The deadly breeze

That faint crackling of facia when pulled from flesh
That white connective tissue does well to adhere the skin to the meat
That is the sound my heart makes when I am made to separate from you
You are my skin.

Tito's gone

                His dusty boots stepped off of the back of the C17 cargo plane and made contact with American soil for the first time in six months.  In his left hand he clenched his M4 assault rifle, it was the only part of him that was free of the dirt of the war zone that he had just left.  He knew that it was his life line, the only thing that stood between him and the devil during so many of those midnight excursions that he had just executed.  He was a seasoned operator by this point in his carrier.  Hundreds of combat missions had left his gaze as hard and sharp as the knife he carried.  Over his right shoulder was a small pack slung with ease and filled with two bottles of water, some jerky and every letter that she had written to him during his time away from her.  The hard lines of his jaw were hidden behind a fierce beard that was needed to blend in with the indigenous population during so many ardous low profile missions.

                He pauses for a brief moment on the airfield to allow his lungs to fill with the scent of his homeland.  It is something that so many people take for granted, he thinks to himself, that simple smell of home and all that it means.  The smell of war was still fresh in his mind and this moment was the first easy one that he has had in some time.  His brothers passed by him under the cover of night on the way to the old white school bus that was picking them up at the airfield.   Each of them with their perfectly cleaned weapon and pack that looked small in comparison to their broad shoulders. There was no parade, no cheering crowd, no confetti, just a pitch black tarmac and the cloak of darkness that they had all grown so accustom to. 

                Most of the men joked and sang on the bus ride back to the compound, songs that would appall the most seasoned construction worker.  Their humor was hardened by the life style that they had volunteered for.  They were warriors and made no apologies about it.  As another verse began James quietly reached into his bag and pulled from it the stack of letters bound by an old piece of 5-50 cord.  As inconspicuously as possible he lowered his head slightly and took in another long, deliberate breath.  They still smelled like her.  Would she be there when he returned?  He hadn’t been able to reach her for the past week, even if he had he wouldn’t have been able to tell her that he was coming home.  That was the nature of his job.

                James had met Jenna in Las Vegas just over a year before.  She was a rare beauty that seemed to make the air thick and difficult to breath.  James was instantly impressed by her wit and ability to speak on everything that he found important in life.  Her playful brown hair bounced and flowed in such a way that would make any scarlet of the 1940’s jealous.  When James saw her eyes he swore that he saw a set of peals amongst the stars.  Her smile was so deliberate yet so uninhibited that it easily made the otherwise powerful man weak at the knees. She flowed with a charisma that, in all of his travels, he had never before seen. 

                The two danced carelessly and took shot after shot together, something that caused their careless dancing to increase significantly.  After several hours James went to get another round of drinks for the two of them but when he turned, to his terror, she was gone.  He hadn’t even gotten her name.  Here she was the most angelic thing he had ever laid eyes upon and she had just vanished like a modern day Cinderella.  Fate had a much different ending to their story than a brief encounter of a few dances.  They came to find each other online within hours of returning home.  The physical distance between them was of little consequence.  They messaged each other multiple times a day.  James would wait with anticipation for Jenna to respond to a funny text message.  Several times he found himself in the back room at a crowded party, deep in conversation with a girl two states away whom he had only met once.  On paper it didn’t make scenes but in his heart it was the only logical thing to do.   She quickly became his oxygen.

                Every chance they could they travelled to see one another until the time when James had to deploy again.  He needed someone to watch his home and take care of his dog while he was away.  His dog was a scruffy pound mutt that he rescued two years earlier that he had ironically named, Son.  She was tired of the grind of her job and wanted a fresh start.  In a move that was very untypical of her Jenna agreed to stay in James’ condo while he was away.  His place screamed of a military bachelor with a two thousand dollar flat screen on the wall and a hundred dollar couch.  There was nothing on the walls when she moved in and the plates may as well have been made of Styrofoam.  She didn’t mind though.  There was something about James that was so unique and magnetic that she had a childlike curiosity when it came to him.  She was drawn to him immediately and while she would never admit it she would do anything for him. 

