Tag Archives: limbo

Lost Listen Abandon

The future that remains for me is presumed short… par usual.
This one is not for small children.

——————————

The body and the memory of why… degrade in this complacent world.
It is a form of hell— limbo, stranded nowhere, unable to recall.
Or realize you’re reluctant, accounting the past as empty upon error.

And try to place now…

To vector off your origin ’cause you put your stake in the ground elsewhere.
That now fails at what the past could yield.
But the past is gone.

But try as you must…

To find a place of opportunity… but shallow opportunity at that, you find.
Fleeting moments, like sugar, the boosts of energy tire you faster.
And a tiring in dealing with your ineffable being to refine!

And try for results…

But results oft always off radar.
To make use of convention, but violate implied rules.
Too often you lose, and lose sleep for aimless, “creative” crud.

And try, while more unknowns enter the scene…

And the unknowns of before, now known, now taken stale or falling apart.
Or, in turn, possibly consistently weak…
Or maybe tapped-in-tapped-out— that you are in synch with a world of weakness.

And try, despite small-minded thoughts…

Little broekn lines, words swiftly assembled to justify fleeting illustrations.
More desultory “small talk,” and false memory of things.
Grown sick of the “casual,” as the actual in talk is rare; the common is moot.

And try, but struggle to sustain your social corpse…

And to parse what you poisoned, of either before or five minutes ago.
It’s origin, loaded, with false pretense or misunderstanding— something unsound.
It’s easy to care less… given the weakness all around.

But try to care…

Nevertheless you harden with each unending uncontrollable error or delay.
But hey, you deserted it, and “justly,” it deserted you back.  “Deservedly,” you could say.
“Where this D. becomes an Ass,” or just an “A.”  (See what I did there?  No, f__k you.)

To try, and fight the never mind!

It, why try to define; what creation brings, based biased like all other things, right?
Tired, but too much, or too little too late…
What in God’s name is being created??

To try, but in time…

You find in anything and everything hard, and that prolonging the effort helps none of it.
That working harder at a false base will not help; doing so will only age you faster.
…But what is true?  Running so long and far, you’ve stressed and forgotten…

To try to try, your efforts “nigh.”

It yields the conclusion, same and old but as to why… you fail.
Not enough love.
Or not the right kind.

To no longer try…

As “love is a choice,” the corrupted mother says… a reciprocity of long past days.
You continue to tolerate the wear and pain, in stagnation and work… to “try.”
Your goal, from long ago, ultimately and unfortunately reduced to finish and die.

………

I grew a little.  I sold without money.  I listened and weighed.
But without answers, I can only listen in passing.
Without hope, however, giving up… sounds like bliss sometimes.

Why do I hate this blog?

I’ll make a reply to Ms. Bumble in a whole post.  Unlike Becca (on CL’s turn for the better, writing about the worst), there is this person that is impulsive enough to step off the ledge.  Still not on FB, though.

This is another rare live post, and I’m immediately available for comment.  For a couple minutes. It’s also very useless, because I’m not really saying much useful. This is also what I get for forgetting to copy that Dating Sites… post… thing… draft.  This is like an e-mail … being sent to everyone.  People hate that.

Why does he hate this blog?
The same reason most people hate it: it’s not very good. Not very good at all. Turns out, Christie’s comment was a mistake.  With such low resolution numbers, anything could be SPAM.  342 blocked by Kismet.

Intentional or not, things around here get misunderstood in the blink of an eye, and people stop talking to you altogether, seeing your words as anger, agenda, just-plain-ego, etc.  And the only people left also misunderstand.  Following those implied rules at WordPress, I try to be nice by not pointing out the stupidity of some people.  And sometimes (sometimes) that can get bottled up.  So many words that get Bottled.  Except this BottledWorder Breaks not Bends, and can’t help it.

