Greater love has no man …

Wreath Laying (cropped) 2014(From Left to Right) SSgt Siobhan Chase, CSM Eric Crabtree, and SFC Marc Krugh lay the installation Memorial Day Wreath at a ceremony held at Fort Polk’s Warrior Memorial Park May 22, 2014. The wreath honors all those who have given their lives in service to the country since 1775.

 

Brigadier General William Hickman, commander of the Joint Readiness Training Center and Fort Polk, gave the following speech during a Memorial Day ceremony May 22, 2014:

The cost of freedom is not borne equally by all Americans

It never has been – and it never will be. There will always be some
Americans that stand up and take the lead in defending our freedom. And there will always be Family members left behind that will worry, console and care for others.

There will be other Americans that are still supporting their country,
building a strong country but not in the lead, not in our Nation’s military, not volunteering to deploy and go into harm’s way.

And there will be still others that want to criticize their country without
committing to improve our nation. They will neither commit nor expose themselves to hardship and sacrifice.

No, the cost of freedom is not borne equally by all Americans.

In our country alone, you can walk the battlefields of Bunker Hill,
Yorktown, Bull Run, Shiloh, Stone’s River, Gettysburg, Chancellorsville and more. You can walk the fields and forests of Central and Southwest Louisiana, where the Louisiana Maneuvers occurred, where Soldiers trained for World War II and Korea, and later a potential nuclear war; and at Tiger Land — whereour Vietnam War Veterans trained.

With visits to these battlefields and training grounds you understand that …

The cost of freedom is not borne equally by all Americans.

Our Veterans can tell you about the cost of freedom … the Veterans that landed on the beaches, conducted bombing runs in some of the most difficult circumstances, and liberated the Holocaust survivors. You can talk to our Veterans that fought across the Korean peninsula in some of the coldest, harshest terrain imaginable. You can talk to our Veterans that fought in the jungles and highlands of Vietnam and returned home to an ungrateful nation.

You can talk our Veterans that served in Grenada, Panama, Lebanon, Somalia, Bosnia, Kosovo, Yemen, Kuwait, Iraq, Afghanistan, and more, defending Americans and our nation’s interests.

No, the cost of freedom is not borne equally by all Americans.

The cost of Freedom has been paid in many ways. It was paid on the battlefields and veterans’ cemeteries that have spread across our nation and the world. It was paid by the futures that never happened — when military members made the ultimate sacrifice and promising lives were left unlived. It is paid in our commitment to never forget our missing in action, to return to the battlefields in search of our missing comrades.

It was paid when the military expanded in the early 1940s – when military installations were formed to train and house an expanded military at places like Fort Polk.

No, the cost of freedom is not borne equally by all Americans.

On Memorial Day we pause in a formal setting to remember the sacrifices of those Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, Marines and Coast Guardsmen that have come before us, that sacrificed their lives for their country. We pause to honor their service.

We pause to remember the “last full measure” given by our Soldiers and that their memory continues in our hearts each day. For those Soldiers that didn’t return, Family members, friends, a grateful nation, will always keep their memories alive.

We also pause to remember our wounded military members that have returned from war with mental or physical injuries. And we know that, no, the cost of freedom is not borne equally by all Americans.

Those service members that have deployed have unforgettable memories and experiences …

For me, one of those experiences occurred May 11, 2008. I was visiting Soldiers at the Military Hospital in Baghdad, when word came in that a Soldier in my Brigade was seriously hurt in an improvised explosive device blast. As I moved to the Emergency Room, you could hear the inbound helicopter. Then they wheeled her in, performing emergency rescue procedures. She never recovered and died that evening.

Jessica was a medic that volunteered to go on counter improvised explosive device missions with an engineer unit. She bore the cost of freedom more than most.

My wife, Mayme, and I had a chance to meet CPL Jessica Ellis’ parents at a remembrance ceremony after the deployment. The Family continues to give today – through the memory of their daughter.

Another day I remember vividly is March 10th 2008, when I received word that a suicide bomber had detonated himself near one of our units. As I approached the unit, the report came in – five dead and multiple wounded. I remember arriving at the scene where our Soldiers were securing the site and cleaning up the streets after the blast.

