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4 Reasons Why I'll Be A Vagabond In 2 Years

4 Reasons Why I'll Be A Vagabond In 2 Years

As my parole date looms and I prepare to muster out of the service that's cradled me the entirety of my adult life, I face the future with an uneasy trepidation coupled with my characteristic combative nature.
I've heard every excuse, tempting me with bonuses and transparent promises regarding where I could live next, to tales of woe and agonizing regret, detailing the life of a miscreant that fleed from the Navy, expecting to flourish in the free world, no longer bound by the constraints of military life.
Eager and cherry, they're invariably met with a crippling reality, sprinting head first into a shallow pool of filthy water barely concealing jagged, dangerous rocks and craters.
I'll take my chances as I retake the reins of my life, though, even this far out, I know that my path will hardly be traditional, and will probably offend some traditionally and civically minded elders.
I plan to drift, languid but controlle…
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Dreams I've Known, Lives I've Loved

Dreams Ive Known, Lives Ive Loved



At times I can feel the presence of my maternal Grandmother electrifying the air.
She's always accompanied by smooth, dripping Jazz, phantom ivory tickled by invisible digits, blistering notes cascading through the charged atmosphere, falling beautifully in syncopated harmoniousness.
They're Maryland snowflakes twinkling in the awakening Hawaiian sun, adding fresh color to picturesque beaches known the world over.
Now, a trumpet bobs and weaves like an aural pugilist within the sonic arena, and my maternal Grandfather has arrived.
Young again, spry and charged with the vivacity of the blessed and enthused, arm in arm with our Queen, sauntering and splashing to the rhythm of the forbidden.
Though my fantasies are a few decades too late, I've always imagined them in a speakeasy, defying the ridiculous rule of Prohibition, growling through the roaring Twenties with a zest for life unknown to our entire generation.
Clad in a charcoal pins…

Ill Get Married When I Find A Woman That Can Stand Me

Ill Get Married When I Find A Woman That Can Stand Me


Multiple weddings are looming on the horizon of my social life.
Family by blood and salt water are imploring me to attend their betrothals, and I'm eager to follow.
These occasions are always joyous, representative of the birth of fresh beginnings and requited love.
Unfortunately, questions often bloom like weeds, stubborn and resilient, durable and recalcitrant.
Chief among them is the dreaded, "When do you plan on getting married, Gino?".
I always respond with solid sarcasm, assuring the inquirer that they will recieve an invitation to my theoretical wedding before I turn 50.
This is usually enough to dissuade the prying escapades, but the otherwise serene pond of my mind is still left rippling and torrential.
"When will I get married?", I hound myself, wondering aloud and musing self-indulgently.
The honest truth is that I could go my entire life without shacking up.
Though I've been told my ad…

The Alchemy Of Well Being

The Alchemy Of Well Being


The purpose of my entire fitness existence, and largely my life as well, for nearly a decade now has been the pursuit of the One Arm Handstand Pushup, hereby abbreviated as OAHSPU.
If you've lurked on Dragon Door for the last several years, that acronym will hardly surprise you.
For the rest, ranging from my fellow Brothers and Sisters in Iron to the 12oz Coors curlers and everyone inbetween, it may prove to be unwieldy and cumbersome.
Give it time, and you will adjust, as always.
The OAHSPU has been my deity, a goal I pursued vehemently and recklessly, giving little thought to irrelevant luxuries like adequate amounts of sleep, or to pernicious, looming ailments like ridiculous muscle imbalances.
I'm proud to say that I'm inching ever closer at each session, though its at a pace that would make a quadraplegic sloth stricken with polio look like Usain Bolt in comparison.
Similarly to other lofty milestones, such as  500 pound Bench, 700 poun…

Sharp, Yet Pointless

Sharp, Yet Pointless

Home weighs heavy on my heart today. I struggle, toil and battle endlessly, captured mercilessly in the gaping maw of fate and circumstance.
Next month will mark 1.5 years here, exiled in paradise. My little sister's wedding looms, and I'm uncertain if I'll be able to attend.
All due to a piece of fucking paper.
I've held firm to my resolve and tempered my seemingly endless anger in the pursuit of my long awaited return, only to have damnation rear its inviting head once again.
Idiots clutter my path, sneering and mocking, begging, unbeknownst to them, for decimation at my hand. Said appendage quivers and shakes, involuntarily forming into an aching fist, eager for blood.
But no water surrounds us, you disgustingly worthy adversary, and you've yet again escaped punishment. 
It perplexes me daily, how all of this turmoil, conflict and problematic destruction on both sides could be avoided and averted, if only we could recognize the humanit…

Six And Four

Six And Four


Today marks 6 years since I began my enlistment, and coincidentally, had I not extended, I would be free today.

As a younger man, when the home and world I knew were unmolested by the ravages of change and the life I left behind was still relatively intact, if you had offered me a path out of the military, I would've seized it feverishly and greedily, determined to free myself from what I perceived as stifling bondage.

Now, staring down the barrel of 27, I fear gaining that complete autonomy back. I feel institutionalized in a backwards, ironic way, more like a convict on the precipice of parole than a Sailor a short time from mustering out of service.

I've gained skills and credentials that render me employable nearly anywhere, and have cultivated a healthy collection of contacts that span not only several states, but countries on either side of the world's oceans.

I've gained 40 pounds of muscle since I initially left home, and saved a large portion of …

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We exist in a world where it seems every skill, talent or gift, no matter how esoteric or seemingly inapplicable, can, through the bittersweet, pyrrhic blessing of social media, be monetized, commodified and capitalized upon. I harbor no unrealistic goals, because realism has become hyperreal. I live a simple life, one that appears to have placed me at odds with the world's status quo. Good, fuck them. Take happiness where you can grasp and steal it, whether it's by drinking overpowering, ironically cheap beer with great friends, screaming obscenities at the top of your lungs for the shock value, or doing feats of strength on public benches. In my case, everything is words and handstands. The rest is irrelevant. Forever flawed. Forever rebellious.