Everybody Wants To Rule The World

You touch your left toes. You touch your right toes. You twist. You turn. You're a million excited fans waiting on the show your body is about to put on. You're scared, and saying words of inspiration. And if you're not, you should be. 

You lip synch lyrics that pull you into the black hole of readiness. The volume increases on your iPod, effluxes through the corridor of headphones and reverberates through the passageway of your ears and you appropriate it accordingly. To this muscle or that, you prepare for battle. Your eyes are closed, focusing on the moves ahead. You quiver, but only for a second. You're now steady with resolve. The beat in your body, now assimilating to the one in your ears.

You leap, grasp and pull. You jerk this with poise and the polish of an action conducted thousands of times before. You've trained up to this point, and you're not going to let yourself down. The muscles, they began to fight back, stinging and burning you where you exhaust them. They're a car engine losing coolant. You keep going, feeling a pounding from inside your chest. You can hear your breathing over the noise of distraction. You push, harder now as you combat a third villain in your lungs. 

The cavalry flanks you unsuspecting, as the bar now cuts into your fingers, your palms ripping open leaving their mark on where they can. You dismount, change the exercise. The new battleground is refreshing for the moment, and then you're on to the next thing. You pant. You pant harder. You pick up the bar, battle new parts of your body. Your back, your legs flank aggressively on your mind with painful calls that sever your concentration. You almost submit, but pride holds your lines together. You counterattack while you still have the mental strength left to do so. You finish set one, two, three in this way, unwavering from the goal of victory. You're strengthened by accomplishment through the hard work. Victory, once only a spec on the horizon, now a mocking child in the backseat of the car in front of you. Hit the gas, crush the kid. You forge your mental toughness through the beats of physical pain.

The last set nearly kills you, knocking you off your feat from the word go. You tell yourself you can't breath any harder, you can't sweat anymore, you can't go on. You fight the battle of body and mind with a brave heart, but you find yourself failing. You nearly stop, you want to quit. The body has won, defeated the mind in a battle of spirit vs.  You take a deep breath in, sweat trickles and falls from all spots on your face. You're smoked, almost done. Courage sounds the horn, you rally for one last charge. To fail, you're a robot not programmed with the subroutine. You're a workout nerd, the option; simply not available. To succeed, once again, rule the world.

Just one more.

welcome to your life, there's no turning back

You Live till You Die

Careful pursuing your dreams, they could end up being your nightmare.

Sometimes we think the light at the end of the tunnel is what we're after, until that light turns into a train. The problem, I see with hard work, is that you only can do so much of your own accord. You rely heavily on the will power and often the judgment of others. This can be a tough situation for most, especially when those around you, or above you don't have a grasp on their egos. You see it in every work force, in every place. There is no perfect job, there is no place to go work and be 'happy.' You are are the mercy of those around you.

I've worked a handful of places, and generally I find that perception is reality. The spotlighters, those willing to sell their souls at the expense of others generally move on, get promoted and become in charge of you. This isn't always the case, as some good tends to slip through the cracks of corruption, but it's merely luck that this happens. There is a constant struggle in any work environment between those who manage, and those who actually lead. I'm sure your boss has been a real jackass, but you have a buddy in the office who is able to put things into perspective for you, help you understand the true worth of what you're doing, and how that it may appease anyone higher. This person is brilliant enough, understand enough, uses enough common sense daily, not only to accomplish tasks, but actually elevates the team and helps them accomplish their tasks. He could run the company if he were to simply fall victim to the system.

You're worth is usually replaceable.

This is a sad fact. Often, the behind the scenes that is taken care is never credited. As we progress, grow in the ranks, we tend to forget the fact that we had been in the shittiest positions before. We always, as human nature would allow, had it worse than the next guy. We did it better and worked harder and got treated worse. It's the age old story, that I'm sure has some sense of truth, but perhaps only in multigenerational gaps. I'm sure I didn't have as rough of a childhood as my grandpa did, but someone only a few years older than me didn't have it any worse, or to a point where there could be contention in the stories. 

With this being said, it's almost seemingly obvious that we tend to forget who actually gets things done. The worker bee, not the queen is responsible for making the hive successful. They merely rely on her ability to influence. Anybody at the top, will automatically assume through ignorance and ego that they have enough influence to lead anyone to be successful. That makes you instantly replaceable. It's a word where attitude is everything. Bow at the feet of those in charge, and stand up to those below you regardless how righteous you may be and you will go far. Admit you're wrong and you shall fail. Ego, greed, arrogance. 