To hate your blog, your avatar (and Blavatar, btw, means Blog-avatar), and not garner— er, garnish… find a replacement.  A soft hell— still limbo no matter the “change.”  With a bad vocabulary.

~~~~~~~~~~
As far as the programming goes…
People steer away from that too.  A “math genius” that can’t figure out $#!t for getting a 2.5-D game to render everything 3-D in several years.  Step-by-step, and, like this blog how he and it parallel… how a “failure of a person” is reflected in a failure of a blog (and that’s a worthy subject—an ugly blog, an ugly person).

Everything takes forevery-ever.  Because it is one person doing everything— someone turned down every time he asks for help.

And it is not like him to say “forevery-ever.”  But that’s not as bad as reaching for, “interesting stats.”  Sorry to make so many things at the expense of others, but… (and there’s the ‘but’ too).

There isn’t much wondering why this “adamjasonp,” whoever that is, fails to communicate almost all the time.  There isn’t much invested in his existence to talk about.  He is real, but not important.

(Live, the words still flow out in a way that’s not appealing.)

Sensitive, but… full of crap.
Despite the Non-Deletion policy, I should erect a poll on whether to delete this blog.  Yes?  No?  Do it in the form of a comment, ’cause I’m not signing up to put an actual poll thingamajig up.

Oh, the title, AND he wants comments— an agenda!

A Wallflower In Darkness

This one is not for the faint of heart.
I tried to improve it as much as I could.
It was previously titled, “To ‘Last’ Forever Alone”.
Hide the children.

Scum,
becoming of you, of I, of soap—
in sink, in drainer, in tub,
make bathing unthinkable, disgusting, or
oneself ’come disgusting.
Such growths,
life—always coming to be,
from water to surface, then ’to, ’fore on
vertebrates.
Such choices
made—stuck in sloth,
‘bad’ or ‘worse.’
So in this life,
“no time or reason” for this discipline.
Continue reading A Wallflower In Darkness

Friday: more reflections, neurotic and fatal

Preamble Thingy
I’m not sure if I’m allowed to comment on other commenters, followers, twitters, likers, linkers, feeders, bookers, Dopplers, etc., but…here goes nothing. Really — it’s nothing.
Too much time today, in my limited access time, was spent in confusion and pause, just trying to figure out what the heck I’m doing or going to do on WordPress.com.
Too much time was also spent vertically expanding the “item 3”/“Out of ideas indefinitely” image into a square. Instead of using the Mac® emulator for the fine graphics software I use, I tried to soften the upper area with the Windows® Paint pencil and line tools…
The site sorts the tag list for a post too.

Highlighted Markers
In a different public access environment, I initially thought of “chronicronic” before settling on “libertarianinmind” for the registered name, as I had prepared text on matters constitutional and democratic: “the powers that be need irresponsible voters.” That prepped text, with four sections, was published on the newer version of my first website. There was no time to change the format…or did I belay the action because I’d used the word “brainwashed”? Politics, or constitutional matters miscast as politics turn many people off, and I ought to leave that for the other site. At least until I get something too good to pass up. Unfortunately, I think I covered too much over there already.

Failure Notice
With libertarian-in-mind in name missing most of what I write about, the first thing I did was attempt to change it. After minutes of name churning in my head I came up with “ChronicFaith,” as my condition is now chronic and I have a gained faith. As 24-hour internet access is out of reach here, I couldn’t tell that the name was already taken, and you can’t change your blog name. I was stuck with a name I now hate, trudging forward like a zombie, posting the “prose” I spent hours on and updating the profile—can’t start over now. (It’s a long list, what I hate. And I hate to remember what I hate… so I can’t remember what I hate and end up not hating. I think. Okay, I used to think, but now some may call me an idiot, including me.)

Reading Material
ChronicFaith is owned by Audrey Brennan, a woman in her fifties with multiple sclerosis. Like the neurotic and/but self-repressed voyeur I am, I read all the posts, later after downloading the whole — she ominously stopped posting after March, 2011 — page of them in the afternoon. There are some similar qualities, me her. She just went the full nine yards, fighting for dear life, despising the thought of wanting help from others, listening to and thanking God. And I have my own physical/neurological disabilities, severely losing eyesight, losing gait and other things that people would experience past middle-age while in my twenties, however, only somewhat fighting and going the… not-so-full two yards, not being able to afford the tests on knowing what the $#%@ is up… not consistently working on anything and therefore not getting paid, living in the type of conditions that’d get normal people to move. Just a few similarities. I hope she’s not dead.

Follower Follower
Surprisingly, someone started following this blog after the first and only actual…post. The follower appears to be an expert on economics, econometrics, research & development and having cash in the signature image; SiteWorthChecker put the blog at $1,818. I think “Dan” overlooked the registered name and didn’t read my ‘about’ page: He doesn’t really believe in money, considers debt “insanity,”…

Well, Anyway, Whatever (W.A.W.)
The end of the day in this journey of “life,” with infected toes that need to be kept dry includes dealing with the consequences of jogging and walking in the rain while wearing ye old sneakers that are split open in the toe area and easily get damp on the inside… It also includes momentarily seeing that Danny Glover movie where Moby Dick is replaced with a literal dragon.

I may continue to write in my decline, to once again probably skimp on news reporting. If you couldn’t already tell, I’m not a reporter. Failing to gain first-hand, worldly experience or remember “brilliant” expressions that pop into my head, I can’t say I’m a writer. Failing to commit early on, I can’t even say I’m an artist. The only thing I can say is that I exist. And that sucks.

Update
Into the morning, I used POV-Ray for a new awesome (and dark) image I developed for the blog post. I took after the Julia-fractal template, merging all of the objects into one, and added a tad of blood color. Okay, maybe it’s too dark and bloody for the “Note Pad” design, but I did this despite the hours it takes for a perfectionist like me to work with text-sourced graphics and the now-substandard machine. I did it despite my toes and the common scheduling conflicts, thinking I’d be able to upload all of this on Saturday. I went to sleep at 5 a.m. and was ditched again! Oh, well. I might as well make the image semi-photographic. Roughness, radiosity and area spotlighting…it took over three hours to render.