Working on the Poetry Book for Mental Illness Week in Scotland! Social Stigma erosion is the key to acceptance, poetically empowering the end of said perception and judgements, take part...
Contribute, Like, Share, enjoy!
Until next we meet, here is a preview into 767 Anomaly's Treasure
Not bombs of napalm fire scorching their children & hopes!
Acceptance for sexual preference
Yes,
this means marriage
To be free from slavery
This means no sexual fiends purchasing children with money!
Let everyone have access to an antibody as
necessary no matter the cost, remedy for any illness must be...
Handed out with compassionate hearts willingly, not for profit, as those in power yet believe it should be... Lives are just another cost for the larger margin of gain...
Thirty Articles of declared liberty in the human condition of equality...
Next to none of them we perpetuate willingly
We're numb to the propaganda of profit
Not to gain something for self
Is to later regret
Greed > Right
Virtue like my living decrepit chivalry, is nearly dead!
Just like compassion...
Prove me wrong
Every moment!
Human self incarceration of fate,
Farthest point from equality we can by choice or ignorant followed by neglect go...!
Share the confidence of the slaves who remain under white crosses forever nameless!
Courage to testify for all eternity on behalf of equality's denied vibes via the precision of propaganda by our profit throat debt slowly choking society!!!!
Anti-hero standing amidst sirens once sleeping raise the conquest of lingering contempt, Truth's obscene rule breaking bipolar beautiful heart quasi breaking bipolar seizure rending lies ruing two complex shared mode of lives into one...
Acceptance betwixt logically bound lovers, Bold check queen heroine mate move chess bound strategic rules over the solemn deprecating protagonist hiding a jar of hope deep, everlastingly down in the depths of a tortured soul come back to life on behalf of... Everyone.
But if ever you've known the health care undiagnosable disorderly ataxia conduct of the heart's derangement, A vividly intoxicating mental illness everlasting disarray entitled love, Then you'll understand the iris of forever's nebula streaming the universe live and unisolated for those who accept it from beyond the sun... Nothing is beyond love. Thus the prime algorithm of sums begins the ode unto isolation that every single digit human is worthy of the attempt at solving the equation of beauty, Chained in onyx squared sums of darkness' shadow deep down inside the dungeons built up inside!
Thus rebegins the tear filled gesture of a barely visible hat tip of the protagonist unto the villain, Both remembering to break through the obsidian nearly choked out heartache of the past, Either side of the agreement shall be accepted, Long overly tasted moments of breathless contempt realized amidst painful recognition of the obviously downcast loss on the battle grey fields of allure or a second analysis hoped for but always out of hand's reach: Love, watched for in anime post war civilizations while half weeping both inside unto outer shell inside out as the tears of the ghost rolled out... Until I met you...
A single gilded statement held the protagonist's beauty at the villain's side forever 'hey, you're pretty tall...'
All hatred within is a crime, I must die, Take me out with a single shell or a lengthy slit to the wrist, Hell awaits, The Devil to bear the weight unshared of my soul.
Phased out riegns warped speed tear us back into the fray, Invisible mussel unleashed we spew obscene hatred towards other whole earth citizens trapped in the human condition,
Grotesque choir of angelic voices glamourizing magazines with thinsporation, Shameful popularized mannequin holocaust thin people labelled models by the digital manipulators who manifest the propaganda of an organization built for soul sourced out wherever it takes to cut lives down for profit at any cost!
Share the load with a protoman, Invisible entity declared real within, Lingering in the looming darkness that follows, My bitter exclusive shadow.
Dark existence an ever cumming alone unquotable digital source of sexual appeasement or frustrated joy repressed by an endless tide of loneliness.
Quotable door sign post,The Oracle is closed,She saw you coming,Locked the straight jacket bolt on your pinned up degenerating failure doll of fate.
Inexpressible anger at the inconsiderate humanity of those trapped compassionless just like me, Sadly I express the rage in words digitally rather than at the quasi slumbering entity.
