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Showing posts from 2019

Random Scribblings

Random Scribblings



Profile/
Know I'm just/
A ghost riding/
The rails with smoke behind him/
A slow vial/
Of whiskey chokes, smiles/
At me, my nose finds a/
Trail, I'm close, driving/
At it, exposed eyes in/
Every direction, hope blinding/
Me, cloaked iris/
I suppose rising/
Up is a sewn lining/
In a black cloud/
Ash shroud/
For this lone writer/
Bone dry and/
Prose flies from/
My pen/
And I'm spent/
Right then/
I'm left/
To writhe tense/
And fight bent/
Climb trends/
And slice them/
Into a fine mess/
Life's stress/
Is overwhelming/
Suppose I'm melting/
In the clothes Im wearing/
Dont extend me/
Any hands if you're closing, pelting/
Me with fists, you throw them endless/
I'm so defenseless/
Broken, pensive/
Toast, distressed but/
Chosen, reckoned/
Alone and destined/
To own my legend/
Soaked and rendered/
A boasting member/
Of society/
It frightens me/
But your kindness brings/
The light in me/
Out surprisingly/
I can be/
The righteous dream/
You climb …

Bloom

Bloom



My dearest secret/
I fear I'll keep it/
Here or even/
As I near the evening/
You're clearly creeping/
Into my heart, sheer and cleanly/
I feel the stinging/
Of Cupid's arrows spearing deeply/
My spirit's singing/
It cheers and reaches/
For the heavens we/
Relentlessly/
Sought to mirror in Eden/
On Earth/
Then stop your/
Endearing dreamy/
Weary slinking/
Off to nights of bleary twinkling/
Eyes my dear I'm shrinking/
In your light its beautiful/
You see the/
Good in me I'm too beat to/
View regal/
The fury of/
Losing the/
Soothing of/
Prudent love/
Is unusual/
To me, clueing rushed/
Thoughts that moving a-/
Way from you is being unglued from gold/
And truth be told/
You're the shimmer in my armor/
The glimmer in my heart for/
The sinner and the martyr/
That listen for our God's words/
The pistol on my farthest/
Hip for when I'm charging/
Into battle/
To dismantle/
The symptoms of my karma/
You whisper and I follow/
Even when crippled or distrau…

Goldenrod

Goldenrod



Come embrace me/
I'm done explaining/
Myself to a bunch of pages/
Punching angry/
At a rusty hanging/
Bag, I'd rather run and face these/
Emotions with a hug and bravery/
Some would say these/
Feelings are dumb and angsty/
That I'm young and shaded/
Sheltered from the crazy/
Reality of the wasting/
Love you gave me/
I'm stumbling baby/
Crumbling, wavering/
Unsettled by the dust that's caking/
Over my heart, trust is breaking/
This isnt lust thats taking/
Over, it's the crush I've tasted/
Its deep, bundled hasty/
Together, it's got me wondering, pacing/
Back and forth/
Back to your/
Arms, laughter pours/
Smacking torn/
Promises around, I'm after more/
Like we said, the tragic force/
That powers storms/
Like this is magic, sure/
But it has a bored/
Nature, jumping at the core/
At enrapture for/
Someone new, disaster forms/
As we're dancing towards/
A coward's shore/
From the ocean we've swam adorned/
In the tattered worn/
Remnan…

Punching Through Obscurity

Punching Through Obscurity



My eyelids are sagging like a 90's throwback, and my countenance is just as slack.

Alice In Chains is serenading me through the speakers, Layne Staley switching on a dime between tortured, soulful crooning and agonizing, powerful wailing revitalizes me, beckoning me to escape this fatigued somnambulance.

I've been pushing myself through punishing 2 a day boxing workouts lately.

They both indulge my fistic passions as well as fortify my drunkenness on what some would deem a pipe dream.

Lately, I've had designs on competing as an amateur, and the admission of this has drawn hesitant encouragement tempered with well meaning caution at best, and outright ridicule at worst.

I've been told I'm too old, not skilled enough, lack experience, and have my head lodged firmly in the stratosphere.

The thing is, I know these condescensions to be factual.

I wish I would've invested far more effort in my adolescence.

