Posts Tagged ‘ postaday2011 ’


“A true outlaw finds the balance between the passion in his heart and the reason in his mind. The outcome is the balance of might and right.”

-John Teller

I find inspiration in the oddest places.


What is happening to my frakking blog?

I am constantly too tired or too busy to think of late.

I dislike this fact.

…and I need you to recover, because I can’t make it on my own…

I…I…I am too concerned with “I” it seems. My focus seems to have shifted from those insoluble, mysterious questions I so enjoy pondering to such mundane things. Things like trying to find a garment company that doesn’t work it’s employees to death for pennies a day, a printing firm that’s wholesale prices won’t break my company’s fragile bottom line.

Being a chief kind of sucks.

Whiny, I know. But it’s not the job that I hate, it’s the shift into normalcy.

I was going to etch my name onto eternity.

What happened to that kid?


I’ll start this with a simple thought: I hate being cold.

I remember when we moved to the states, I had never seen snow and cold to me was a balmy seventy or so degrees.

I was disabused of that idea fairly quickly.

It’s been raining, a lot. Fall/winter rain is a whole different experience than summer rain. In the summer you get this wet/warm smell that instantly transports me back in time to the central-american jungle.

Winter rain just freezes on my windshield and reminds me only that I need a new ice-scraper.

I think I may need a break from writing to live a little more, I sense a repetitive staleness to my work that is completely unacceptable.

Yup, all that from being cold.

Life is a highway perpetually under construction

Annnnnnnnd let the random begin:

I am neither sleeping nor eating enough.

It’s nice being back at one-eight-five though.

I keep having the oddest dreams, a-cee-you dreams with an em-four I’ve named lucy.

(I enjoy spelling things phonetically.)

All of the bruises and scars have new meanings in this dream; they no longer make sense when I am alert in the waking world.

I find myself thinking, over-thinking everything I think I know to be true about this life.

Always I search for purpose, for some sort of rational order to the chaos that is reality. I have always been a seeker, I wonder now what it is I have sought.

Thumping-metal-raid-music is the soundtrack. Sometimes in the background-quiet, now growing louder.

Sand and dirty water clash in explosions of sound and color; an oft-conflicting riot of sensory input pushes the world fully off-kilter as my boots hit the ground. Everything dials down to a scoped-view of about thirty-eight degrees. Red donut firmly in the center.

Almost memories they are. I always awake feeling like time has warped and it’s two-thousand-two again, a ball-chain around my neck, gritty with sand and sweat. Lost in the glare of a desert reflected from the polarized lenses I wear.


We pull upon the risers
We fall upon the grass
We never land upon our feet
We always hit our ass
Hide tidee, Christ almighty
Who the hell are we?
Zim zam, goddamn!
We’re Airborne Infantry

Cadence from the 506th Parachute Infantry. Circa WWII.

Space, above and beyond

I still feel as incredibly ripped-off that I’ll never fly a spaceship now as I did as an eight-year-old.

Some things never change.

Some things do.


Why does it seem to never occur to anyone that if I have headphones or earplugs in my ears that there’s a very solid possibility that I can’t hear the words coming out of their mouths?

I’ll admit that I use my headphones as a tool for social distance. Sometimes I’m not listening to anything – I just don’t feel like conversing. I wrote a research paper about it as an undergrad. It was fairly boring. I’ll not force-feed you the details.

I also enjoy the strange looks I get when I’m wandering a store on my phone – through my headphones. I do talk to myself rather frequently so I’m sure it doesn’t look that strange to anyone that actually knows me…and if strangers think I’m strange, well, who cares? I don’t know them so their opinions about/of/on me don’t matter.

At any rate, I’ve got things to do; so enjoy the fall, do big things before the year is over. You’ll never be here again. This time, this place, this moment is over before you even register it.


My blog has become a stream-of-thought notebook.

I don’t have enough time to think, I think.

I’m writing, running, working, playing and fighting a cold.

My days have become far too routine. I am unamused by this.

I’ve got a lot on my plate right now. How does one stay hungry when the plate is overflowing?

What dreams may come

Ugh such weird dreams last night.

I’ve got to stop eating weird things before bed.

Nosce Te Ipsum

My mind is such a strange place. I wish I had the vocabulary to adequately describe the things that fly through me daily.

So many ideas, such random thoughts. It’s so hard to concentrate sometimes. I literally have to force myself to stay focused on whatever I’m doing, it’s often a supreme act of willpower to do so.

I fail a lot.

I hate routines. The seeming monotony of daily life grinds on my soul. Every second of every minute of mundanity eats away at me.

I crave excitement, adventure, adrenaline; experiences. I’ve never been greedy. I don’t care about material things; money has always meant (and always will mean) nothing to me.

I don’t want to look back from some distant point in the future and say: “Well, at least I’ve got a lot of stuff.”

The things that really matter to me are very simple: friends, family, love.

That’s the test of this life if you ask me; what wouldn’t you sacrifice? Is there anything that shouldn’t be risked to find your soulmate?

I think the answer is an easy one. The path is riddled with traps, with shortcuts and wrong turns. The only test that you have to pass is from the face staring back at you in the mirror; if you can’t look yourself in the eyes and say: “Sure I’ve made mistakes, but I’ve learned from every single one, I’ve grown from every bad decision, every wrong step…” then you’re failing your own test.

I don’t know that everyone asks themselves these questions, but it’s something that is on my mind every single day. That first look in the mirror before the day begins will always tell me what I’m doing right or wrong.

Being honest with yourself is hard but it’s the first step to being truly comfortable in your own skin, the first step on the path to the pursuit of happiness that Jefferson knew was every human being’s right.

Look, look hard and deep, internalize everything you can and use it – it’s the fuel that powers the human spirit, it’s what makes or breaks each and every one of us.

I am a lot of things; what I do defines me – to an extent. To a greater extent – I define what I do.

One of the things that I am: very strange. I rather like that, it means I’m thinking, always thinking, and pushing, ever pushing.

What are boundaries if not to be crossed, explored: pushed ever outward?

We’re given limits the minute we begin to decipher the world, our views are tailored by the culture we’re born into.

Even our languages are a language of limitations, borders and boundaries. We’re taught to be productive citizens, we’re taught to be all sorts of things, everything except individuals.

I believe that circumscribing the possibilities inherent in all humans is a mistake. We lose so much genius, we lose things there are no names for, things that could be that never will.

There is too much fear in our world. Too much medication and not enough hope.

So fly, fly you, to your fences and walls – to those things that will forever form the borders of your lives.