I will never forget the look in the Soldiers’ eyes after experiencing this
terrible attack against their unit. I will never forget the sacrifice of these Soldiers, SFC Suzch, SSG Cimarrusti, SSG Julian, CPL McDavid and CPL McIntosh.

All service members that have deployed ¬– no matter which war — have similar experiences; all know of friends, fellow Soldiers that gave their lives.

America is a great country; we have incredible military members, Families, retirees and a professional civilian workforce that understand the commitment to this profession of arms. When you look across the pine forest, the farmers’ fields, the small towns of Louisiana, you can see the Soldiers that came before us.

You can see the Soldiers of World War II, the Soldiers of the Louisiana Maneuvers, the Soldiers of World War II. You can see them as clearly as if you were sitting on a front porch in Central Louisiana in 1941. You can see the Soldiers training for the Korean War in the early 1950s, for a potential nuclear war in the mid 1950s.
You can still clearly see the millions of Soldiers that trained at Fort Polk in the 1960s as they prepared to deploy to Vietnam.

I know I can see them clearly, as if they were standing in front of me now. I see these Soldiers every month. The same 18-24 year old Soldiers that trained in the 1940s, ‘50s and ‘60s still train today in 2014. America’s sons and daughters are entrusted to our leaders to train and prepare them for the unknown hardships and struggle that come with serving in the Army and deploying in harm’s way.

Yes, they are the same Soldiers today, with two exceptions: Today’s Soldiers have better equipment and women stand beside the men.

The cost of freedom is not borne equally by all Americans. The cost of
freedom is paid for every month at the Joint Readiness Training Center as we prepare the next unit to deploy to Afghanistan or to be ready to deploy on short notice contingency operations. It is a cost — and more importantly — a commitment that all of us make when we are assigned to Fort Polk; a commitment to provide the best training possible, to stress the leaders and units during their rotation, to try our best to prepare the units for the unknown.

As we reflect on the past and prepare for the future, please pause on not just Memorial Day, but every day, to remember the service of those who came before us. Remember their commitment and sacrifice so that we can stand proudly today in a free United States.

Those service members – those of yesterday, those of today, those of
tomorrow, can look inside ourselves and say, “America, we stand ready to carry more than our fair share of the burden of securing freedom. America, we stand proud with you; we pledge our best.”

May God Bless our military and may God bless our Nation.

The speech was followed by a roll call of the 95 Servicemen and women who deployed from Fort Polk and lost their lives in defense of our nation. This year also included 5 names who deployed from other bases but called the Fort Polk area of responsibility home bringing the total to 100. Here are their names:

2003

SPC Cedric L. Lennon, CPL Tomas Sotelo Jr., PFC Corey L. Small, SPC Zeferino E. Colunga, SPC Levi B. Kinchen, PFC Sean A. Silva, SSG Christopher W. Swisher, SSG Linda C. Jimenez, PV2 Rey D. Cuervo

2004

SSG Craig Davis, SGT Patrick S. Tainsh, PFC William C. Ramirez, PFC Clayton W. Henson, PFC Marquis A. Whitaker, PFC Michael A. Mora, SPC Robert L. Du Sang, SSG Gina R. Sparks, SGT Andrew W. Brown, CPL Cory M. Hewitt, Ist Lt Christopher W. Barnett, SGT Craig L. Nelson

2005

SSG Christopher J. Babin, SGT Bradley J. Bergeron, SFC Kurt J. Comeaux, SGT Huey P. Fassbender III, SGT Armand L. Frickey, SGT Warren A. Murphy, SSG William F. Manuel, SSG Robert W. Sweeney III, SGT Brett D. Swank, SGT Michael S. Evans II, SGT Christopher J. Ramsey, SSG Jonathan R. Reed, SGT Seth R. Trahan, SSG Nicholas J. Olivier, SGT Paul M. Heltzel, SGT Lee M. Godbolt, SGT Isiah J. Sinclair, 2nd Lt Clifford V. Gadsden, SGT Robin V. Fell, SGT Bernard L. Sembly II, SFC Peter J. Hahn, SGT David J. Murray, PFC Christopher R. Kilpatrick, SGT Howard P. Allen, CPL Jeremiah W. Robinson, MAJ Marino G. David Jr, SGT Marshall A. Westbrook