                It was 1am when that old white bus came rumbling up to the 8 foot brown fence adorn with razor wire.  The men excitedly piled out one by one and made their way to the armory.  It was a familiar dance, turn in your weapon and night vision, get full accountability on sensitive items, and get a couple of shots from Doc and hope that the higher ups would let you go before the sun comes up.   During the process one of the snipers rolls out a keg and the men begin to sing as the cups get passed around.  James takes advantage of their distraction to move to the head of the shot line.  He has one thing on his mind and it isn’t Bud Light.  By 3am they boys are given the green light to go home.  By this point some are so drunk that they end up staying in the company area and sleeping on the concrete floor.  Not James, he ducks out to the parking lot to find his old Dodge pickup right where he left it six months ago.  As he pulls out of the gates the same old George Strait song starts playing in his CD player, it’s the one that reminds him of her, the one that he tortured himself with on the drive to the compound a half a year ago.  He had endured the most austere environments in the world but leaving her was single handedly the most difficult thing he ever had to do. 

                Every light was off as he pulled into the driveway.  His heart raced.  For the first time he allowed himself to think of all the danger and violence that he had embraced so that he could get back to her.  More than once over the past six months he was faced with a decision, take another man’s life or risk never seeing Jenna again.  It wasn’t something that he gave a second thought to in the moment.  Nothing would keep him from her.  Here he was now though, only a dozen meters from her and he realized how much he truly loved her.  She made him weak and strong all at the same time.  James quietly exits his truck and makes his way to the front door being careful to open it slowly because he knows that the hinge squeaks. Out of habit he kicks his dusty combat boots on the floor as his shaggy old dog, Son, comes to great him.  He smelled different though, he smelled clean.  As James’ eyes adjusted to the low light he noticed a few things.  There was paintings on the walls and a coffee table. 

                He flowed quietly through the house instinctually, an instinct created by hundreds of night time raids, flawlessly navigating around every warped floor board.  As he slowly pushes open the door to the bedroom he realizes that not only does Jenna sleep with a pistol, she is a very good shot.  The humor of surviving dozens of gun fights and coming home to be shot dead by the women you love is too much to not make James smile.  He takes his chances and pushes forward into the dim room.  After a time that feels like a longer than man has stood upright, he finally lays eyes on her.  The moonlight has traveled tens of thousands of miles to sneak through that window and fall perfectly on her cheek.  A trip that light would admit was well worth it.  The light grey blanket slowly rises and falls with her breath and James is paralyzed.  Nothing, in all of his travels, ever stopped him like that moment did.   He stood motionless for twenty minutes.  He felt a warm salty single tear roll down the right side of his face and into his beard.  The gaze that was once as hard and sharp as his knife melted into the sincerest look of admiration and love.  He took the final few steps to her bedside and kneeled beside her.  Gently James brushed Jenna’s brown hair behind ear touching her softly down the neck in the process.  She let out a faint moan and quietly said his name.  It was a sound that filled his heart with jubilee.  Jenna’s eyes slowly blinked open and looked up at the man who she had waited all this time for.  Even through his thick beard his smile was easy to see.  It shined through his eyes.  In the sleepy voice of a child Jenna, half asleep, asked, “James, are you home?”  As if she was dreaming.  A dream that she no doubt had every night for the last six month. 

