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.
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.
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?
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.
She must talk to herself ALL of the time, And by her Own iPhone, She must have been driven blind.
She ALLSO must ALLWAYS speak in Rhyme (I know, I can’t stomach it Myself most of the time), And A More Creative Method of Spelling NO one should Never happen upon and find.
If that’s all set up, Then “The Words Said By She” Can NOW, Automatically, Travel nonstop and Highly-Targeted-Directly From Word-to-Text And Bot-to-Blog, Then Blog-to-‘Gram And back again, To once again Wordplay with Those Who Jest The Best❣️ And please don’t breathe a Word of This to Anyone, But she could do “It Driving” If IT wasn’t so dangerous!
If I hear Another Person Yelling me They’re “Bringing me Something-for-Free,” While charging a Monthly Subscription Fee, And subjecting me to [Frequent], [[Repeated]] !Constant Endorsements!, I shall SCREAM And Promise To Flee; Conduct My Business Somewhere Else. MY ONLY THREAT? Bare Finania££y. MY IMPACT? Nano-Minu$-0ne. But Most Mucho-Micros I Know In Person, At least on The Individual’s Basis, Are the Kind of Folks who are SO MUCHO, They Mucho ALL Their Micro Group-Impact into A MACROECONOMIC One; So Please Remember and Forget Me Not.
Signed, A Merry Band of Nobody Who won’t Remind You of Her Age, Just her Loyal Patronage.