"War is a forge that gives us meaning."

Make your choice.

This is my primary public post. If you want to be added, just drop me a line here.
I don't post often and only occasionally of substance but I'm always around and glad to find new and interesting reads.


(no subject)
Don't know what to do.
What to say.
What to feel.

I guess I've been left.
If you can leave before something ever really starts, or as we say "resolves".

It was in slow-motion.
And there were bursts of hope.

But...this seems clear.


I have my music again and my voice.
I count myself lucky for those.

I won't be able to shake the conviction that we could've done well for each other.
And I don't want to.
Because that kind of hope is why I keep going.


I'll worry about her.
And wonder.
And miss.

But now I go.

Because that's the only thing I can think to do when actions have so repeatedly told me that's what is wanted.
But I'll worry.
And wonder.
And miss.

(no subject)
Sitting at a light, focused on my many-fold weekend plans.
Suddenly, a flash of white, corner of my eye, distraction.

I glance over to see a handkerchief, a hand, an obscured face.

A dark haired old biddy with a large and hirsute husband at the wheel.
He's staring off into space and focused on his next turn.

I wonder at her napkin for a half-second, "Is her make-up running?"

And then it ploughs into the heart of me, she's sobbing.
Jaw quivering, glassy-eyed, staring into the distance and clearly just...broken.

And I can't handle it.

I don't know if it's the fact that I have zero context for her sadness or that I can do absolutely nothing to help her.
I can't fall back on those old pablum sayings or a pat on the back.
And I know, if I tried to get her attention and let her know she's not alone, it would just make it worse for her.

So, I'm sitting there, 3 feet away from somebody's grandma, watching her cry and desperately trying to fight my own tears and just feeling....EVERYTHING.

(no subject)
Ah, catharsis.

(no subject)
The last three days is probably the most artistic I've been in five plus years.

It's really not till I'm home, deep burning in the meat of my back, shoulders stiff, and knees aching that I truly appreciate having found weight lifting.

I wish I'd found it any of the 20 other times I almost got involved. Heh, especially back when diet was a thing I'd heard about on the news instead of daily headache.

There's just something inherently stabilizing for me to know that I've put in work. To feel it, literally, in my bones in flesh. It takes off so much of the fire and weight of wasted time and failed expectations.

"Today I did work. Tomorrow I'll do more."

Obviously, translating that to the less workout related aspects of my life isn't exactly a smooth pivot. But it functions almost as this totem. The habits of taking care of myself, for a change, coupled with that good ache...they're my ballast and my fuel. Steady on and forward.

(no subject)
“I found when I was a child that if I put the hurt into words, it would go.” —Jean Rhys

(no subject)
Window down, wrist on wheel,
Flushed and grinning.
Drop the hammer and drink her scent.


Progress as of 6/21/2014
Still keeping daily notes! I think I'll be taking a day off kn the 4th, in Knoxville, which should let me actually upload the stif I've written so far


Progress 6/21



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