                With his hand still on her neck he leaned closer and pressed his lips to hers.  Jenna’s  eyes opened as though she just received a shot of adrenaline when she realized that this was no dream.  Her hands moved up and found James’ body.  His ribs expanded when she touched him as though he was flung into freezing water.  He inhaled all of her in that moment.  As he did, she let out an intense moan pulling him on top of her.  While one hand pulled him into her the other moved to his head.  Her fingers flowed through his hair until she found enough to grab.  Her lower lip was clasped between his teeth with just enough pressure to not draw blood.  As his right hand clenched her hair his left hand slid down and felt her naked body beneath the sheet, trembling in ecstasy.  He traced the lines of her body as far down as his arm would allow him without parting ways with her divine lips.  No force on earth could keep their souls from each other in this moment.  She immediately found the collar of his top and removed it as though it was on fire.  Her hands danced on his unkempt chest.  There is a new scar laid a top the powerful muscle that she had come to know.  As he realizes her concern James grabs Jenna’s hand and moves it to his hip.  It doesn’t take long for that hand to find his belt.  Within a breath the belt and pants hit the lamp shade on the other side of the room.  The moonlight is all that separates the two lovers.  James’ muscular body hovers inches from Jenna’s.  With the head of his throbbing cock he can feel how wet Jenna has become in a matter of seconds.  He pauses, for what seems like an eternity, he pauses.  She can feel his heat as breathing becomes shallow.  Lips quiver in anticipation.  A mutual audible inhalation occurs as James slides every inch of himself deep into her.  Both are overcome with pleasure.  Jenna’s hands grasp his firm naked ass and pulls him into her again and again.  His left arm wraps firmly around the small of her back so that he can generate even more power.  His right arm clasps the back of her neck as his mouth moves to her neck.  In as stark of a contrast that can exist he gently and tenderly kisses the space just behind her ear as he violently thrusts himself deeper into her.   Jenna’s head tilts back as her back arches and her beautiful breasts are perfectly illuminated by the light of the moon.  Her thighs begin to tremble as she as breaths in deeply.  “Ohh my God!” she proclaims, “I’m cumming! I’m cumming!” 

                This was James’ favorite part, he genuinely enjoyed her ecstasy.  He lived for it.  Jenna’s entire body shook as her nails embedded themselves into James’ back.  He welcomed the feeling as he realized that he could no longer contain himself.  His coil becomes like an anaconda as James reaches climax.  He tries to pull out but she pulls him in deeper.  She wanted every bit of him in that moment.  As he took her ear in the clench of his teeth he cam with such force that Jenna’s nails sunk deeper into his back drawing blood.

                The adrenaline surging through his veins was tenfold what he had ever experienced in any fire fight.  No battle could compare to this.  Nothing could compare to her.  He felt himself shaking, their two bodies glistening with sweat and pleasure.  For an eternity they gazed into one another’s eyes, both realizing that there could never be a future without the other.  This was the moment that they both wished to echo throughout the remainder of eternity.  They would spend the next 24 hours exploring every inch of the other.  Not hunger or thirst or fatigue could part them.  They were completely perfect in that moment and would continue to be as long as one held the other. 

I'll take one for the other and work my way through this machine

the tongue swells and cracks in the short absence of hydration.  Three days, three years, it's all the same for the cells constructed of simplicity.  Two parts this, one part that, the language of our being mimics that of our soul.  Paradise a prison.  Humanity exists beyond the formalities of hello, goodbye and otherwise.  The complexity of exchanging pleasantries does as much to quench the thirst of a mind on fire as a cup of sea water does for amelioration of drought.



It's not starvation that brings a strong man to his knees, rather removal from the most basic of necessity.  Life breads life.  Exile, be it self induced or otherwise, results in a cognitive thirst without relief.  We must be cautious when building a cabin.  We must understand that replenishing one's cup is not a process ideal in isolation.  We must reach out our root regardless the distance between contact.  The drop of rain that falls upon our leaves is exciting not quenching.  For that patients is paramount.  Denying impulse, delaying gratification, allowing that drop to roll from our parched leaves into the soil so far away is the only sure way that it will touch our out stretched root.

perfección a través del silencio

"I'm writing again, these letters to you, not much I know.  But I'm not sleeping and you're not here, the thought stops my heart."

