Justin Razor and the World

I often feel apart from the world. I enjoy it, partake in it, and have connections within its borders, but I am not of it. Truth is that I can't relate to the vast majority of people. Like seeing a flop at a poker table, Ive just become intimately attuned with a variety of social situations and the nuances they require. Admittedly, and indeed surprisingly to some to whom I never waste my breath, I tend to be very commanding and articulate in conversation. I can converse on a variety of topics with nimble comfort, and set the focus of my attention at ease rather quickly. Im particularly adept at engaging strangers in conversation, breaking them from their reveries, then gleaning what I need from them. On a whole Im very Machiavellian, and I harbor no shame about this side of my nature. The world turned its back on me years ago, so I have no qualms about using its denizens for my own gain when they've proven themselves sufficiently immoral and ill-mannered. From the perspective

I felt anxious again today. It both beguiles and befuddles me, lending much annoyance to the latter, because Im unable to pinpoint the source of this bothersome malady. It flits in randomly with a gust of unforseen emotion. One moment Im relaxed, calm, at ease. Then, at a moments notice, something will anger me, remind me of a troubling event from my past, or simply irk me somewhat, and my anxious temperament returns. Is it the girl that tortured me with unspoken words and denied chances all through July and half of August? Of course not. Ive since been introduced to true beauty, a radiance that permeates deeper than the surface of the skin, emboldening the soul. Yet the fear that those crippling considerations, baseless as Ive accepted them to be, will once again manifest is sickening. Could it be the one that essentially jilted me at the altar? Impossible. We were wholly incompatible in spite of our connection, yet the betrayal still stings some rare days. Perhaps the culprit is a bo

She makes me feel like Clyde Barrow/ Cupid fired arrows/ At me, I tried to stare those/ Fuckers down, but they fly near smoke/ Attracted to a burning passion/ The perfect match in/ Hell and back/ A selfless catch/ With a selfish ass/ Unholy angel, thirsty savage/ Do I deserve this damsel/ Fuck no but I might swear those/ Angels grinned at me and sent me a guide, they're so/ Great to bless me/ I was stressing/ Nightmares so/ Paralyzing and I fared no/ Better denied, scared broke/ I cried barrels/ When she arrived/ I breathed a sigh/ Of relief, and my eyes narrowed/ A bright glare so/ Poweful, tempered with darkness/ A stark shift/ From reality/ She grabs me/ And starts in/ Parts the/ Fog in my mind, barks at/ My demons, keeps them away, my scarecrow/ I cherish/ This girl, no time to spare so/ Let me tell you about Bonnie/ She calms me/ Pisses me off and crossed me/ One two many times, I chalk these/ Up to a dropped knee/ She fears and loves, won

Theres a secret/ That eats at/ Me, believe it/ I dont need this/ Apprehension building, yet its creeping/ My hearts bleeding/ For you when I know it shouldnt/ But look at/ It from my perspective and book it/ A button youre pushing/ By claiming youre innocent/ Im facing the bitterness/ And erasing your insolence/ Betrayal is filling this/ Space that you carved out/ I may have sparked doubt/ In your mind, but I hate to alarm now/ Because you seem like youve finally moved on/ Youve proved all/ Of your demons knew wrong/ But the truth's caught/ Fire in the belly of your conscience/ Telling and constant/ How youve buried the prospect/ Of carrying nonsense/ While blaring your bomb threat/ Ensaring the convent/ Of their love, youve levied the wrong net/ Its scary to crawl dead/ Through the valley of shadow/ Despairing and lost yet/ Im staring you down bro/ How long had I suffered/ I was cast and asunder/ Brash and unloved/ Because of my passion for justi

I see you glaring at me. I sense the envious desire for the muscle and health I possess hidden behind your thinly veiled criticism. "There's no point to working out, youre just going to die anyway.", you ridicule from the safety of a smugly annoying sneer. So if entropy and the promise of a degrading body are reason enough to not workout, then I suppose all endeavors are pointless. No great books should be written, the intellect should never be expanded, no unknown experiences, fresh and novel as they are,  should be sought out. Hell, even reproduction, the primary focus of life on this Earth, is rendered unnecessary and shallow. Just ignore your biological imperative and never satiate your sex drive, although, given your steady diet of Sprite and Star Crunch pastries, I doubt your stellar physique is scoring you any points with women, delicious as they are. You disdain my workouts as regretful. "There are so many other things you could be doing.", you retort wh