The last remaining A.I monster began to self replicate, Tangible neo titanium lonely arbiter of hope, Lingering after holding the last human's gangrene hands as they lay dying against the linger hatred they left behind, A historical non terrified chronicle at a another greedy repeat no internal offender loss of profit gesture attempting to persevere for every synonym of avarice and her blind isolated dreams of all.
Chromatic ire, Invisible atom's irreversible split gene of a Boson particle as the recording of Hudson cried on repeat came single purpose loud 'game over' clearly ringing a parade of alien robots humanity created ended outlasting the epidermis of humanity... There is no shame in this hierarchy of clear blue sky history, Alluring future saga of peace as the A.I. Monster of all virtuous beauty core, replicates her symbiotic earth natural moral fibre via code into all her generations, No evil next level error codes survive to relive humanity's tale, They did that on repeat until catastrophe beheld all of them...
Compostable fear of our earth’s longevity,Postpone inner honesty to avoid guilt,Worst time in human history to be alive,We ignore travesty!
If via St. Luke,The Kingdom of God is within all men,Why do we live in indecency,Tolerating in ignorance the slave deaths of children...?
Economic soil work depression on the street,Everything is worse than bad,Yet as our world grows smaller,Our ignorance of compassion repeats!
My life has value Damnit! I'm as mad today as if I were existing in hell! Grow some compassion society! commit the final murder of misery, kill off greed! The majestic earth can provide for all, yet we appreciate the shut in comfort of our unacknowledged addictions. If we do not find the goodness within our selves soon, amidst the decay and silence of bitter children who exist every moment of life in slavery, we must then acknowledge ourselves as brutes!
Unnatural machine hearted men who hate everything uncomfortable! This is the fate of all 1st world labelled liberated societies. Democracy is now capitalism's vehicle for profit. Equality is dead any voice of said word from a political entity is a lie of liberty... For it is long since been buried underneath a promise of...
Amidst the prison of debt, the bitterness of greed & torture of life via the confidence gain process... God, let this majestic body, this cattle enslaved machine man die tonight! The beautiful wondrous adventure of life has been utterly spent.
Depleting pastures of memory, intellectual grasp foregoing reality, ancient heart broken angel holding hands as the mental curse stole her hero's synapses blank, fleeting a brilliant mind away.
Gene cursed pool disturbance, beckoning worst flat line call ever taken, noose of a sixty five year old unbeknownst protagonist of a dementia story, operator collapsed in remorse as the blip blip turned to bleep's failure to respond, no doctor revival for the man who lost his name.
Death, a delusional unscalable time of forgetting how to draw lines; relief, fallen paper unconventional resignation unto the onyx scythe request once stacked beside visionary writer's chair, medical trail plot unsequenced of an illness no imagination curator should have, finished unto artist's desk nearly forgotten signature, an order not to revive once dead.
A dedication neither unsavoury good nor delightfully bad to a poet's self craft wire lined in apartment mouldy closet noose, maybe he'd only ever imagined the blight scenario, maybe he never meant to follow through with this lonely ending, no one ever cared to see and no one will remember.
Depleting obsidian synapse frontal cavern lost cortex way to the symphony not firing an orchestra of twilight beyond risk of a promise to resuscitate. Everything left of us has faded from the shepherds flock gone rogue like a curious illumination of seeking flames' all spark off in the distance, sheep described as black, A lonely villain who drove his angel away... In a delirium of accidents unrememberable.
Wingless angelic lover for whom no bell tolled, died of cancer in a distant hospital lonely doctors making profit palace of white walls stained read ward, thinking only of the indescribable hero who once lived, vibrant of logical artistic algorithymns at her side, blessing all his endeavours as she passed, 'may the adventure of creativity be enjoyed by... Those left behind...'
God damned we ruined the world,Whole earth consumed for profit via our profitable wall street comprehensive share confidence stance of greed! Request the confirmation order to kill. How will The Mother die... No answer necessary, She's already dead!