That statement is untrue. You are not easily replaced. There are plenty of ways to manage and lead people. In my experience, people act how you treat them. If you pull the reigns tight, they become stubborn as mules, unable to walk on their own. If you let go the reigns, they sprint like wild horses. So how do you influence people to do what you want them to do and act with initiative? You can't oppress people. It's against human nature, and especially American ideals to be oppressed. Treat them as a jockey treats his race horse. The jockey wants to win, the horse eager too. The jockey doesn't have reigns, doesn't pull from the front. He slaps from the rear and side. Digs his feet in and leans over the shoulder. Encourages the horse forward, and only holds him back from burning out or letting loose too early. It's both a science and an art.

It takes the right amount of the jockey's skill, mixed with the pushing of the talent of the horse to pull off a victory. It's not an overabunance of one or the other, but the perfect mixture of both that allows them to be successful, just as you and your team must be. These are lessons seen in every sense of history and sports. Team efforts, not just that of an individual will create a championship team. That means every member, no matter what short comings they may have, you have to find what they are strong at, and allow them to at least flourish in that department. At any workplace, you all work towards a common goal. You are a team whether you think it or not. As a manager, it's putting people in places where they need to be. As a leader, it's putting people in places they should be. The difference is understanding that we all are motivated differently, and most are not motivated with idle threats. Remember, we are not a people that like to be oppressed. 

Cap, I'm a peacock, you gotta let me fly!

The Night Man Prophecy Cometh

It was just as normal a night as any other. I had just returned from a refreshing shower and was readying for bed. I had just flipped up my computer screen and put on some music that could soothe my sunburn. The shadow passed over me quickly, as I stood hunched over my computer. I was startled. I wasn't alone in being scared, as multiple people in the tent saw the movement from above.

The lights flickered, and then went out. Only computer screens kept enough light to see the intruder sail by. Two of us grabbed flashlights, luckily placed conveniently close. We staggered back to back, seemingly surrounded. Pim and I grabbed what we could for weapons. Unfortunately only shoes. Now equipped with some kind of self defense mechanism, and flash lights in the dark expanse of the tent, we began the hunt.

As soon as I stepped away from his close cover, I was struck in the face, nearly taking me off my feet. I dove into cover across my bed, and he was ambushed too. They I scrambled back to feet, rolling and tumbling over my bed and to his help. By the time I got there, the attacker, retreating to a corner of the tent. He began maneuvering in the shadows where I lights would not reach, knocking over equipment seemingly all around us.

He flew past us, but wasn't precise enough to stun a counter attack. We rushed after him towards the corner, where like hound dogs trapped in the fox. We fixed our lights upon him, and Pim, with the hand of mighty Zeus, let his hammer of a shoe slam into the beast which had haunted us. The first blows were insignificant, though malicious on our part. We continued, like an African drum band to pound blow after blow upon our attacker.

Blood was everywhere, ours and his. He had caused much agitation inside the small tent. But we had defeated him, before he was able to suck our blood, or carry us off. The moth we killed lie there, still and crushed. We, unwaveringly gave a sigh of relief. We would be able to sleep safely tonight.

A swooping sound flutters by angrily. Perhaps a second intruder, possibly a third show themselves briefly in the dim light. I grab my size ten and a fresh set of batteries. Pim, the Dominican Devil, and myself; we hunt late into the night!


Fighter of the Night Moth-man, oooh whoa ooooh!

Bum, I am

The drive is the adventure. It's the fleeing that's exciting. It's the company that's stupendous. It's the beach that's the destination.

It seems like this time of year was a constant norm for me as long as I can recall. We would pack up in a car, cooler and towels where they would fit between anxious legs smiles that threw little caution to the wind. The windows would have to be down, even with the valley heat pouring past. Out of the valley and into Calabasas and through the grass desert mountains spotted with gandering oak trees. It was breakfast with the Beatles, if it were Sunday, or the Beach Boys to ride shotgun up the 101.