You lick your lips/ Im tripping, this/ Is innocent/ Matching your doe eyes, Im flipping shit/ Howd we get into this/ The distances/ Id travel/ Start to unravel/ As a matter/ Of fact your/ My own brand of deliciousness/ Crave to be hitting it/ But it's forbidden/ This whore's stricken/ My morals, clipping/ Away at me, the chorus lifting/ Their voices/ Over my choices/ This isnt normal, simply/ Doing it because Im horny, itching/ To break barriers, ignoring history/ This is more than simply/ A poor performance blistering/ My conscience/ To be honest/ Im not guilty, its an annoying mystery/ Im avoiding injury/ But I give into temptation/ Just a replacement/ For what was real, but this bitch was invasive/ Clipped and blatant/ So I slipped my wager/ Into her little enclave for/ A night/ And decide/ To dip and call later/ Sip it and savor/ The taste of betrayal/ The favor of anger/ Tonight because Im breaking her safe words/ In your eyes I see

Ive been distracted/ From my passion/ For too long, disastrous/ Ive been grasping/ Empty air for something static/ Trapped in/ A room, no hope for advancement/ The catch is/ I control my freedom/ I bleed so/ I no longer need to preach from/ The soap box/ I rolled off/ Im breaking away cleanly/ Believe me/ Your ingenious/ Plan was nothing but impedence/ Egregious/ Lies/ Define/ Me when Im dreaming/ So incite/ The light/ Inside/ Me and let the beast in/ Because its outside howling/ Mouthing/ Its anger stabbing/ The darkness away dousing/ The fire loudly/ You have me/ At your mercy/ The worst thing/ You could do is hurt me/ Because the burning/ Is turning/ Me into a blurry/ Eyed fiend, emerging/ From the bursting/ Carcass of the person/ Youve murdered/ Im serving/ Revenge, coldly and firstly/ Returning/ From surgery/ The birth of these/ Demons, infernal things/ A cursory/ Glance/ At the past/ Reveals the world to me/ Purging streams/ Of

I dont know who I am anymore. The past 4 years have molded and defined me so much, that if I could gaze into the mirror of my own heart Id hardly recognize the face peering back at me. It's broader, no longer bespectacled. Its leaner and weathered, stoic, some would say intimidating, with a constant hint of rough facial hair. The eyes, once ebullient, alight with innocence and ablaze with enthusiasm, have tempered, the once unbearably bright fire behind them having been relaxed, waning over the years into a steady, smooth tempest. My body has thickened and widened, muscles appearing where they were once absent, both for the sake of vanity and necessity. Often they would be my only friends, the one thing I could rely on as sure as God's grace. Tattoo's have sprouted, each bearing significance and meaning. The left arm represents God and Family, while the right represents whatever makes up my psyche, my spirit. Virtue and vice, if you will. Ive spent so long denying that Ive

Ive made, all totalled, about $28 for my writing. I used to sell poems in high school, and Ive always written papers for others. Proofreading and editing are obvious extensions of my expertise, so they added weight to an otherwise barren wallet on a sporadic basis. But altogether and on the books, Ive made about $28. The number is so awkwardly exact because I can remember the transactions with reassuring certainty. $20 through PayPal when I was 15 for selling lyrics to a song to another struggling, 16 year old musician. $5, again recieved through PayPal, for a quote I penned after about 10 minutes of thought. Lastly, $3 upfront for a love poem in college. All in all, I hope I got that kid laid. As I grew and matured, or was at least supposed to, my writing began to grow in scope. New words were absorbed surreptitiously into my lexicon, surprising me by presenting themselves for use when I was stuck on a sentence. My topics expanded in variety, and I tried my hand at everything. Eventua