2006

SSG Bryan A. Lewis, SSG Andrews J. Contreras, SGT Robert P. Kassin, SSG Robert J. Chiomento, CPL Jason A. Lucas, SGT Kenneth E. Bostic, SGT Carlos E. Pernell, SGT Michael D. Rowe, CPL Andy D. Anderson

2007

SGT Jason A. Schumann, SGT Austin D. Pratt, PV2 Danren A. Smith

2008

SGT Timothy M. Smith, SGT Joseph A. Richard III, SGT Marcus C. Mathes, SGT Mark A. Stone, SPC Jeffrey F. Nichols, SFC David R. Hurst, PV2 Jenelle F. King, SSG Matthew J. Taylor

2009

SSG Carlo M. Robinson, SGT Rickey D. Jones,

2010

PFC Devon J. Harris, 1st Lt Scott F. Milley, SGT Edward H. Bolen

2011

PFC Ira B. Laningham, SGT Ethan C. Hardin, SPC Omar Soltero, SPC Rudolph R. Hizon, SPC Christopher G. Stark, SSG Chauncy R. Mays, SGT Travis M. Tompkins, SGT Keith T. Buzinski, PFC Brandon T. Pickering, PFC Jonathan M. Villanueva, SSG Matthew D. Hermanson, PFC Carlos A. Aparicio, PFC Cody G. Baker, SPC Nicholas P.W. Bernier, SGT Rafael E. Bigai Baez, SPC Richard C. Emmons III, SSG Michael J. Garcia, SPC Dennis James Jr., PFC Gil I. Morales Delvalle, SGT Christopher P. Soderland, 1st Lt Andres Zermeno, SPC Adrain G. Mills

Fort Polk’s Area of Responsibility

SSG Dick Lee, SGT Adam Wilkinson, SGT Stefan Smith, SGT Al’Kai’la Floyd, CPT Aaron Istre, SSG George Draughn

Thank you for your dedication, service and sacrifice. May God keep you and your families wrapped tightly in His arms and may we as a nation never forget. Happy Memorial Day.

The decline of civilization continues …

I’ve been having a few problems with my truck lately. It started overheating toward the end of the frigid weather we recently had. I finally figured out that a freeze plug had rusted through. It was just a pinhole but did a pretty fair job of emptying the radiator after it developed pressure. With the help of a great mechanic,we fixed that problem.

It still occasionally overheated. It never really got EXTREMELY hot. No more than about 230-240 degrees according to the gauge. It’s got to be the thermostat sticking. I went to the auto store to get a new one and started preparing to install it today when I noticed … there was no gasket included with the part! A quick call to NAPA to ask about it and I found out they don’t include the gasket anymore. You have to buy it SEPARATELY! Since when did THIS happen? I realize it;s only 58 cents, but c’mon! It’s a stupid gasket! Civilization, as we know it, is DOOMED!

#FirstWorldProblems

The great chicken experiment

We got our first batch of chickens about a year ago. Raised them in a Rubbermaid box while I built a coop for them. The coop had an attached run and I painted it blue. I named it the C.H.A.R.D.I.S. as an homage to Doctor Who. We also named all the chickens after characters from the show.

Chicks

Chardis

I love my chickens. It was the best time of the day when I could let them run in the yard. I would just sit out in my chair and watch them run, fly and feed. I also fed them by hand when I needed them to get back in the coop.

ByHand

We must have pulled 100 dozen eggs out of the nesting boxes since they started laying. They were the best tasting eggs I’ve ever had! I had four Barred Plymouth Rocks, two Production Reds, two, Buff Orpingtons and a pair of Bantams: one hen and the prettiest little rooster you’ve ever seen.

DanEgg

That all came to an end tonight. We got home from work and there were a pair of stray dogs in the yard. They had been seen before, digging around the coop trying to get in, but I had always chased them off. This time, one of them got up on top of the run and clawed through the chicken wire into the pen with my chicks. They were mostly dead by the time I chased the dogs off and the two or three that weren’t didn’t last long.

It’s a heart breaker. We were planning on killing them when they quit laying, but that was more than a year from now if they were average chickens. So I guess I will head out tomorrow and pick up a bunch more chicks and start raising them.

I also need to address the coop situation. I will build another one. This time I will use better materials. I did a pretty good job with the current one. I had no idea what I was doing when I started, but it was functional and I was very proud of it. I have seen through use where I can improve upon the design and will start on that tomorrow.

