So it’s been 3+ years. I think maybe it’s the frantic pace of parenthood, husbandhood and the rat race of the corporate world that are drinking my best creative juices….that sounds weirder than I wanted it to.

Of course it could just be that the medication works. Mental shrugs aside, I’m doing quite well.

I’m not sure where I want to start talking here honestly. I still have a lot of theories about the nature of our existence, some wisdom; hard fought for, to add to my sometimes naive beliefs about the basic goodness of people and planet.

I’ll do my best to write some down. Consider this log, reawakened.



Russians and stuff

I like the Cyrillic alphabet, mix it with enough Greek and Mandarin and it looks like aliens wrote it – and in a sense they did.


I am the machine

I sometimes push myself too hard, force of habit I suppose. Had to get some cortisone injections as the result of my pure, cussed stubbornness. 

I’m not really injured. Nooooooo. It’ll be fine. 

Four months later I’m at my sports doc and he’s shaking his head, the same head shake I got when he asked me how I’d run an eleven-fifty-eight mile and a half on a grade two torn hamstring….this time neither of my elbows were working all that well but I’d still managed to keep my day to day rock solid…even if there was some sand pouring out of the joints.

It’s late, and if I can actually wake up on time, I’m going to run a few the early a.m.


Why bother writing anything down here. It’s digital, there will be no permanent record of these thoughts or the person who thought them. 

They are but ones and zeroes, easily changed, easily  deleted as if they never were. 

As if I, never were. 

The Last Jedi

There will always be darkness in our world, otherwise we’d have no light. The dualities of our existence, at least as we can perceive it, require that each action have an equal and opposite re-action.

Light and dark. Good and evil. Black and white. Matter and antimatter/dark matter. Atmosphere and vacuum. Stars and black holes. Night and day. Predator and prey.

Because of the duality of our world, our lives, our very thoughts, I wonder at the idea of monotheism. Is it simply a function of the mass bombardment of pairs of things that make people want to believe in one unifying force. 

Because whatever you call your God, what you’re really talking about is force: life force, the force to carve a universe from the sheer absence of anything that we can understand. The connectedness of people, of plants and animals of our sky and our ocean. All of our lives are circumscribed by the connected dualities of our planet and our galaxy, our local cluster, our supercluster and on outward until the numbers are so immense that they make little sense to our little minds.

This force is not something you can control without damaging it, you can groom it, you can direct and divert it, but control causes it to break. Look at the damming of big rivers, or watering that cesspool in the desert we call Los Angeles. Broken, dark, ugly. All of it. 

If you try hard enough, if you are truly mindful of your surroundings, you can sense the edges of this force, like glowing strands of thread at the edge of a woven rug, it sounds insane, but the Jedi had it right – the living force is all around you, if you but put down the computers and the television shows and the (excuse me Chuck but I’m using this:) advertising that has you chasing cars and clothes, working jobs you hate, to buy shit you don’t need. 

Simplify, streamline, excise the excess.


Last day of an orbit

The day isn’t actually 24 hours long. It’s why we have leap year. You’d think the calendar would be metric.

This year has been intense. In a good way.

I’m still moving forward, still breathing, still fighting.

I am many things, and there are many more things that I am not.

The journey of a life, measured in whatever manner isn’t one that should be considered in space-time but in growth, in that quasi-desperate, quest-for-answers-in-universe-that-offers-only-questions, kind of way.

I still want to know why. But I am getting a bit more comfortable with knowing the what when where and how, only a bit.

Why is always the question. The only one that really matters. Purpose, place – peace, they all come from why.

Some people find their own whys I like those, the idea that you can carve yourself out a bit of peace in this world.

But ever-always lurking in the darkness at the edge of my fire is the eternal why that I want answered.

See you next orbit, millions-year-old-evolved-mammals.


A great white-golden light
in the sat-feed from the west
the technological wonders of my home glowing bright.

The brighter white stars
of the uncluttered east over my head
as I glance up from the
gee-ar-gee on my
right wrist.

On my left a gee-pee-ess
the blue-force-tracker:
a corded bracelet…

new world and old
encompassed on my flesh
should I but face North.

I find some small solace
in the irony.


I find myself,
as if awoken from,
a dream of gilded,
lamps and golden mirrors.

There is steel found here,
this desert,
this sandstormed reality,
of space and time.

The gilded dream is,
programmed, conditioned –
all constructed,
for you.