My day started with its typical grumble but as soon as my eyes pealed open a relief came over me until my arm stretched out in search of your body and when it wasn't there I realized that this cannot be paradise.  Utopia can exist only in your embrace.
Last night I experienced my greatest culture shock to date.  Not speaking the language, knowing the customs or shifting climates were all of little impact compared to the faces that I observe.  A hundred people in an open air bar, not more than 200m from the vastness of the ocean; there was something very odd to me about their expression.  Following 23oz of Imperial it came to me.  It hit me the way a breath of mountain air hits your lungs the first time you roll down the window on a long road trip.   100 faces and none had a digital glow.  Every human was engaged in the moment.  Silver pony tails and sun stained shoulders danced and sang as uninhibited as a nine year old let loose on the collected aftermath of a long rain storm.
My observations continue as another libation is delivered to my outstretched hand.  My initial count had this crowd at a hundred people which I now notice is not correct.   He was with her and her with him.  Those two dancing, those two singing, those two making eyes at each other in the corner and holding hands.  Body language reminiscent of a estranged lovers finally reunited after a fissure of time and distance.  No doubt a lifetime spent passing like ships in the night, seldom taking the time to appreciate their amalgamation so many years ago.
This moment is the greatest one in all of history, it is the only one that we control, it is the only one we feel, everything else is but a hope or memory.  We must take control of this blink for when the lid meets the cheek this moment is gone forever.  We posses a limited number of these blinks.  I  beseech thee, allow your gaze to fall upon those whom you hold in the highest regard before time steals your vision.  The greatest human experience is only as good as the souls you share it with; it's only a life if we live it.

LJJL

Certainty of life is that we will forever be changed by it, by those in it.
Those souls we touch, touch us.
When two souls touch
an illumination seen from space
When two souls touch  
an unacceptable separation is measured in meters.
When two souls touch
a world waits in whist
When two souls touch
an amalgamation of minds, a comfort found in reading aloud
When two souls touch
sustenance sustained sans snacks
When two souls touch
the deepest despair is distance
When two souls touch
a new life, a new light, a new love
When two souls touch.

An in-house Alchemy

A forked tongue tickles a miasmic atmosphere.  Sense of sight succumbs solemnly.  A necessary evolution where the serpent surpasses it's own strangling skin, a moment of molting.  Where it was once clear this world is now clouded.  An important stock to take note of in the face of vicissitude, No permutation is permanent.  We evolve beyond even our own skin growing and amalgamating into and beyond others.  Running from our problems will ensure that we remain asphyxiated by them.  Moving toward a solution is a far better race to run than flying from plight.  
There is necessity in the the act of dissolving of decaying and allowing the cycle of life to coagulate us once more.  I new version of our self constructed of all of its previous pieces and parts.  An ability suddenly presents itself to abandon the segments that have for some time caused a dissatisfying dissidence. In our reformation we are free to become all what we desire and shed all that shames.  We remove the scars of old skin and show the world our most brilliant scales.  A vibrant vehemence, visually vivacious and violently vituperous reincarnation of mind, body and soul.  This is the natural order of life.  Those who fight it are doomed to remain in the state of pre molting blindness, slaves to their own apprehension, prisoners to their own skin.














 


Does the caterpillar know it's destiny, does it know that flight is in it's future?

Taking flight,

Arms extend and receive the sun.  The warmth and everlasting light of such an embrace fills my cup.  Lips part and eyes narrow.  The fearful nervous anticipation dissipates as conversation flows without seam.  Intersecting interstates of tangled limbs display a road map of an interaction previously unincountered.  Minutes are months yet the clock mocks.  A painful knowledge that this perfect thing would have to end hangs like a shadow.  As we move it follows and reminds us that time is not ours, we do not own it we simply borrow it.

Finding ourselves in parking lots.  The limits we will take, the birth of an emotion.
A wonderful world it is where we are free to experience all that compels us.  Confined only to the limits of our own unnecessary timid tendencies.  Free to move free to feel.  Free to hurt and free to heal.  This dance is about more than stumbling through encounters, the purpose, to feel every bit of our most painful moments.  Without them we are safe yet lost.