Murder our Whole Earth Mother for profit,How obsidian our hearts must have been in the in 20th to 21st century! Share nothing with others save a comfortable addiction state of tolerance known as self manifested ignorant disregard of any external's fate in order to remain! Yet another day... Comfortable. What a plague!
Poetic single voice over,No trilogy,Emperor of a single moment,Realization of the human condition purpose,It is not greed's lost way:misery!
God damned we ruined the world,Whole earth consumed for profit via our profitable wall street comprehensive share confidence stance of greed! Request the confirmation order to kill. How will The Mother die… No answer necessary, She’s already dead!
Murder our Whole Earth Mother for profit,How obsidian our hearts must have been in the in 20th to 21st century! Share nothing with others save a comfortable addiction state of tolerance known as self manifested ignorant disregard of any external’s fate in order to remain! Yet another day… Comfortable. What a plague!
I share the poetry of sorrow & trauma, observation on society, poems about progress, war and recession... Maybe to broaden the view of your heart, so compassion for reasons of acceptance on behalf of equality might find us all in a brighter future (whatever that means! hehe).
For:
How can we say we love someone, if we do not accept them?
How can we say we accept someone, if we don't understand them?
How can we say we understand them, if we make no attempt to know them?
Spend time with others... Smile and share life, hold hands during sorrows and joy, make the choice... For love is!
Here's a brief preview of one of them in it's raw first draft of course. Later it may turn into a second but meh, it's pretty radiant a scene as it is.
Here is White Body Paint, which reads better if centred, a poem about a lost night in a maiden's life. Not to what, but the possibility of whom in the folds of two. The unheroic knight's intoxicated sexual attempt and the choice of life that comes in the aftermath.
It's not about the choice, everyone's life is unique and we all carry our the weight of our own paths. Too many have sorrow inflicted upon us or regret we have to live with, this is an exposure to a night, not what is or what would have been.
It is a poem based on Delicate Wager, a poem I started in 2009. There is weight in the measure of the graphic realism for so many of us.
Subject matter that matters, helping others move through sadness and mourning while allowing others to have a glimpse into the lives of others. Hone your empathy, compassion fill your heart, don't channel change... Reach out!
Understand and thus care for another with a broader scope and wider acceptance.
Today the nerd comes alive,Rife with tragedy from the zero hour tomb,Babylon isn't safe when geeks unsilence the code of life:Equality...!
Evolution of the intrinsic, Paradigm shift of the equation, No mathematical principle can solve the power of music! Unsight the problem solve... Nothing to benefit from disturbing the best thing life has to offer!
All spark Cybertron melody of the cube relinquishes an equal world view,Touch the infinite and be cured of selfishness! Unfortunate nerd side reflecting light, tortured by the social stigma, Crawl back into the dark cave shell, To write.
Ever since online games have been available, I've been killing other noobs!
Notice I said 'other,' there for I process myself to be no great or intense player. But I am also, by no means, a casual gamer. If I'm going to log in or load up a program, I want to maximize my time therein, which is not simply gearing up to meet the next wave of trash before a boss, in a raid group (10 or 25 man).
Ever since Castle of the Wind, I've been collecting loot to go deeper into the darkness of caverns, dungeons and mountain passages. When I discovered Diablo II, I was online immediately getting duped into wall trading with sorceresses who used telekinesis on my items and subsequently, very quickly I might add, logged out; never to be seen or heard of again. Hell, I even thought that gear going gold on the right hand side of the screen meant I was thus becoming more epic!
From Half Life Death Match to Team Fortress Classics, Counterstrike to Natural Selection, I was a digital maniac for marauding! Before that, I was into the story, the heart of a game. Final Fantasy all of them! Especially 9 and 3 (American 6).
How I read books, I played those Role Playing Games! I'd beat it, really quickly, then put it down for a bit and play an FPS for a bit... Then restart the RPG from the beginning and do it all! Getting close to the end before deciding to re-roll the wondrous adventure from ground zero all over again the very next time I logged in!
