Skip to main content

Logan

I circumvented the island today, hugging the outside perimeter. It was astonishingly gorgeous, although I suppose thats to be expected. The weather was overcast and dreary, but in me this invokes a nostalgic feeling. It's the same ambience that clings to the Bay, and whenever I encounter it Im instantly transported back to day long excursions with my family. My Uncle, fastidious as he is towards work, calling in sick to take us to the San Francisco Zoo, then treating us to thick, greasy slices of pizza after. Even at 12, he deserves the Legion Of Merit for shouldering my portion of the bill that day. My Father, inoculating me through the hidden secrets of The City, known only to those who have become intimately acquainted with the locals and the soul of the metropolis itself. We went to Treasure Island, the old Coast Guard installation, and he wove treatises and lessons gleaned during his time in the Air Force. For a young man who believed the world had no place for him, these stories carved out the niche before my eyes, illuminating the darkness, allowing me to glimpse at the life I would lead. My first steps into manhood, guided lovingly and sternly by my Dad. These memories became living, tangible experiences again as I drove aimlessly, absorbing the calming, rejuvenatingly pure tropical air as my heart reminded me of who I am and where I come from. Ive read multiple times from a myriad of books that the past ceases to exist the moment one acknowledges the present. I agree, partially at least, but have to retort based on personal experience. The mind is the most powerful thing known to Man, gifted by God Himself to us to raise us higher than mere animals. It's this marvelous blessing that can stretch a moment into eternity, or collapse years into an instant. I revisit the past often, basking in the glow of peace long passed, yet availably binded to me by the ingeniousness of my soul. You can't live in a memory, certainly not. It's unhealthy and breeds psychosis, indicative of an inability to handle reality, a weakness of character. But you can undoubtedly vacation there, and we could all use some time away.

I seen Logan tonight, the truly eponymous Wolverine film, provided we can all agree to ignore the atrocious The Wolverine that soiled the Summer of 2013. Confirming the rumors circulating about the films level if emotional vulnerability, I did indeed cry. Alot. Ive grown up with these characters, and as theyve inevitably died, Ive taken minor emotional hits. However, Wolverine was different. When the first movie was released in 2000, I fell in love with it. I had just turned 9, and the character of Logan immediately appealed to my boyhood fantasies. Dealing with far more grief and pain than a child should have to endure at that point in my life, I found my sense of identity shaken in the wake of the traumatic events. But when I encountered Hugh Jackman as Logan, his portrayal resonated with me viscerally, an impression that stayed with me and grew with me, shaping me as I evolved into Manhood. Tortured by his past yet ardently focused on raging against it, I unconsciously adopted Logan as a father figure, an example to be heralded, exalted and emulated. So, without spoiling the stellar film, as I watched the ending, I came undone. The entire piece provides an almost voyeuristic view into the humanity of those we propel to the status of heroes. This is not a joyous, celebratory movie. No shining, white knight morals are upheld, no squeaky clean protagonist acts as an overgrown boy scout. Instead, this is bloody, this is physical and violent. This is real, the way Wolverine should be. He's always shown and exemplified that the anti-hero can still be good, that the outcast can meet the universal standards of benevolence. That those that have been damaged can still make contact with and dive into the light thought to be reserved for the pure. As he closes his eyes for the final time, resting with finality and totality amidst the battle and grittiness he knows all too well, he partakes in the gift denied to all too many by their own hand: Peace. Claws sheathed, there will be no more tears, regret, or fighting. Maybe one day there will be no more combat for me as well.

You were the one that started it, and I noticed you, and the potential conflict you presented, before I ever popped up on your radar. I entered the low slung shaded area to the sound of Hawaiian music blaring, undulating percussively off the heat rising from the gravel stained dirt. Black hat slung down low over squinted eyes, I sought to escape attention and the explosive beginnings of trouble. But, as always, it acted bothersome of its own volition. Your wife, garbed lightly in a loose, deliciously flowing sundress that accentuated her toned body, stared at me intensely with a hint of a smile. Not noticing, I looked over, and, surprised, we locked glares before she averted hers to the side enticingly demurely. Then, you felt the need to hop into worthless action. Eyes ablaze with anger, you focused on me intently. I shifted mine towards yours, and the standoff began. This is a classic episode of testosterone fueled stupidity with pride as its crest. But neither of us was going to break stride or lose face. Surreptitiously, I began to study your physique with my peripherals. Big arms with a larger gut, the body common among many Islanders. A sharp right to the button ought to have done it. Eventually, the intimidation attempt began to wane hilariously for both of us, and I took the initiative to defuse the dampened charge. "Whats good bro?", I inquired, nodding in the accepted gesture of friendship. "Whats good, brah.", he replied, visibly softening. "Ya'll have a good day now.", I said, continuing on my way. Situation defused, again. Trouble has a way of finding me, always has. An unwelcome guest that has long worn out the extent of my hospitality. But, unfortunately, I have no idea of how to rid myself of it. I cant control the behaviors or viewpoints of other's, and I'll be damned if I'm going to meekly skulk on eggshells around strangers, as to not invite hostility. So, Ill continue on, fists ready and words sharpened. Ive gotten good at this. But one day, I pray I may again know peace.

Popular posts from this blog

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 min

Outrunning The Reaper

Outrunning The Reaper The concept of aging intimidates me.  I wont say it scares me, because I feel that I've done the very best I can at retarding, delaying, and combatting it.  My training, which in the past prioritized hypertrophy and strength, misapplied in a hilariously misinformed fashion, has altered severely.  When I first got to Hawaii in 2017, I experimented with the idea of adopting EMOM (Every Minute On the Minute) training, a methodology I'd learned from studying Crossfit.  At that point I was doing 5 sets of Freestanding Handstand Pushups a day, with each set's repetitions decreasing incrimentally, following the Recon Ron Pullup Program.  It's available for free online, and a simple Google Image search will allow one to locate the entire workout.  I would sometimes do it twice a day, and before I stopped it, I was doing around 77 Handstand Pushups a session.  Back then I fancied myself a badass for completing such a "large" amount of volume in 1

Countertop

Haunting this countertop/ Wondering how could all/ This go bad and walk/ Away from us, the patterns caught/ On repetition in my life, absent thought/ A coward's plot/ To brandish false/ Hope and manage slots/ Left over from the branch that rots/ Away, the old adage copped/ As an excuse, wrath of God/ Plant your balk-/ -ing seeds and stand and walk/ Because you are my spectre/ And I'm stressing/ Out over the time left in/ Our dying ending/ The price mentioned/ Was too much, so I write, wept in/ Quiet, bet this/ Life's questions/ Won't answer why settling/ Down defied convention/ My best friend/ You'll soon fly, stretching/ Our hearts like vested/ Lives destined/ To find remnants/ Of each other in every girl or guy messed with/ And getting over you/ Is akin to choking booze/ Down and moping through/ My days, hopeless, nude/ Vulnerable, emotions bruised/ Soaked in blue/ Feelings, morose and gloom/ My heart poured into/ Every poem proof-/   -read at a bar, alone, enthus