We would do well to take example from those finned creatures that despite their lack of wings take attempt at flight.  Breaking free from the barrier of their own world if only for a brief moment.  When a life is spent immersed in an ocean the salt of a single tear is of no consequence but that single moment in the sun is divine.  It s why we leap.

With all the surgical sterility and accuracy of a butcher hacking the limb of next weeks special an abdominal incision is made.  An eviceration of unparalleled violence.  When the end trails are removed and replaced with a shovel load of hot coals, a new burning emptiness replaces appetite.  Wounds cauterized so as to not be fatal yet burn in such a way that death would be a welcomed event. In your absence I bite through my own tongue.  The bright red blood still lacks taste.  Life lacks levity. The vastness of the Rocky Mountains have never appeared so hideous.  Nothing feels like this... This sinking falling crashing boiling burning empty mess.

In the order of things a single embrace of such magnitude is worth a lifetime of this consequence.

My Pearl of the Stars

I saw today a vastness in a pair of pearls.  A galaxy existing between lashes.  A birth and life and death occurring between the shutter of a blink. If I could bring arbitration with death I would plead to drown in a single tear produced by the lucid truth of those windows.  In this my demise would be my finest hour.  A dimness unknown and a depth unimaginable.  As if there was a secret hidden lucent luminous lustrous light lingering upon the lowest levels of the depths of the deepest darkest sea.
Hope oh hopeful hope.  We reside within you, a world unknown. The solace of solitude severed for a certain salvation secured.  Angelic elevations of a breath unknown and a world unseen.  Perfection may be birthed in naiveté but its growth resides in expansive understanding and mutual stride.
Does intrepidity insist on isolation or can we call on collaboration from confidants?

It's time for life and living it.  It's time to take the bat from your shoulder and swing wildly into the night.  The time has come to deliver yourself from a preconceived notion of inadequacy and plow through the walls of self doubt that have formed your prison internal.  We are all  imperfect but it is in those imperfections that true beauty resides.  The complexity of life can only be eclipsed by the sheer inspirational beauty that it presents.  We have one life, one chance, one opportunity to drain the tank and show the world our resolve.  Now is the dawn of our tomorrow and it is your responsibility to embrace every painful, joyful, despicable, wonderful moment of it.  The sting of coming up short is felt only by those who took the leap, who challenged their own boundaries and in doing so created new self expectations.  This is a process, it doesn't happen all at once but for those willing to travel beyond their own comfort zone there is a reward the sheltered will never know.  This is the day of our provocation, this is our revival. 

It's late and I'm tired yet willingly I would stay awake for days just to not miss a single smile.  It's a magic glowing thing when engaged in my direction.  This tight rope that I'm on seems less of a challenge and more of a crux with each reckless step and I'd dive head first if I knew which direction was up.  There are so many things that I can never hope to understand, so many pieces of the puzzle that may never fit and forcing them will leave you sitting back admiring a work void of meaning.  Life may exist beyond the gentle stroking of these keys but that is where it is contained to at this moment.

Rooftops in autumn

The sun rises in a glorious spectrum of color and sanguinity analogous to the birth of a child.  There is hope in this moment that this rebirth will bring with it new possibilities and understanding.  In our youth the air is cool and light and we have all of time to decide how our day will be spent.  Without our permission these moments slip from us breath by breath.   Before we know it the mid day heat beats arduously upon our back and little has been done with our time.  Often we look to the clock as though an arbitrary time will bring us amelioration. Yet as quickly as it came the sun descends and our life is consumed by the twilight.  The  incalescent nature of the sun which was once cursed are looked upon with contempt.  Now there is no more time for all of the things we said we would do.  Our most finite commodity when squandered becomes our greatest regret. 
We have but a day.

