Justin Razor and the World

 Agony/ Is pounding, scree-/ -ching on my door, hounding me/ So I grab a ream/ Of paper and begin to shout and free/ These words from my heart, it's challenging/ As the pain keeps hounding me/ And the tears jab and sting/ At my eyes, I'm battling/ Another war, how could he/ Die, I thought we'd have a sea-/   -son without a funeral, standing bleak-/   -ly around a coffin as the gleam-/   -ing bugle plays Taps and we/ Have to be/ Strong for the family/ Crowds will weep/ As shoulders slouch and heave/ With sadness leak-/   -ing from their eyes haphazardly/ It's maddening/ Another year has passed and we/ Keep burying our elders tragically/ I don't know if I can stay around for these/ Tragedies/ Much longer, so I gaze passionately/ Out to sea/ And begin planning each/ Step of my escape back to me/

It's sad to see/ Condos on Oahu I can afford now and think/ Of how it'd be/ If you were still around with me/ We'd happily/ Start that family tree/ To be rooted magically/ In something other than tragedy/ Our house is sce-/ -nic, surrounded each/ Direction by the vast and deep/ Massive sea/ On your hand the ring/ Finger covered by a gold band with peaked/ Diamonds that wrap and gleam/ Attached to a beauty, my masterpiece/ With practiced ease/ I scoop you up/ In my arms and move with the/ Quickness of a fool in love/ Because the mood has struck/ And the truth is a/ Minute spent away from you could ruin the/ Rest of my life so I boost the dust/ In the house and sprint to you and lunge/ In before the delusion crumb-/ -les and I'm alone again, a recluse that brushed/ Against the life he wanted, then was entombed and thrust/ Back out into the world doomed to trust/ No one again, but from then on his relationships are a ruse, a crutch/ That leave him feeling used, disgust-/ -...

 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...

Rosary The time has come for honesty/ I admit I suck at boxing these/ Fighters, they're lunging, robbing me/ Of a dream that kept me up and walking free/ When my life wasn't mine, I'd thrust and pocket these/ Experiences, my trust was not the thing/ Reciprocated but my love was stalking me/ All around the world, but the lottery/ Came and went and I was stuck with all the beat/ Tickets, so I burned them and the rush it halted weak-/ Minded busted fallen dreams/ I clutched my balls and screamed/ I'm not done, don't walk on me/ As the exposure seeped/ In my bones as sleep/ Came over me/ It became my rosary/ I was quoting reams/ Of poetry/ When on the lowest brink/ I chose to keep/ Fighting and swinging, yet closure seemed/ So far away, but I rode the steep/ Waves of my internal roving needs/ The crones and leech-/   -es began to notice me/ So I'd throw a weak/ Punch and found a skull/ In my hand to hold/ Powerful/ Strength that wasn't there before, I was astoun...

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...

              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'...

A Call To Arms Life is hectic/ And I'm neglected/ Kind of sceptic/ A tank, yet both of my mired treads sit/ Stuck in my own legend/ I'm irreverent/ Yet try to spend this/ Time I'm blessed with/ Writing, spreading/ My boundaries out until their vile heads spin/ A slight remembrance/ Of being alive and friendly/ Now I'm trying endless-/ -ly to survive the weather/ This unbridled treasure/ Sits, waiting to be discovered/ With utter/ Disdain, I rip thunder/ And grip trusted/ People closely, and trip under/ The weight that encumbers/ Me with sick bundles/ Of teeth smiling, I exist, function/ To slip, crunching/ My bones below the big bunches/ Of risks pummeling/ Me, but I still love this/ Life, so I sit, lunge and/ Fire crisp punches/ Until something/ In my wrists buckles/ Amidst huddles/ I take all the risk, trudging/ Through the darkness, I miss nothing/ Because I'm empty, see the shadow and skip, running/ Over and trip, stumbling/ But still jumping/ To get pumping/ My...

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 vol...

Candlelight I've often been asked why I haven't written a novel yet, or even a short story on its own, let alone a collection of them.  While I've written enough poetry to fill several reams of factory fresh printer paper, and my prose on this very site could be collected, condensed, and categorized into an efficient little e-book, I simply cant find the motivation to write something that lengthy.  Stephen King once said in an interview that the secret to his prolific literary output was to, simply, write.  He sits at his desk every morning, puts his hands on his keyboard, and let's his fingers dance and twirl until 2000 words are peering back at him from the soft glow of his monitor.  I certainly admire such ardent consistency, and do actually apply it in my private writing, namely my journaling. But when books to be sold for mass consumption and profit are called into question, I suffer the inevitable bout of writer's block that eventually plagues us all so stubbo...

