
So Accept it,
Don’t disdain it, and
Shine for the Sake of
ALL That’s Beautiful
Inside AND Outside of
Impossibly Gorgeously
Beautiful You.
Don’t worry, I’ll gladly
Shine with you; will YOU
Be Chance-of-Shining
With US TWO, too?
The latest and greatest of
Good News globally for you is:
“You no longer have to await
The Sun’s Return
Before allowing
Your OWN baby rays
To blaze reflectly through.”
The Salt From Tears
THE SALT IN TEARS
Tears are important, too.
When I travel down a deep dark tunnel into a fathomless black hole of despair, I rely on my tears to remind me
I’m still a soul,
sitting in a body,
feeling sad right now.
Tears anchor and tether me; both are equally salvationary.
The Non-Creative Critics; Monday Morning Quarterbacks
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.
POETRY BY AGE ISN’T POETRY BY NUMBERS
POETRY BY AGE ISN’T POETRY BY NUMBERS
I decided what separates
The poems of the Young
From the poems of the Old
Isn’t the song sung nor story told;
Rather it’s down to The Style
Which captures a Frown or a Smile.
Do You prefer to mentally copulate
With the first prick of fresh heartache,
Or do you prefer the dejection,
Pain and unspared despair
Of often brutally-inflicted
Repeat Rejection?
It’s simply a matter of taste.
A Choice doesn’t have to be made.
We can Break your heart Either Way.
THE SONG OF POLITICS IN THE AIR
THE SONG OF POLITICS IN THE AIR
I thought jokes were only ever
Thought, Written, Told, or Spoken
By an Individual-Sized Person,
One accountable for its own voice.
However, Politicians have taught us
We don’t have to Make A Choice!
All of these things can occur in unison,
As well as simultaneously,
More “cacophonous” than “sonorous” or “harmonious”,
If You ask Me, or
According to the Notes I read.
I don’t know,
YOU tell ME:
Do they also sound
Too Stale to Sail
From YOUR Slide on
This Slippery Scale?
Regarding Sources of Poetic Inspiration
This could literally save lives! People Everywhere who have cried Too Much Salt in Too Many Tears won’t be forced to Blindly Search for a “Quick Fix” or a “Fast Replace” with Notorious Vexter, Visine.
At least not Anymore, they won’t.
[I told you folks SHE did it all day;
It keeps me awake and
Gives ME a Terrible Headache!
Apologies, Metaphor Her Friends, & More:
THE DEDICATION:
Metaphor is The Meta
I’ve Literally Spent
MY ENTIRE LIFE
Searching Phor;
It was a Quest I was
Glad to undertake
On behalf of Poetry’s sake.
THE TITLE:
MY GRAND TRIBUTE TO METAPHOR
THROUGH THE SIMILE OF
Apologies, Metaphor, & So Much More
(Not than anyone’s ever apologized to me before….).
THE PREFACE AND SYNOPSIS
(Longer than The Execution]
An Indirectly Literal AND
Disproportionate Piece of My
Metaphoric (hypothetic?)
Forgiveness
(I Refuse to grant the Literal kind,
Since I’ve Never been Guilty of Nothing);
But if your Words
Of Sorrow are stale,
No Slice of the Whole
Can stuff Me or THEM
Full of the Stuff of Life!
Hopefully you won’t be overly-startled by my Oxymorons,
Bored by my Clichés,
Nor find my Allegories too obtuse to
Disgrace you and deface you,
Stimulate and Titillate you
Until you Crescendo With
An Overflow of Innuendo
At the Highest Of
All Heights
Ever Achieved
In Your Entire Life.
So why not stick around?
We may go to Ground,
But we can certainly
GIVE IT A Try, and
GIVE IT A Fly,
So, Let’s apply!
It’s a job I can do;
Can You?
THE EXECUTION:
FIRST:
It takes an Adult to apologize,
So you’re already taller than I imagined.
NEXT:
We’re all guilty of limiting our
Fields of vision
To better scope sizes and shapes
In this shadowy cipher of space.
LASTLY:
Please don’t rain on
Anyone Else’s Parade,
Especially mine.
Not today.
And regarding your forecast?
Are you willing to remain at least
Partially Sunny?
I’ll taste you some sweet
If you’ll shine me some sunny.
In fact, if you’ll spare me
A “brief interlude of rain”.
I’ll let you call me “Mama,” sonny.
THE COGNAC:
How was it for you?
Frankly, it was
Way too much like work
To work much like on me.
Come [Word] Play With Me! 