The canyon could be the scariest part, but only to my sister. I loved to imagine flying off of the cliff to the left and climbing the rocks to the right. The conversations were always so meaningful, even if they were about who liked Coke or Pepsi better. Hold on, raise your hands and hold your breath two or three times and look for the naked lady in the rear view. Or just turn around. Sliding through the passes rolling over the peaks, the ocean seemingly always cutting the valley even wider in it's awesome display of blue.

PCH was the end all, right or left. Too many choices, and with the correct one, would soon see Zuma. You'd pay to park, or nearly get killed by the flying cars out on the road trying to find a gap between the other bums. Too excited to have started the day, you forgot your sandals or to put them on. You skip across the asphalt playfully, but dangerously into the even hotter sand. As a kid, you'd run from your mom holding the sunscreen and be in the surf before the umbrella was even unsheathed from it's carrier. As a teenager, you wouldn't waste the time either. The waves, glistening and calling for a Hasselhoff sprint into the offshore break.

All day, your plans would change, and one idea would become better than the other. When you weren't scoping out the babes walking to and fro, or swimming out further past the waves, you'd be fighting over PB&J's or control of the boom box. You'd toss a football and regret sliding in the sand. All day, from start to finish, your energy endless. No one would ever want to leave, and much as the rise of the day you'd fight your mom or responsible member of friend for five more minutes. A cold shower to knock off as much sand as you could, but still knowing whose ever car used would still need vacuuming.

Your nap would last only as long as the swerving and ear compression would allow as you climbed back through the three virgins' canyon. You knew you'd be stopping and getting a shake, somewhere, someplace, even if it were going to be a quick In n' Out. You couldn't recount the fun that you had, no matter how you concentrated. But you'd sleep well in the night, and do it again tomorrow.

Nothing like anything else. Paradise, defined.


... the west coast has the sunshine, and the girls all get so tan...

I Gotta Try

Still in somewhat transit, though at my final destination for the next few months, I finally had a chance to catch up on some of the news from back home. My sister-in-law had pointed out a certain story that has been floating around, and in fact gone 'viral' as they say on the internet. It was the incident in which the older lady on the school bus was being berated by kids.

We are shocked, for some strange reason, at the vulgarity and direct display of disrespect from the youth of America to this elderly woman. Of course society will blame the media and reality TV shows, hip-hop and Eminem. The media, will blame other media and of course probably race or social differences in the poor and rich. It will be a disgusting mixture of pointed fingers and misappropriated blame.

The hard truth to all of this, is that it isn't the fault of what's on TV. It's not the fault of social classes. This time should not be the normal American way of things, to find and place blame on other things. Find a scapegoat for the problem and then attack it for all it's worth, or until we are disgusted or interested in the next best thing. The problem is greater and more influenced by more problems than we can even comprehend. Of course, the obvious problem here is the youth of our nation. The truth of that matter is not only in parenting and lawyers and the ability to place blame on everywhere but where it needs to be; on each and everyone of us. Personal responsibility for one's actions, words and existence has all but been lost in our society.

We as a society can obviously point our finger at the parents of these kids. And shake our fingers and change our tone and light our torches, and call for justice. Of course, any good lawyer, as well all pretend to be in this country can simply place the bad parenting blame on plenty of other society factors; video games, Lil' Wayne, food stamps, Ritalin. The excuses pour out of every crack in sanity. We eat it up like dinner after no lunch. We are a product of our own compassion. We are have sympathy and compassion for this woman, who certainly is deserving, and then we will be just as compassionate to victimize the perpetrators and the reasons why they are the way they are. The cycle is never ending, and sickening.

So how do we change our society? It starts with you, and I. We have to be willing to take responsibility into our own hands. We have to be able to punish the guilty. We have to be willing to step out of our comfort zones. How many times have you seen someone doing something wrong, and simply turn the other cheek, walk the other way, and go about your day? How many times have you seen a kid walking through the grocery store being a complete brat, his mother too busy or ignorant to deal with him. We say nothing, do nothing. We're too afraid to get sued. Too burden our day, with something that we consider, not our problem.

We are too afraid that what we will say will be seen as tyranny or oppression in our free world. Lest we forget, your rights end as soon as they infringe upon other's rights.

The good news from the story, is that the social media, something I somewhat consider a contributor to the laziness and downfall of our country allowed for the good people to at least raise a pen, sign a check and contribute in the best way we Americans know how to help; from a distance.

They say it's a hopeless fight, but I say...