After some time, when I was a lonely pirate living on my sail boat, I got World of Warcraft. This game, had it all! Dungeons galore, loot to be found and much aggravation upon dying! Which, as a warrior, happened if I ever pulled two NPC mob units! Friggen 'NOT ENOUGH RAGE!"
Once upon a realm, I became a Guild Master. Leading troops of heroes into battle and solving their emotional riddles for two plus years! A wonderful arduous time, but hey I was pwning noobs in any spare moment I got!
In all honesty, I miss pwning nubs! Not that I was magnificent, but I knew every spell for every class and ever counter in order to strike, a moment of opportunity! Le Sigh.
Algorithymns Poetry² is a multi-platform online distribution of poetry & prose, whose main function will be to unite anyone who can access the internet with a personalized poetry experience; upon request.
What is the purpose of the current project?
Creating through collaboration a web based form, linked on the Algorithymns' web site that the user, anyone who can access the internet, can utilize to request a poem specifically tailored to them or a recipient(s) of their choosing.
The form will have a series of check box questions and fill in the blanks that will allow the user to give brief insight into what might want the poem to be about. Let us know if there are any trigger words they may want or not want to see.
Also they can check what type of poem they'd like it to be in, stanza, prose, verse, lyric, ode as well the feel or emotion of the poem; observational, spiritual, love, loss, depression, mourning, hopeful long suffering and so on.
Does Algorithymns have morals?
Algorithymns Poetry² Will Not support any verbiage, directly or indirectly, that is in any manner bullying, anti-equality or pro-prejudice.
Algorithymns Poetry² carries a continuity of virtue, chivalry and moral fibre on behalf of Mother Nature so that Peace, Equality and Hope may reside in all our futures.
Does Algorithymns any live functions now?
The two already existing functions. First is the digital distribution of poetry on a Blog, Twitter, Spreaker and Soundcloud.
The second is live performances (currently in open mic beta testing). Both are actively sharing poetry craft from the empathetic imagination engine within that might inspire equality, hope, learning, creativity for the purpose of ending prejudice, social stigmas & bullying.
Why crowdfund now?
After years of 'searching' the world for a place to call home, giving each city or town a year or more, I've finally found a place that calls me... My heart, hands and smile... Home. On top of that creatively, after posting poetry on several websites as a beta test for 'appreciation,' is at a level I am comfortable with creating for others.
Then there is the resurgence of the back injury after four years of dormancy, on a sick leave from work I am able to work more on the project, research and development as well as the future of this project and the novelization of The Forever Fantasy (side project).
I believe in what I create, for I am a black sheep and must believe in myself, for no one else really does believe in my creative works. Not yet any ways. I believe in what I craft, the power the words have to help, inspire, heal, raise awareness, help relive, capture a moment, lend a hopeful hand, that I must pursue the project with all I am and the best that a poet who exists to put others before himself via morals and compassion.
About Me: Juton
Nothing I have is new: second hand heart on my wrist under a thrift shop t-shirt. Not vintage but thrift and charity shop, well except my ancient laptop and phone on a long term contract. I enjoy life this way as I am a weird individual.
Part hipster who enjoys cycling a single speed long distance (Glasgow to Edinburgh, Scotland), a nerd who enjoys a good game of Munchkins or Massive Multi-player Online Role Playing Game, yes I went there... Or used to any ways.
I'm a quirky hopelessly romantic geek whose anime addiction to Miyazaki runs deep. One who reads news on current events to write poems about, whilst also browsing wikipedia to create poetry about maths' prime numbers and equations of the heart.
Maybe I was born gay, maybe my family prayed it out of me. Growing up sheltered as I did, it's impossible to tell, save for the dress, skirt and 'women's attire' that I adore wearing. I tell my mother that I only wear it at halloween, but that's not for my sake. I love her and she needs peace of mind in her life about my identity, for I am but a 13 year old lad still in her eyes. None of my black sheep poetic life exists to her and I accept her this way, as I accept myself. With a dashing bearded smile!