Curtailed Dreams: Fuck The Coronavirus When I was in the Navy, particularly my last 2 years, all I dreamed about was boxing when I got out. At sea in 2014, out on a workup, in the process of getting ready to deploy, I was on the night shift.  When on the water, you endure what's termed Port and Starboard Watch, which is essentially a novelty nautical name for twin 12 hour shifts. One ran from 0800-2000, while the other, obviously, went from 2000-0800.  Since I'm nocturnal by nature, I quickly volunteered for the latter, and got it. I remember it had amused me because I'd done everything in my power to get San Diego, CA as my first duty station, only to end up exiled to Norfolk, VA, yet I'd secured my spot on the night shift in such short order.  When my happiness was involved, I was ignored, but when my labor was needed, I was prioritized.  It was around 3 in the morning and I had just finished my workout. Obviously I dont remember the exact contents of it, but I'm ...

The Spoils Of War There's a restaurant, Brigantine Steak and Oyster Bar, in Coronado, California. When I was stationed there for 14 months, I used to skulk past it every evening.  I was making $1,000 every two weeks then, working 14 hour days for a slave's wage.  In San Diego, $1,000 is beneath the contempt of chump change, so to say I was living a hand to mouth existence was gratuitious. Half the time there wasnt anything in my hand that made it worth the effort to expend the calories necessary to lift it to my face.  I decided, once I discovered Seven Mile Card Room in nearby Chula Vista, to call upon my dormant poker skills to keep me afloat. I would play every Friday and Saturday, buying in for $200 at the $2/$3 No Limit Texas Hold'em table.  There's an equation that helps a poker player determine their "M-Ratio". Its essentially a way to determine how you should play according to your chip stack.  It was pioneered by "Action" Dan Harrington, one...

Babel Ishe vanoparadzanisa vanhu vaimbotenda zvavo magumo akapindirana nekuda kwezvikonzero zvakasiyana. Dzimwe nguva, imhaka yekuti, seyeredzi dzinopenya dzinovhenekera iro rakasviba denga revamwe hupenyu, ivo vaifanira kushanda sechiedza cheparamu yavo kwenguva pfupi. Vamwe vanotsauswa kuburikidza nechinangwa cheumwari chakasarudzika. Ivo vanofanirwa kupesana kwechinguva, kureba kwenguva sekusajeka uye kusingagumi senge chirevo chezwi pacharo, kuitira kuti vazvikure ivo pachavo sekurehwa kwavo, kuti vafambe vachienderera mberi nenzira yavo yekuzvisarudzira, pane chikamu yerwendo iyo yaigona kungotorwa yega. Vanobva vasangana zvakare, mune ramangwana, mabasa avo vega akapedzwa, vakagadzirira uye vachishuwira kubatana zvakare mukubatana uye nerudo kubatana. Ini handina zano rekuti redu, ikozvino rangu nerako, ramangwana rakamira sei, asi ndinonamata kuti tisangane zvakare. Ndatenda nekundiratidza kwandiri kuti zvakanaka zvichiripo mune ino nyonganiso, inoodza moyo isina nyika. Ndakakud...

Trojan Kisses I'm on the brink/ Of walking free/ On the marching breeze/ That tomorrow brings/ Of all the things/ That could fill this hollow need/ Of mine, I'm falling deep/ Into the Autumn leaves/ With a shot of wink-/ -ing whiskey I nod and beat/ My hands against this awful dream/ Like a dog in heat/ Hypocrisy/ Follows me/ Everywhere, it stalks and sings/ To let it out as my heart, it bleeds/ For what was lost to me/ When I crossed the seas/ Monogamy/ A sparkling ring/ Uncommonly/ Strong reprieves/ From a world that drops the beam/ On frolicking/ Watching eag-/ -er as her belly rounds/ Itd be swelling out/ As the very ground/ That birthed our roots begins to tremble, growl/ And then allow/ Another seed to be spreading out/ As its vines assemble mount-/   -ains from pebbles, a family stretches out/ From the death and drought/ Of our own, we resemble val-/ -iant warriors bending back-/   -wards to set the mouth/ Of the world open in awe at our splendid hour/ But this is just ...

Pine Box You're wondering why I called/ Because this is all my right fault/ I might drawl/ Into the phone after the night finds prob-/ Lems with me, let's fight like all/ Those days we'd dive right off/ The platform, try light falls/ Ignite slight brawls/ And rise, life brought/ Us to this dry pine box/ You cant climb my balls/ To reach my coattails/ Bitch you know well/ Enough that the slow Hell/ You left me in is so pale/ Compared to the joke jail/ We both fell/ Into, oh, tell/ Me about the ghosts wail-/ Ing in the night that exposed trails/ Straight to the Devil I am, grow sails/ And drift away, but dont sell/ Me short as I post bail/ You'll eat crow, del-/ Icate little liar, my bones felt/ So frail/ As I awoke, held/ Prisoner in Death's own knell/ A poet quells/ His demons with prose, care-/ Ful words and a pen's stroke, delv-/ Ing deep into their hearts, alone paired/ With a light shone where/ Only they can go, stairs/ Creak ominous/ It seems all of this/ W...

