Skip to main content

Shameless IG Plug






https://www.instagram.com/p/BjCacWplX6FygVNS5qOdcWnQRGLOPC3DlvI18o0/

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.

Popular posts from this blog

Across The Seas

 I like watching you sleep/ She said, as I jostled and kneed/ My way on the mattress, stopping to think/ If you watch me, when do you actually fall into deep/ Rest yourself, it must be awful to be/ Kept up by my snoring, talking to me/ Not realizing that I've gone off the brink/ Of wakefulness and darkness until I'm startled and swing/ My arms up and cause you to spring/ Onto my chest laughing, harder than we've/ Ever done before, but you settle in and softly you sing/ I don't mind, because I love to listen to your heart as it beats/ The tears begin to pool and I cough and release/ Them in the present, because what once caused me to think/ I'd found Heaven on Earth is now a harsh memory/ But I bear it still, because though it carves and it cleaves/ And I lay there trembling, starting to bleed/ I know then I was alive for that part of the scene/ My recollection is sharp as the green/ Blades of grass in the lawn of our dreams/ In front of the house where we'd deco

A Drunkard's Lament

              Alcohol/ Is a battle fought/ With madness wrought/ From the sadness caught/ Between a man that calms/ His hands and thoughts/ With poison that wraps its claws/ Around his watch/ Makes time pass and stop/ Whenever he slams a shot/ I have forgot-/ -ten the chasms walked/ Barefoot and half distraught/ When I've drowned in bot-/ -tles of the brownest rot-/ -gut liquor, that the damned can flaunt/ Prancing, dropped/ By the rancid vom-/ -it that crams and falls/ From the mouth of all/ The manic lost/ Ones that choose to pad their traum-/ -as with Jack and vod-/ -ka, Schnapps and all-/ -the traps of karma/ Let's get plastered, crawl the/ Line, disasters wobbling/ Pants are starting/ To tear, we're panting, heart is/ Racing, death a tragic pardon/ From the crimes of a master wrong one/ The fortune amassed is startling/ Fan your pockets/ For the change that's always last for varmints/ Alas, unvarnished/ Regrets are magic, popping/ Up wherever you're lashed and

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