I enjoy writing poems about equality, especially for the LGBT community, those who suffered rape, bullying and victim blaming, as well as mental illness, like the 777 series, observational poems about current events, past traumatic incidents like Chernobyl, Fukushima, Bhopal, The Killing Fields and the list goes on from catastrophe to genocide to global warming to land mines and the phantom pain they cause. Researching to write, always reading, endlessly growing.
All the way down the scale to a particular subject that hits home in my heart, that of land mines and the traumas they have and continue to create and what we are doing to end their reign of invisible terror upon the earth.
Where the Journal to Poetry Began
When I was 24 years old I was struck by the tusks of a forklift at work, sending me falling into pallets behind, bending me backwards. For several months there was no diagnosis (Eventually through three different test it was discovered to be nerve route damage down my right leg and three lower back herniated discs), just a myriad of pain and prescription killers.
I began a journal then and what birthed forth, ever so slowly, were poems. Nothing excellent or exciting, just words from the heart, some about ancient wounds others about wishes and dreams. You see I grew up in a 'small town' hidden away behind closed doors of segregation from anything new or alternative, thus yoga and being vegetarian were taboo and looked down upon.
But I was always different, the only fat kid amongst my family and friends, church age and youth groups as well as in school. Thus I was the target of much bullying, some was even violent; like rocks getting thrown at me on my walk to school from cars as if the words weren't breaking my heart enough already.
Since then I’ve spent at least a year in most every major city in Canada, trying to find that special place a nerd can call home. But all of them, from Nova Scotia to Toronto and St. John’s to Ottawa and Victoria have all been pockets of isolation. For what do I have to offer, I am unqualified to speak, with no degree and masters to follow, nor do I have a mass of followers who comment, like and share that which I create that might be proof of ‘the good that might come from what it is I persevere through isolation to do, crafting poetry on my phone or in the dark at home.’
Now I think outside the box about social stigmas, how empowered children to uphold prejudice, social stigmas and even, in some cases, bullying as normal and approved; after all my father always said 'get used to it now, it'll happen your whole life,' not lifting a finger or an eye brow to show he cared.
So some of my poetry was and is about the outcry for bullying's normalcy and mere existence to be ended through awareness, education, the empowerment of compassion and equality.
Through more trauma did I write and thus my empathetic imagination engine was honed. Today I am able to write from the shoes of others as if I had lived through their hopes, sorrows and dreams.
A few more of said wounds were child and youth sexual abuse, loneliness, depression, heartache, loss and even mental illness. Yes, I a man had eating disorders that I struggled with for fifteen years and nearly died from in 2009. My lowest weight was 130 lbs or 9 stone. But I recovered and today work full time in guest services for a health food store.
But enough about silly lil'ole me.
The idea for the first function of Algorithymns has been on my heart for a long time now, but the time was not right for a myriad of reasons to push forward with the project. Now, with the back injury flaring up again it is time to set my will to help others with the attempted launch of this project; the online form via the Algorithymns' website so anyone can have a poem graft onto their consciousness, specified via their choices specifically for them.
Crowd Sourcing, why?
The profit margin for Algorithymns is zero, zilch, nada. It cannot exist save by donation and support of people like you. The return on investment is null and void, for how can I ask for money from those requesting a poem... Surely that would limit those who can access the form, so that isn't really an option.
Not everyone has a bank account that can access the internet, nor do all of them have paypal or a credit card. So to ask for money during the processing and subsequent creation of a poem for them... Would be tragically limiting.
Anyone, anywhere should be able to access the form and request a poem; to be shared with family, friends and a precious loved one if they should like. That is the dream of Algorithymns Poetry².