It is incumbent on every generation to pay its own debts as it goes- President Thomas Jefferson

Why We Fight

The Speech

If you haven't listened to the link posted up ahead, you're not doing yourself any favors. The Speech as I have labeled it is something that spins my head around every time I hear it. It's certainly something that seemingly could change every bone in your body to the opposite spectrum of what you may consider reality.

This day, the day of days, is one that I will remember for the rest of my life. It's a seemingly normal day, with a bright sun, and a cool breeze. No more or less ordinary than any other day. Yet, as I sit here, the wheel of life is being turned by the hamster of destiny. I listen to the speech, over and over again until my lips sync it without hesitation. I was barely alive when the words said rang out, and yet they still are ringing true today. 

Before we left to arrive in this country, our last holding place before getting into the alien space ship looking airplane we rode in, there was a beautifully painted mural. It wasn't breath-taking or astonishing by any work of the imagination, but it was American, and something I too almost looked over. It was a picture of the New York skyline, pre September 11th, along with some other FDNY helmets and other very normal things to be seen in a 9/11 mural. After a slight glance, I thought that I had realized all of what the mural was, and certainly knew what it was about.

We continued, in the terminal, to watch the movie that was being projected onto the wall, until it was our time to leave. I stayed behind the majority of the group, ensuring that everyone was where they were supposed to be, and we had everything. As the line formed towards the door, I marauded in the back. I took more note of the mural as I stood waiting. Suddenly it struck me, there was a roped off area just in front of the mural that I had overlooked. It's humble, yet powerful presence struck me in every way. In an instant, all my trepidations, my worries, my fears were answered with a simple piece of metal. I was taken back by the reddish metal sitting on a wooden stand, with an inscribed plate labeling it's worth. 

From Tower II of the WTC. 

The bolts into the metal that sat before me, the reasoning for all that we have done for the past year sat there in front of me. I reached out, touching it gingerly and instantly having my breath taken away. It's not the first time I've touched a piece of the Towers, but never so close to ensuring that we won't have to have murals and monuments to such catastrophes. At Fort Bragg, there is a large piece, far bigger than the one at Manas AFB. I run to it on occasion, stand in it's twisted and deformed shadow, and remember what it is I've chosen to do this. No matter how frustrating, how painful this job could be, it's so that there isn't a piece of metal with the souls of thousands cast upon it to touch. 

It consumed me, and in the moment of contact and the precious one's to follow, I could've cried. 

...you and I, have a rendezvous with destiny.

Welcome My Son, To The Machine

The scenery is somewhat familiar to one's I remember years ago. White and green and tan tents thrown up and placed like a sand castle constructed by a toddler. Rigid, yet verging on failure in the wind. The gravel is flat in the high traffic areas, melted into the sand with the soles of boots, sandle's, feet and the heat. Concrete barriers, different sizes and shapes, but all the same. Walls not to be permanent, made so by time. Everything worn in together for a perfect fit.

It doesn't feel foreign, but I've spent a year with it before. To a new comer, and American, it's a foreign planet, an unknown way to live. It's grunge, it's dirty, it's desert life at it's most Roman style. Assimilation.

The lingo, you learn from day one changes. You're bathroom, a latrine, your mouth a cock-holster, your underwear, non-existant. Then, in an instant, you're not that shaved head pip squeak that wouldn't listen to mother, you're a boy in a man's world, the immaturity, the touch of immortality fits the warfighter you've become well, and in the waiting for it now, you think, Gyllenhaal narrated it so well, got it so right that you're astonished by the honesty that only Hollywood could bring you. To paraphrase; Clean rifle, masturbation, discuss religious differences, further masturbation.

This time for me is a little different, but it all feels the same. You're cocky because you're trained to be. You haven't fully let go of all of your childhood, couldn't happen to me innocence, even though you prepare yourself for the worse, you're still hoping and expecting the best. It's not just me anymore, there are men below me, charged to me. Their safety, their ability, there safety, there danger, their safety, their danger. I will imagine it's like most things with combat. You don't feel the change, don't see the change in yourself until you're home. Until you're free and away from it all. There's no PTSD while you're in country, and those who claim it, never have been outside the wire.