When my coach stayed late to trai…

More Drunken Rambling About My Journey In Physical Culture

More Drunken Rambling About My Journey In Physical Culture





The act of training with limited means, both physically and nutritionally, has always fascinated me.

During the 1940's, men like John Grimek, Clancy Ross, Steve Reeves and George Eifermann made astonishing gains during wartime, both stateside and overseas, on relatively minuscule diets, if not calorically than restoratively.

John Grimek lived for awhile on bread and coffee during The Great Depression, while Steve Reeves improvised on leg day by squatting for hundreds of reps with a 100 pound barbell, the sole equipment available to him during World War 2.

Perhaps this explains my oft ridiculed and mocked affinity for the routines of convicts.

At sea, I feasted on volumes that inadvertently extolled the apparent virtues of incarceration for bodybuilding purposes because they both inspired and sustained me through lengthy maritime separations from civilization.

In Jailhouse Strong by Adam Benshea and Josh Bryant, a guard in…

804

804




Morality is a guide for a steady, law abiding life.

The question becomes after a certain point, exactly what laws am I heeding?

Personally, I pay scarce attention to the laws of Man.

Throughout my career and in my adolescence, I've witnessed "superiors" escape consequences for actions that my peers or subordinates wouldve been crucified for solely because of their position or rank.

I firmly believe that authority, when based on bureaucracy rather than true supremacy, physical or mental, is irrelevant, and immediately hard to swallow.

So when those supposed leaders and lords openly and publicly flaunt their immunity to the rules and regulations that you're supposedly enslaved by, a coup is in definite order.

My greatest mentors have been those men and women that never demanded respect, simply because it was expected and willingly given by merely standing in their presence.

They were usually jaded and experienced, but never bitter; such internal condescension was …

A Pressing Question

A Pressing Question





Tonight marked my return to the grappling arena.

As expected, my BJJ skills, though rusty and unrefined, allowed me to weather the chaotic storm of facing the untrained fighter.

The beautiful thing about technique in any art is that it provides a precise weapon, an accuracy that focuses and guides your raw, bludgeoning strength.

The downside, however, is that, unless you train enough to truly engrain the skill in your muscles, your mind will always remain conscious of your performance on some level.

This is natural and expected in the first few weeks or months of mastering a movement.

However, if you train infrequently, like Ive been forced to by circumstance regarding BJJ, your progress is stagnated by a previously helpful natural process.

Placed into perspective, my opponent tonight was a 21 year old, 210 pound ox.

He'd had no prior training, and was hardly a threat, but his unremarkable martial education led to an unpredictable bout.

In class, things are sl…

I Miss My Uniform

I Miss My Uniform



Hawaii, aside from where I'm employed, is gorgeous.

I'll admit that my sartorial leanings, however, have fallen by the wayside, due to both circumstance and laziness.

I struggle valiantly against the omniscient tropical breeze, clad in Levi's and cowboy boots.

During the relatively calmer winter and autumn months I'd don a beanie or black denim trucker jacket.

These would only last a few hours however, as the temperature would invariably rise and I'd once again be forced to strip by the overbearing warmth.

It hums and errs continuously in the background like an efficient A/C unit, prodding and poking, reminding me that the lowest the thermometer will ever drop is to the iconic 75, with the sun an assumed afterthought.

As my time draws ever thinner here, I've allowed my mind the privilege and indulgence of fantasizing about the battlegear Ill once again be garbed in.

There are many benefits to living where others vacation, but one of them is c…

Bulletin

Bulletin



Confidence is narcissism, setting healthy boundaries is sensitivity, and justified anger is unbearable overreacting.

The way I walk was and is termed Invisible Lat Syndrome, even though I was and am larger, leaner and stronger at a lower bodyweight than my detractors were at their higher ones.

My bookish nature deems me socially awkward, despite the fact that I was the one starting conversations with future friends and romantic prospects at bars while my temporary group sat silently in the corner, pathetically admiring their pitiful reflections in the oscillating murk of their happy hour draft beers.

And now I'm evidently stained with the disease of misogyny.

Nevermind the scores of women that have come to me privately, completely absent any coaxing by me, to safely confide their stories of sexual assault and abuse.

Despite the fact that I hail from a family where women far outnumber men in both the Maternal and Paternal lines, and either of my Grandmothers would feed me…

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 …

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…