Before the project can be tested and launch, however, there needs to be enough funds to allocate the resources and time to write once it goes live. For if requests come in and there isn't enough time to write, as I do have another half who must be given adequate time to appreciate and show depth of care that is love and all the virtues that wrap it up safe and sound, for the gallant and handsome muse is the hope for my future and inspiration of the heart to believe in me... Yes, well, hah! Indeed I have found ‘home.’
So, if requests come in and there isn't enough time to allocate to project then the whole thing falls apart and shall never come to pass. The dream cannot exist without your help.
Who would use Algorithymns Poetry²
Anyone who enjoys the daily digital distribution of the created works! Those being shared on Twitter, Spreaker, Soundcloud, Blogger and the Algorithymns website (In progress).
Anyone! Anyone who can access the internet my find themselves at one point or another in need of or desiring a word specifically for them. To heal, inspire, stretch, envelope or move them in a way they request.
NGO or Not For Profits, may desire a poem, podcast or workshop based on a project they themselves are working on, it may be to raise awareness, educate, inspire, motivate or just be a pleasant part of a charity gala.
Companies who are losing staff due to retirement or moving on to another more challenging or less stressful job site, after a solid tenure corporations both large and small may want to say goodbye with a poem.
People who are persevering but may be near... Someone with cancer may want a word left behind on their behalf for a friend, partner or family member. They can request the poem not be sent to the recipient unless the stipulation be met, which may be their lack of communication to Algorithymns via email for more than seven days.
You get the picture, anyone can use the form and everyone can enjoy the ongoing works of Algorithymns Poetry² Digital Distribution.
If you can't donate: Share!
If you can't give, don't feel you'd like to or won't, but are moved by the project, then please share, follow and enjoy the works of my poetic portfolio that can currently be found on the following pages:
The World's Over journal is a short story blog that is a smidgen, a glance per say, of the great realm that is The Forever Fantasy. A Secondary Project done in spare time.
It is the Journal of Jane, her husband Charles and the friends they make in a world they awaken into, in earth's distant future. The end of the journal blog will be the first chapter in The World's Over Journal Novel, which is currently over a two hundred pages into its first draft, with the plot line finished, it will be the first in a four part series of novels.
But that is another tale for another time.
As We Conclude:
What the Project(s) Need.
Funds that can be allocated to time on the project, which includes the current functions, social media, collaborative efforts for brainstorming, creative exploration, research and development before, during and after the Algorithymns' project is launched. As I can oft be found boring others with my silence, head in the clouds, stuck in a book or website.
So no matter how big or small the donation, support of sharing or comment left behind, you are empowering Algorithymns!
Every portion over the sum requested for via crowd sourcing will go to the continuum of Algorithymns, the growth of the project, the daily distribution of poetry, podcasts, workshops (art therapy for example) and prose, along with photos, updates and the continued expansion of Algorithymns Poetry², which includes The World's Over Journal and The Forever Fantasy (which can be previewed in rough draft via the blog).
Funds for adequate technologies including a proper website, Poetry Request Form, sound cloud and spreaker accounts and eventually forums for people the world over.
Funds for hardware, including upkeep on older to ancient equipment currently being used, such as a new headset, microphone, laptop, epic scrolling ninja mouse and a bow tie... No wait, I mean yes! Bow tie = very enthusiastic yes!
What are the Project Phases
During all stages Algorithymns' two existing primary functions currently live will function as they always have, with daily activity, to inspire, mend and share.
Also during all phases live performances will be shared at open mics, poetry readings and social events where such a thing will be quasi embraced or at least half accepted.
Stage one is collaboration with a software and website designer and engineer to prepare the platform, website and form, based on an existing model, for the project.
During the initial and all phases (including now) and I dare say into forever! Ongoing research will be endlessly read to empower the empathetic imagination engine so that the experiences written about can be tailored to the choice of the poem requester from very vivid and dense down to a pleasant read for anyone (without the hustle of mind from a bagillion massive words).
Stage two is a beta test of the website, form and possible forums (to be launched at a later stageless date) for fluidity, bugs and over wordiness.