You talk through your experiences, hoping that the recollection you have of them will be enough to pass on at least one thing that could help the new guys, the fresh boys, the FNG's to key in on something that could save their lives. They play video games, and grab ass. Clean weapons and masturbate. Eat chow, sleep, workout, trade pictures of girls who sent them nude pictures. Their lives, in the near future, in an instant; will change. Their lives, my life, it's already changed. We're just to ignorant to realize it, to realize the depth of change that we have already made.

The mountains here, reminiscent of those in Palm Springs, or Vasquez Rocks, or a little of both. The snow caps still sitting, but obviously melting. The heat, not hot. They tower around in seemingly all directions. Starkly complex, and strangely beautiful and mystic. They're real places, and Mordor. It's not T-walls and metal containers. It's harsh and surreal. It's new. It's different. It's eerie and somewhat sinister.


... have a cigar, you're gonna go far...

Back Again

Five days, three continents and four countries later I have arrived. Not nearly at the final destination on my itenerary, but at least in the same region. I found that instantly away from the distractions that home brings, I've slipped back into a cool and calm stance on what must and has to be done. I'm enthralled on the plate of readiness and certainly itching as ever to get on with it.

Being home only a week ago, around family was a great send off. I can't believe how great of a family I have. So caring, and so close in ways that I rarely see other families. I didn't get to see everyone I wanted to when I was home, but that's the way it normally goes. With so many good people in my life, I struggle to find time to visit with all of them.

But here I sit, surrounded again with infamous smells and culture. I realize how different my attitude has adjusted, and how idly ready my mind, soul and hands have become. Work ethic will be unmatched along with my determination. Ready is a word that only resembles what it is I truly am.

I will write as often as I can. Submerged in myself once again, free for thought and opinion expression.

The Same is Different

The feeling in my stomach, makes me a little queezy. I've gotten off track, allowed my mind to start hoping again. It's returned emotions that I haven't felt in sometime, and for the first time in the age old cliche, I'm scared. It's not a feeling that I'm too familiar with, an otherwise oak I am floundering with this emotion I can't lasso.

There are many reasons that this could be brought about, I'm sure my upcoming deployment is one them. It's hard to be honest with myself, and with you. It's not easy to admit, in this word which has seen the fall of a man's stature abolished within the ethics and code. I strive to remain unyielding to this demise, and yet hear I sit afraid. A future, I had seen in the near horizon. A finish line beaming with opportunity and beginning. Perhaps while I was simply biding my time, so was I biding my emotions.

The feeling is a very uneasy one. Sickening really. It's immortality decreasing, becoming further from grasp as I grow and become more of an adult. It's truly understanding the weight in which I bring to the world, and how scary a concept it is that I do indeed have impact on a world I would otherwise consider to be without contact.

Harms way, is all perception. Placing myself in it, or an exponentially greater idea of it is simply creating a false reality of the sense of that phrase. I am in as much harms way now and resigned to my fate as much as any other time in my life. Life is a strange thing, no matter who we pray to or what we believe, we will never know what outcome will come of our choices and whether or not that if we were to take a different path if we wouldn't arrive at the same place we never intended to go, but instead destined to be. Of course we all point our finger of the road of life always ending with the dead end of death. But this is a narrowing point of view with all things considered.

My religious or spirtual beliefs are not coinciding or aligning with one specific stereotype or another, but I seem to have a keen sense that we are not alone. That the world isn't magnificent. That life, and death are not the end all be all. I suppose looking forward I have an infinite amount of possibilities. There are some great things that I can do in life and really my biggest fear is; will I be humble and content enough to stop when I reach my goals. So that I may live in happiness, not yearning not reaching for more and never feeling truly accomplished, even with all that I have. The perspective seems at least difficult to voice and certainly confuses me. My fear from death is what I will leave behind. What legacy? What of me will stick with others? Who will I leave behind that I will no longer be able to affect?

Those questions, so broad and not very direct. But they're so truthful in their essence of what we think about death. We spin our catch phrases and cliches and even almost believe them. You're in a better place, you're with God. We buy them like the Wal*Mart rollbacks we become infatuated with commercially. I can't say for sure what happens to us when we perish, but I am certain that it could happen at any time. So why this sudden trepidation? This sudden fear? This overwhelming, sickening feeling that has haunted me, made me older the last few weeks? My immortality, peeled like the skin of a snake and left. Gone, like dust in the wind. Life is suddenly real. Death, no longer a falacy.

Who's to say what we are to say, when we are to say it?