Skip to main content

Posts

Reprieve From The March

Reprieve From The March




Life is busy, and as a consequence so are we.

At this moment, I'm sipping my eponymous tea from my mason jar at Surfer's Coffee.

It's my last day off before trudging back to the slave grind.

In reality, the job isn't that bad, but it doesn't stimulate me.

I lack the natural aptitude required to excel amongst my peers in this field, and as such have willfully resigned myself to a perpetual mediocrity.

In several books on the US Navy SEALs, the authors speak admiringly of the highly exalted Gray Man.

He is the Sailor physically and technically savvy enough to perform admirably but adequately, whilst possessing the required restraint to blend in effortlessly with the rest of the group.

The key, they cautioned, was to act with enough finesse to remain invisible, yet simultaneously with enough skill to meet the standard.

This seems to be the goal of my life lately, to contribute sufficiently enough to the group to meet the baseline, yet somehow …
Recent posts

The Present Of The Present

The Present Of The Present





Being transparent, truly honest and upfront with oneself, takes tremendous bravery.

We've all got skeletons, rattling and dusty, occupying our already maxed out closets. You dont need further clutter complicating an already chaotic internal life.

Sit with a pen and pad, and begin to compose some free verse.

Whether your own vocabulary is as vast as uncharted space or limited, constraining you like a prisoner under lockdown, is irrelevant

These are sentences that will never see the light of day, and are often meant to be burned, pulped, or shredded.

Pour your heart out, unabridged and uninhibited. Unburden yourself of your troubles.

A breakup, abuse of all flavors, guilt over past misdeeds, imagined or verified.

Nothing is off limits.

Don't aim for a specific word count, as this is self led healing, not a term paper or essay meant for compensation.

Scrawl, scribble and scribe, for this isnt calligraphy, it's bluntness.

Often, were completely unaw…

Blessings From Bordeaux

Blessings From Bordeaux







Sometimes I stare at this page and have no idea what to put.

The words spewing forth from my forced fingers are veritable vomit, the writing equivalent of going through the motions.

I liken it to a 5 A.M. workout.

There are certain mornings where no matter how hard you will it, your body simply refuses to rouse, and you are its prisoner, your infalliable, indomitable spirit imprisoned by by meager flesh and hollow, rattling bone.

Yet, by some divine miracle, you manage to heft your wretched carcass from its comforting coffin. You have work to do, you realize, and your eternal rest is several decades away.

You must punch the clock.

Your dawn training can take many forms, dependent entirely on passion and personal proclivities.

Perhaps you'll chase the sun as it rises with you, shaken from a dormant slumber by its age old duties.

The weight pile may sing to you, and you eagerly anticipate the sting of ancient rust and cold steel ripping your fresh calluses f…

Nights At The Apollo

Nights At The Apollo




"Sit down, my boy.", he'd say relaxed, contentment and happiness spilling over in his tone like rain from a windowsill.

I'd settle in to a leather chair and watch as the sun disappeared behind a lavender horizon, winking at me brightly in various lively hues before absconding for the evening.

I'd observe him like a student before his master as he'd carefully select a CD from his well worn plastic attache case. It was a veritable armory of ageless music; Swing, Blues, both American Southern and Chicano, Jazz and Big Band.

My Grandfather played rhythm guitar in a band during his youth, wielding a Gibson ES335, its body ponderous and cherry red as a pin-up girl's lipstick.

He'd perform deftly, his fingers moving with the smooth choreography of a true professional. Eventually, the twin realities of career necessity and a burgeoning family brought an end to his strutting onstage, but he never relinquished his musicality.

That night, n…

Scattered Thoughts And Musings

Scattered Thoughts And Musings



Cradling you in my arms was akin to holding my heart within the confines of my chest.

With each steady, rhythmic beat, both yours and mine, combined and syncopated, I relaxed, our breathing gradually and comfortably falling into a graceful stride.

Swans sailing softly over the surface of a serene pond, two doves joined majestically in flight, bonded by a twin route unseen but felt, not instructed but instinctual.

Your hair plumed and billowed out florally, artfully unkempt and uncommonly beautiful.Controlled chaos, the staining of glass with the nectar of the Earth.

Silently, I beheld your skin, smooth and unsullied, the twin product of judicious application of lotion post-shower and Nature's flawless design. If my own is roughened, callused and worn, then yours is inviting, delicate and luxurious, unmolested by the devastation of life.

Your body is a vast savannah, filled with wondrous landscapes and packed with miraculous terrain.

Your valleys flo…

The Desert

The Desert



Dry air in a normally humid climate is not conducive to a strong immune system. The shock is sudden and violent on an unseen level, I'm sure.

I never thought I'd suffer from stifling congestion and repetitious fits of coughing while stationed in Hawaii, but I was proven wrong recently.

As I pen this, my throat, though healed and no longer reacting in an incendiary manner when forced to swallow, is as arid and barren as the Mojave.

My chest is harboring a veritable barricade of mucus, and each pill I pop, in hues of rose red, ocean blue and grass green, chip away at bricks of the stubborn, phlegmatic stowaways.

My nose is on the brink of suicide, and breathing in coats each gust of air with a Welcome Aboard package of sandpaper and gravel.

In short, I'm fucked.

Yesterday I spent half the evening limping around wincing, my side cramped by an invisible knife, present and piercing, jostling with each aching step.

Save for a few meandering sets and reps performed to…

Come Whatever May

Come Whatever May



Coming back to the page, blank and grimacing, after a layoff can be daunting.

I'm sitting here with a mason jar filled with my eponymous tea, dreading the approach of my night shift.

The world has, for the briefest of moments, forgotten my existence, and I'm eager to remain anonymous.

Why are there so few hours in our days?

I know that the answer is that, since the very nature of life is fleeting and instantaneous, we must infuse our moments with passion, vigor and relentless progress.

But right now I'm too stubborn, and yes, weak, to accept what I'd long ago regarded as carved in stone.

The sun is beginning to set, ushering in the beginning of a rambunctious evening. There are shots to take, conversations to make, and relationships, both established and burgeoning, to embrace.

Books beg to be devoured, and gymnastics beckon to me, eager to be practiced, owned and embodied.

I instead, will spend my night in shackles, enslaved to a cubicle, and though…