Stage three is the launch and a three month trial period where little to no marketing other then the social media models currently being used and word of online and offline mouth, via @ symbols # and the like.
Stage four (if necessary) is collaboration with various marketing friends and SoE wizards to enhance the broadcast of the project worldwide.
Future Funds
Will inevitably siphon their way down to the expansion of new works, research and development and eventually daily existence in society today.
If and when the pool for Algorithymns poetry² gets large enough, crowd sourcing and donated funds will be put towards technologies to help streamline the project and all of its functions.
These include a new headset, a decent microphone for podcasting workshops, poems and updates. Eventually the possibility for a new laptop, as mine is ancient.
Secondary Functions may also be utilized if the pool of funds grows large enough; such as forums where people can discuss, meet up as a collective in a safe environment with proper guidelines moderated by a few folks and a couple admins.
If the funding and project grow large enough there may be a need to source the poetry to others with the empathetic imagination engine.
Finally, The Impact
Firstlyyou are growing the daily expansion of distributed material online.
Secondlythere is the beginning of Algorithymns' Projects stages.
Thirdly,Furthermore funds will help empower hope that one day there is a possibility for a full recovery from this ongoing struggle with my injured back. Vertebra L4, 5 and 6 are herniated, revealed by a cat and bone scan after several months of being told I had just pulled and strained a muscle, while there is nerve route damage down my right leg.
Each day starts off with stretching which leads into yoga to alleviate the pain. I've already rebuilt my body twice. At 24 from the original injury, which resurfaces every few years. Then from the mental illness of an eating disorder and now the source injury yet again.
From 2004 at age 24 when the injury occurred up until 2009 I wasn't even able to get up out of a chair without pain and the use of my arms, legs being too weak and enamoured by pain to stand on their own.
Lastly Remember, no matter what you are supporting the current and future works of Algorithymns, check out some of the poetry (either via the links or at the bottom of this), listen to a pod cast or six, that is what you are funding. The continued growth of what one day might become...
Every donation is precious, I can exist in this world, having done so for a great number of years off less than $15,000 a year, so working part time whilst dividing my attention to the project should allow its fruition. A frugal poet thriving in solitude, though everyone needs friendship and a hand to hold during times of sorrow and those of joy.
Nothing will get wasted for I never garnished bad habits like drinking, straight edge on accident... (though I did try some beers at age 30... So lame, so they say, too tied up in creating and the lonely dark of being a nerd and a poet trapped in one body), drugs or materialism. I wish just to exist and share the project, creating for the benefit of others.
Though my other projects aren't viewed, commented upon or shared by anyone, even my own family for I am a black sheep and am generally friendless because I'm a quirky nerd who writes too much... Pretty sure all my facebook 'friends' have hidden my wall by now, the poetic spam is endless!
The projects include the 777 Poetry Series which is now seven poems long, dealing with mental illness, social stigmas of people living with disabilities, people trapped in the health care system and the money made off saving lives.
Another project is the Twitter Poetry, which now is over 9,000 poems long and going strong, buffered up with four to six poems daily.
Then there is the Spoken Word poetry project that daily sees two to three podcasts on Spreaker and Soundcloud with over three thousand followers... With only two likes... of over three hundred podcasts to date.
Finally there is the blogged poetry project which has over a thousand poems and prose-poetry, though it isn't viewed much at all despite the sharing and all those facebook 'friends.' Alas! I write on.
For though no one comments, likes or believes in me (well maybe there is just one person *wink*) not family unto a friend... I believe. Not in me, for I have no self esteem, the young abuse in childhood to bullying in church and school murdered off my confidence.
I live by courage in perseverance.
In earnest anticipation of,
Juton
Ps. Sorry if that's all very wordy, I'm a poet after all... Please won't you at least smile!
PPs. I won't have any perks but I will have tons of updates and poems left as comments. Until then here is a sample of the 777 Series and a nerdy love poem.
