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Foriegn Shores


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My Return To The Field

How often must I remain here? I must have died unexpectedly, and my wandering spirit, aura thick with malevolence and anguish, refuses to acknowledge my own death. Indeed, I have become a ghost, cursed to haunt diners, coffeeshops, bars and beaches, pen brandished and book unsheathed. I've grown so distant from others that Im more statue than Man, yet where this separation once stung painfully, it now soothes reassuringly. Lumped in with a generation of "men" with testosterone levels lower than a woman's would be 30 years ago, and forced to make due with "women" that proudly proclaim themselves sluts and will actually attempt to fistfight men if they are ignored and eschewed, as they should be, my sentiment is clear. I want no part of this generation. It's filthy and degraded.

You could say I'm living a daydream right now, a fantasy granted the breath of life by divine providence. How many shifts at work have I frittered away contemplating the perf…

Beacon Of Light In The Darkness

Beacon Of Light In The Darkness




For too long I've harbored the one-sided shadows of former relationships. Torturous, rapid bombardments of perceived slights and ridiculous thought crimes. I've stifled my own opinions on everything from politics to religion, the two classic hot button issues, paragons of ostracization and dogmatic pollution.

The ghosts of the past are insidious and seductive, causing me to view them through rose-colored glasses for a formerly indeterminate amount of time. Yet now, in the absence of that old, familiar love, the grip of nostalgic fantasy has been loosened as my naivete is strangled by harsh reality.

Gasping for breath, it attacks me with a battalion of its best memories, a company of incomparable moments, countless divisions of dreams rendered dead by inaction and hatred. In the end, we all die alone. In those final, fleeting hours, we'll be surrounded by a devoted, compassionate family if were lucky, holding and pumping our aching, callouse…

Curious Contemplation

My emotions are tumultuous, a whirling tornado throwing me around chaotically with no certain direction. I am trapped in the eye of a storm that has been raging vehemently for the past year. Whom can I trust? When friendship becomes a creaking facade and disrespect laughs mockingly behind a thin veneer of humor and joviality, I am crestfallen and wandering.

Crippled by indecision and weakened by the constant hammering of my trust in my own instincts, I return intuitively to that old harbinger of my past isolation and sustenance; pure, unbridled rage. Fists clenched and compassion askew, the only thing that saves my would be targets is my sense of rationality. Compassion is a finite resource, not to be squandered on the undeserving.

When I first arrived, I was immediately thrust into an arena I was totally unprepared for. The world I had occupied for the past 3.5 years was one of combat and character, where disputes were settled with clashing bones and straining muscles in the privacy…