Pressure mounting

The way a balloon inflates, the pressure mounts within.  Even at half capacity the balloon appears full yet it's ability to expand has yet to be tested.  Just when we think it can not take another hot breath, it expands once again and the pressure mounts.  It has been stretched to its fatal limits.  We force further expansion.  We push the limits for no other reason than the fact that we can.  We know that this can not go on.  We know what is going to happen but somehow we are surprised when things blow up in our face. The violent eruption startles us as if we didn't know it was imminent.  Then we are left with nothing resembling ourselves.  We are fragmented and unrepairable.

Kill your heros

How is it after all these years I still don't have my shit together?  I still don't have a single answer to even one of the salient questions which have been presented to me.  I sit alone on this brisk summer evening watching the lightning further illuminate the Denver skyline and I think what would my father do?  What would any of the individuals that I've held on high my entire life do in this situation? When approaching an impasse what does a strong man do, how does he handle himself?  
We have seen men of action time after time yet theirs was more often than not a scripted role.  A grand design developed in an authors chair.  What of real men? Where is their contribution? Can you think of one single person who has been stead fast in the face of all vicissitudes, in the midsts of true hardships?   I can think of a few but the path I've walked has been an extraordinary one.  Even still, these men who've been made out to be hero's are flesh and blood the same as you and I. They possess the same percentage of carbon molecules, the same insecurities and the same fears desires that you do.
The only real difference between you and those that you idolize  is their exposure to heartache.  Those who you have chosen to place in position of admiration have simply endured more pain than you or handled the same pain with renown grace.  In this they may be a person worth admiring, however, to make a hero of a person who's flesh  is no more or less vulnerable to assault than yours is foolish.  That person whom you've held in such a high regard is a mess, in one facet or another they lack control.  It is human nature to not have every aspect of oneself under control.  This is what partially creates our need for one another.  Just know that the way to fill the gap within yourself is not to rely on others but rather upon yourself . Be your own shinning example, be your own hero. 

Parks after midnight

Our entire lives we've been fooled by the game of baseball.  We have been led to believe that we receive just three strikes, three opportunities to achieve our intended goal.  The reality is our opportunity is inhibited only by our own willingness to endure hardship, pain and anguish.  The individual who can look beyond that immediate affliction and not allow themselves to fall victim to their own self destruction in times of discomfort will undoubtedly achieve greatness in all things.  
What separates us, what distinguishes us is free will.  If one possesses any belief in a higher power that belief must be framed in the notion that they/him/it granted you and I the ability to make our own choices, to choose whether or not divinity even exists is an argument that it does.  We get the choice, we can choose the pain that comes from trying and failing or we can seclude ourselves into the comfort of stagnation.  When we swing we may miss and with that miss comes inevitable disappointment, a sense of discouragement and even a little self doubt.  But in the simple act of swinging again these internalizations dissipate.  Even if the swing itself is unsuccessful it has shown us that we still have the ability to act, to use or free will in an attempt at deciding our own fate.  
Swing swing swing swing.... Do so with accuracy but not with concern for  failure for the greatest success occurs only when we remove the bat from our shoulder. 
In the order of things the best situation is not to achieve success at our first at bat but rather feel the disappointment of coming oh so close.  In that, our miss becomes the opposite end of the spectrum from our success.  Without ever knowing absolute failure it is difficult to appreciate the sweet taste of success. 

These Dreams We Dream

The cost of surviving is carrying on our shoulders the weight of all those that did not. The cost of not surviving is having placed that weight on our brothers shoulders.  The price of taking another person's life is meeting them each night and revisiting their final moments.  The ultimate price, however, is not in taking someone's life but rather in the inability to save one.  That is a weight that far exceeds the pressure of all the oceans.


These dreams we dream
of names we can not pronounce
and faces we can not forget
These dreams we dream
of places few have ever seen
These dreams we dream
they never leave us
These dreams we dream
we can still hear them scream
in These dreams we dream
it is the price we pay
not just on memorial day
These dreams we dream