Deadlines and Dropdead dates - A commentary on my Life.

It sucks, but I have to set these again.

yeah, things are not holding up. A job offered fell through on their end, I cannot gain any traction in writing, as folks keep discouraging me from doing the eBook, if it means spending money on it to get it formatted, and then, I keep finding the guy in the mirror looking away, disgusted at how I sell my soul for some things in life, lacking the spine to say: "Take me or leave me, just do it fast."
Stop blocking my one path left for showing I have desire to make money, folks, let me move on, prepared for bad times, so they avoid me instead of lingering over my days like some conjured up thunderstorm of doom.

So, here are the deadlines.
To survive, I need a job, soon. Like, starting before September 29th.

October 1st, I'm back out on the streets, actually, into the wilderness this time, and the hell with ever coming back for another try at joining a broken society that bitches about the homeless and jobless not being productive, even as they snub them on the jobs they put in for.

On that date, if no money is coming from any source, I walk away. Period.

Ya'll wanted a five year plan? Screw that, here's a much shorter one. Give me a rope to pull myself up with, or hang by, either way, do something world. You can't, then don't bitch when you stumble across my planned hermit hole, and leave me alone, like you did when I asked for your help in being one of you, which cost me a lot, in the way of sacrificed beliefs.

14 September2014 - Dyfedd Rex of the Frayed Faith and Patience.

Another plan unravels

Yet again
the Fates reach out,
scissors shredding my plans viciously,
before the weaver snarls the tapestry
my life has become lately,
into a matted thing
of ruin.

Driving on
as I always do,
I push my limits harder
trying to find a way safely
to appear as a conformist
yet keep my soul
from rebelling.

Five years.
That is the issue
I have to dance around,
as I have no meaningful goals
that others would respect now,
after the last years
of troubles.

Some how
I have to balance
the things others dearly cherish
in making everything be charted before
you set out down roads
less traveled, Frost said,
with beliefs.

It's tough.
Damned near impossible, really,
when you remember I'm not
some schmuck with not skills left,
but a guy who wants
just a simple job
these days.

Never planned
my life in minutia
the way so many others
do in plans, goals, or riches.
No, I prefer the respect
of the reflection looking
out mirrors.

Surrendering finally,
I make one out
over on my rant blog
to see how it flies now,
and if folks will salute
to such a path,
or sneer.

Nor sure
I want to possess
such a damning measuring stick
for my life to be evaluated with
but folks feel I need
such a bloody thing
and soon.

Read it.
Tell me it works,
or where it bloody well
breaks your mind about my potential.
Just realize, I'm already compromising
by holding back replies
used before.
12September2014 - Dyfedd Rex, who feels he's selling his soul in doing this. Read it over on the Private Island Kingdom blog, Click on "My Other Blogs" tab at the top of the page, then read down to find "Five year plans".

Almost to Plan Z.... a poem of desperation

What happens when reality,
catches up with your plans?
Already so far down the Alphabet
I'm worried about soon triggering
the real Zombie Apocalypse.

"Plan A's a loser"
Like so many before
as Tango and Cash decided once
when dealing with "Potato Head"
moving to Plan B.

Bees did not deliver,
failing to sting my foes,
so on to plan C then,
as the tide ebbed out
nixing the 'Shark Whistle'.

Plans dee, ee, eff
all never materialized very clearly
involving certain modes of words
that refused to flow out
when direly needed then.

Plans flew by fast
in my head those days,
as situations kept evolving new twists
they could not navigate safely
around Life's 'Dead-man's Curve'.

Now on Plan S,
Pounding Sand in frustration's throes,
as things keep slipping through fingers
even stories going wildly off
into uncharted mental regions.

So it goes on,
the game of bizarre strategies,
praying for just one, stationary target
to grab and make work
as I try regrouping.

What is Plan Z?
Walk out onto Bonneville's bed,
with a baseball bat and cokes,
to enjoy some batting practice
killing Zombies with spitballs
made of bones
that Lake
left.

15August2014 - Dyfedd Rex, midst searching for work.