We all strive to live a purposeful life, to feel that our steps are being guided by the divine. We long for the universe to look down and whisper in our ear, booming as the voice may be, "Youre on the right path". Personally, I think that the idea of a purpose is overrated. To narrowly define the entire spectrum of your life to such mundane specificity seems fatally neurotic. Its similar to the goals we've all been guilty of setting for ourselves as teenagers. For many young girls, it's been "be married by 25, with 2 kids and a house in the suburbs". Ive known some that have accomplished that, and they're perfectly happy and emotionally satiated being stay at home wives and mothers. Many women consider motherhood to be the highest calling a woman can aspire too, regardless of what the cancerous cult of Feminism would have many believe. By that same token, Ive known, and been propositioned, by many women in their early to mid twenties who, in possession o

People are faliable and weak. So am I, as I can be grouped in with the company I just described. When we are challenged, we can be fragile and wispy, torn away from the promises weve made by the lightest of breezes. Throughout my tenure in the military, Ive made and lost great friends, courted acquaintences with numbing cordiality, and endured inexhaustible, seemingly random hatred. Ive been ostracized from groups because of my beliefs, my attitude, and the way that I carried myself. Thankfully there were always people to fall into the arms of, but I learned early on to be self-reliant. The harsh truth is that the vast majority of those you meet are wearing masks. They put on a facade of friendship, carrying along suitably as long as your companionship benefits them. As soon as you are of no use, they eschew you, shedding you like dead skin. You have two choices when confronted with this temerity. You can either fall into debasing, embarassing self-pity, or you can accept the situati

The look on a mark's face after you seperate him from his money is priceless, a recurring dopamine rush that never quite loses its sting. Its especially delectable if they were cocky a few minutes prior, splashing chips around with wild abandon. These idiots are a bittersweet feast. They believe that the key to Poker is bravado, hailing from the school of exaggerated bluffs, reckless play, and the ever comical "intimidating stare". Slamming their chips down forcefully and glaring you straight through, they attempt to convey unrestrainable strength, daring you to call. Which you will if you have any kind of equity and a semblance of  a read. Sometimes you go broke, often you stack them by playing meek and passive. A kind of gambling Tai Chi, using their stubborn nature against them. In this instance, the player in question tried to use this tactic against me. Through skillful play and accurate reading, I had assessed his range and bluffed him off the better hand twice prio

A girl smiled at me today. Her interest was communicated shyly, but experience showed it was still there. In the past I wouldve immediately launched into auto-pilot, my practiced approach and mannerisms polished through repetitious deployment. But none of that happened, nor has it happened for nearly 2 months. Instead I smiled back casually, my instincts tempered by something solid, steadfast and resolute. I feel secure, anchored to the ground whilst still floating precariously close to the sun. This infatuation blossomed exponentially until its roots penetrated my heart and found a homeport in the harbor of my soul. Seeds of love, unconditional and passionate, permeated my defenses. Our sun's whipping tendrils tickle my exposed skin dangerously, promising damnation if I linger for too long. For a man that lives and thrives, bleeding wildly on the razor's edge, I can imagine no more fitting a death. Smother me with your love, baby. Suffocate me with forbidden feelings, and resc

In the silence of the night, I find peace. The world is so chaotic, moving clumsily along with all the cognition of a vegetable. Everyone is trapped in their own heads, unable to emote and empathize with those a few feet from them. We live in a society of paper mache stones filled with silk. Everyone wants to look tough, hardened and courageous, yet when the flame responsible for tempering boys into men approaches them, they cower like rodents, their ridiculous true colors revealed pitifully. Wispy tendrils of random hair passing for beards and ironic, cliche tattoos adorning disturbingly scrawny bodies are the order of the day here. I hate these fucking people, yet even in the comforting, exciting abyss of my beloved darkness I cant escape them. Oh well, at least the tea's good. I have my routine, like anyone else. Perfectly calibrated and honed for me personally, birthed by my own hand, it enlivens and relishes me. As my girl is currently confined to base due to a tragically ex