My choices define all that I am…

My god how different the world looks through clear eyes. It is a fucking beautiful sight I have not seen in longer than I care to remember. The beast has been, for the moment, put in check. And what a bastard it is, though I cannot hold him responsible for choices made by yours truly. “For he knows not what he does” and I did know. I did. I can never forget that, it is a choice to be blind in the manner I speak of. Never forget that… it is a choice. Don’t allow it to be taken from you for then we have little left to offer, if anything at all.

Ode to an author. (Spirals 2)

“A man who makes a beast of himself loses the pain of being a man” – 1st words of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, by Mr. Hunter S. Thompson
Spiral up, spiral down. We all take the ride, but we don’t all buy the ticket. Shotguns are surely not the answer. But I suppose he had the right to do whatever he felt necessary. He went the way of Horatio Alger and did it with all the style of a madman who was not mad at all. God knows he had contributed to my life and that of many others. What exactly he contributed is harder to define than the simple knowledge of its existence. Let me try; entertainment is obvious, pure enjoyment of a tale well told, a deep respect for brutal honesty no matter what light it painted its author in. But it goes deeper than that. As a person who attempts to write (the success of which is arguable) it is not easy to put your entirety on paper. It is certainly intimidating to share all you are with anyone who cares to look. I have always attempted honesty in my words and looking back over my past posts, I believe I have accomplished that to a good degree. Yet, I strive to be completely comfortable with putting myself out there as I do. For if I am not, neither will be the reader.
I am grateful to all who take the time to read my words, especially the insane ramblings of a man who “makes a beast of himself”. And anyone who knows me knows I have a penchant for indulging the beast. I say this with no pride, simply the honesty I spoke of. Thank you Hunter, and thank you all.

Don’t much feel like…

“Don’t much feel like walking” “Don’t much feel like talking” “Don’t much feel like dying” “Don’t much feel like crying”
Looking back now, as we have all done in one light or another, I agonize and lament my actions. I feel hollow.
“Wasted talent” is a phrase I have grown to hate over these past years. It follows me like Jacob Marley, rattling his chains. I do my best to ignore the noise. Clank clank clank James. We all wear different hats; whether it be a bowler, top hat, or baseball cap. What happens when we take it off? All men are bald underneath.

The Road Less Travelled for a Reason

It has been asked before; is it harder to be a father or a son…? but this conundrum doesn’t just stop there. Is it harder to be a son or daughter? How about a wife or husband…
If you are one of the lucky ones though, you may skate through life never knowing the answer