Only my real ones smell of copper and
cordite; gunpowder and blood.

the colors are a mere shade,
of what I know they should be,
you see, that’s the way…
the way they conditioned,


“The greatest thing about being a scientist is that you never have to grow up.”
– Neil deGrasse Tyson

I’ve always enjoyed science as an academic discipline, as a way to categorize the world around me…as a safe place where it doesn’t matter what you believe because truth is truth and the facts don’t lie.

Humanity is messy, the world we’ve created, the social construct is even messier. So imperfect, is it because we are, as a species, incapable of perfection or because there is no such thing in subjective reality?

I have no real answers. Just data, and my interpretation of that data is just that, my interpretation.

The Moment

“In the beginning the Universe was created. This has made a lot of people very angry and been widely regarded as a bad move.”

-Douglas Adams

There comes a time in every man’s life when he will be faced with a choice. There is no warning, there is no long buildup leading to the moment the choice presents itself. It simply arrives. No fanfare, no epic music, just a moment when you realize that no matter what you decide your life will never be the same again.

Some of these types moments happen to some men more than once. To live a life filled with defining moments is both blessing and curse.

They change you. They change the way you view the world. They change the way you view life. They change the way you view yourself. They change the very things that make you you.

Some of the choices are big, easily recognized when they burst into the room. Others are much more subtle; little things that only become apparent when they are added together.

They are all the same. And yet they can be so very different on the surface.

To be honest, I cannot complain. While there have been some very difficult moments, hard choices, I would not trade it. Because my life has been wildly exciting – with a serious relentlessness to the pace of the thrill-ride that I have been gifted.

But such a life comes with a price. There are many, too many, empty seats.

I don’t refill those chairs.

Occasionally someone will pull a new seat up to the circle, but the fireside is a much quieter place than it once was. Loss is a part of life, our universe of dualities requires that there be death to offset life. For every action an equal and opposite reaction. This is the way our reality functions.

I’ve experienced enough for any one man, and yet I still move through the world with the same hunger, the same fire that has driven me since I could form thoughts from the chaos of my evolving mind.

For the longest time, that fire was pure rage.

It drove me ever forward, pushed me further than I thought I could go, kept me warm when I froze, kept my feet moving long after I should have fallen down. It pushed me through things that should have ended me. Rage is a hell of an anesthetic.

But it is a poor substitute for life. Rage has no real future, has nothing positive to add to the world.

It’s fires burn hot and bright and then go nova. It consumes you, if you’re lucky you aren’t forced to survive that process.

After the nova comes the steel, you’ve been burned, hammered into a blade, tempered and forged by the hate that has driven you. It makes a wonderful weapon, a tool for vengeance.

But again, there is no future in that. There is no legacy, nothing eternal about hate except that it will always exist, long after those that hate turn to dust. The concept is all that survives.

Legacy was not something that was important to me as a young man. When asked what I wanted to do with my life as a teen I replied with: “I just need to live long enough to accomplish some specifics.” I refused to explain what I meant. I still don’t know that I really understood what I was saying at the time that I said it.

I get it now. But that was many years, many hard choices, many moments ago.

I am no longer that boy.

I am something forged from his ashes. Tempered by experience, now driven by something he would never, could never, understand.

I have always wondered about the why of things. About purpose and place.

I don’t pretend to understand the nature of life, of earth, of the universe itself. It only makes sense in the mathematical realm of thought. This is very little, and very cold, comfort. Math never explains why, only how and how has never been good enough of an answer for me.

I wonder why and how people can be so sure of purpose and place. I have never found any comfort in any of the places or purposes I have encountered on my path. That is not to say I am unhappy, just that I probably think more than is good for me and I wonder about things that do not have answers.

To me, those are the only questions that actually matter. I can’t just gloss over them and move on to answerable problems. I have this need, this burning desire to understand this here and now, to know why it’s all here and for what purpose it was designed.

Maybe that’s the answer.

Maybe there isn’t one. Maybe one of those defining moments I speak of is to force myself to stop asking why and just enjoy what time I’ve been given.

I’m not sure how to do that. Maybe there are just too many ghosts, too many echoes of hard places to let me coast through without the answers that will let them rest.

Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I think too much. Maybe I took all the wrong classes in college. Maybe I read all the wrong books. Maybe I walked down all the wrong paths. Maybe I made all the wrong choices when those moments found me. Maybe I… maybe, maybe, maybe…