Muse I'm back home/ So I try to act whole/ When the actual/ Facts throw/ Me for a loop, I'm damned, ghost-/ Ed by the past, so/ I ask jov-/ Ial people what they have more/ Of than me, that smoke/ Has to point to a fire, a vast snow/ Fall of ash coats/ My hands, soaked/ In the blood of my kin, I'm casual/ And that broke/ Me wide awake/ I can take/ The silence, strained/ Relationships and the time away/ As the straw that finally breaks/ The camel's back, the tidal wave/ I was splayed/ Out, righteous may-/ Be, but try to face/ This life I stake/ Like a raise/ At the poker table with every line I gave/ Breath to on this rhyming page/ No longer that minor slave/ That writhes in vain/ To fight, escape/ From this icy plain/ Of fiery pain/ But it's fine, I'll stay/ Because it's your lies I've slain/ Not with violent wag-/ Ing wars but because I would rise and pray/ For you, and will until my dying day/ So in solitude/ I walk anew/ Not entombed/ In parlor rooms/ ...

Missing you/ Is facing a mission through/ Misconstrued/ Simple truths/ And acknowledging these vicious two/ Solipsistic views/ I'm a missle zoom-/ Ing right back into your hidden rooms/ And you're the billiard cue/ Knocking me/ Out, pocketing/ Me, getting me to stop the deep/ Hate and walk with me/ As I'm reintroduced/ To life in all its vivid hues/ I want to live with you/ And exist as proof/ Of the point these little clues/ God left wasnt a minuscule/ Attempt at a sinner's coup/ You and I werent an interlude/ But the main act, the distance moved/ Us apart, but we're not finished, soon/ Life will take these prison blues/ And you'll be flickering through/ The night sky, a film that drew/ My attention, I'll sit and rum-/ Inate over these blisters strewn/ All over my feet from sprinting through/ And over the bricks you threw/ At me just so I could get a kiss from you/

Deified Reveries vs. Distant Realities I dreamed of you again. It was an odd, fantastical dream, but it was emotionally potent all the same.  It began with you and I in Old Town Sacramento.  We held hands and beamed whenever our eyes met and our gazes intertwined, which, believe me, was often enough to be more than occasionally.  We nearly skipped through the graffiti laced tunnel that intertwines Sacramento with it's Old West counterpart, propelled by clouds all the while.  Next, and bear with me here, I was immortal, in the vain of Blake Lively in Age Of Adaline.  You and I shared a weathered house marinated in history, and, inexplicably, 8 people lived with us.  Perhaps it was a boarding, or halfway, house.  I awoke in the middle of the night, aware that I was being tracked by the government for my hidden imperishability.  So, clad in boots, Levi's, and ...

Crystal Lake I'm begging you to let me immolate/ This is straight/ From the heart because this inner pain/ Won't dissipate/ I'm lifting weights/ With every bitter day/ Because this hidden angst/ Fuck, it simply weighs/ Too much for me to mitigate/ What I'm feeling, to be alone, a risk to take/ I'm in a pickle late-/ Ly, as I sit and wait/ On a phone call from a certain little name/ That will never hit the stained/ Glass, so I rip and rage/ Against myself, against the strain/ Of this mistake/ And with that one, the ripples graze/ Across the surface of the crystal lake/ Of my mind, the crypt I lay/ In is of my own building, I fell in, tripped and splayed/ Out on the concrete/ All these/ Haunting/ Images come back to taunt me/ I'm wanting/ The past to arm me/ With calm things/ Palm me/ In your hand baby and stop me/ From washing/ Away these thoughts each/ Night with whiskey and oxy/ I'm falling/ Darkly/ Into the halls ...

Done 8 years ago today I spent the night at the Doubletree Hotel in Sacramento, CA, en route to RTC Great Lakes. I left behind a lucrative career at Wal-Mart unloading trucks, my pursuit of a degree in literally nothing at Solano Community College, and a girlfriend that would later hate me for not dressing like one of the little bitches so common in K-Pop videos (srs). Throughout my tenure in the Navy I fought, did Handstand Pushups, and had my personal space violated repeatedly by deranged, insane men and women that would become the best friends I'd ever known. In the Persian Gulf, I went to throw up in a toilet that was already backed up and filled to the brim with shit, causing me to spew forth twice the expected amount of vomit. I became known as Bitch Hands, a name I still answer to from San Diego, Califronia to Manama, Bahrain. I passed out drunk in public parks, on the shores of forgotten beaches, and the manicured lawns of the estranged friends of ...

Drunken Diary I remember reading about Dave Draper, the great bodybuilder from the fabled Muscle Beach era. After retiring from active competition in his mid-twenties, he settled in California, far from his native New Jersey. Considering that it's on the East Coast, I fully support his decision, since I've never known anyone who wasn't from there to relocate to the area permanently. He took to indulging his second passion. woodworking, with the same fervor he once employed to build his magnificent physique. It led to a profitable career that afforded him a prosperous life. He also, ignominiously enough, became an alcoholic. Getting through his days with a bottle of wine ever present by his side, he'd work at his adopted hobby turned vocation. Weed was also a constant companion. Still, he never gave up his training, which is what I admire about him chiefly, rivaled only by his command of English and the written word. He'd report t...