This one will be much stronger. I will install drainage pipes and prep the ground to not hold water; use heavier wire to enclose the chicks and install staggered boards. That will let air circulate while providing a barrier for all but the smallest predators.

I also need to build it taller so that nothing can climb on top of it. I would also like to be able to walk in it standing upright. That would make cleaning and maintenance a little easier.

So we have had a setback, but now it’s time to look forward and hit the reset button. Wish me luck.

 

Shakespeare writing project — Gloom

In the beginning, it was a quiet thing. Barely even noticible. School was tolerable despite boring him to tears for the most part. Riflery, photography and theatre classes were the bright spots in his existence those days. Summers, with few exceptions, seemed to last for years. Life was pleasant and reasonably care free. At least that’s the way is seems when looked back upon through the prism of middle age. There were some dark days, he called them the Gloom, but generally most were bright and life was pretty good. Then, as it inevitably happens, he grew up. Somewhere along that journey the Gloom went from being a distant neighbor to taking up residence in a corner of his bedroom closet.

At the age of 50, he was tired. The kind of tired you feel when you pulled a double shift at the restaurant, spent the next two hours cramming for a test and then fought to stay awake and remember enough of what you studied to complete the test and scrape by with a passing grade. Bone tired. Hard as he tried, he couldn’t remember the last time he had a restful night’s sleep. Weeks? Months? It was difficult to think about it. The focus just wasn’t there anymore.

The days seemed to blend together, a never ending blur since … Christmas? Maybe it was Thanksgiving. All he knew was one day he was sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner at his parent’s house. His brother and sister were there. There was football, but no guns this year. Shooting guns had become part of the holiday tradition with the family over the past few years, but this year, no one seemed interested. The next day, today, it was February 12. Where did the intervening days go? Filled with the day-to-day minutia, they seemed to have just … disappeared into the ether.

Driving through the night he concentrated, trying to remember when it all started slipping, but then the radio would switch songs or go to commercial and break his train of thought. He was always driving it seemed. He loved driving. It was the being alone, he thought. No one to talk to, no one to fake interest in, nothing to disturb the quiet except the music wafting out of the speakers.

Some days, when his mood was just right, a song would come on the radio and he would get the urge to leave everything behind and just keep rolling down the highway. He imagined he might just do that one day. He was afraid, though, that when he was finally forced to stop, it would be with the Pacific Ocean swallowing the setting sun, turning the world a violent shade of blazing orange mixed in with deep, dusky pinks and purples.

As beautiful as that sounded, he knew he was fooling himself. He would never do that. He had responsibilities: responsibilities to work; to family; to friends … or maybe that was just the Gloom whispering those things in his ear. It was hard to tell these days. The Gloom had become his constant companion. Ever present, its influence touching every corner of his life like tendrils of fog spreading across an empty field.

Tonight he tried not to focus on that, but it was hard. He needed to pick up his son and get home in time to eat dinner before 8 o’clock. He and his wife always ate late. Every since they had gotten married dinner never hit the table before 7 p.m. It’s just the way things were. And because you can’t go to bed immediately after eating, there would be a few hours of television afterwards. If lucky, he would be in bed by 1 a.m. but that would still not bring rest. Because when he closed his eyes, the Gloom rushed forward to take over.

He felt like there was a thrum of anticipation when he lay down. The Gloom knew it was only a matter of time until he succumbed to unconsciousness. There was not sleep as anyone else might describe it. He didn’t slip into unconsciousness as much as crash. One minute he was awake and the next he was in the Gloom. No peace but rather a state of oblivion where the Gloom ran wild taunting him, twisting dreams, sowing discord and planting thoughts that would influence his mood until the next time he tried to sleep. He would not remember these thoughts clearly, only in snips and snatches: “Let me …”, “… hate you?”, “… rest in me …” The mood a night wrestling with the Gloom left him with was a seething anger.

He had been angry for months, possibly years. Certainly as long as his impaired memory could recall. The anger seemed to grow and intensify with the passing of each night. It wasn’t fair to those around him, but he didn’t know how to stop it. It depressed him that his anger was hurting those he loved more than anything in the world, putting up a wall between them. Then depression turned back to anger and fed upon itself like an out of control fire in the forest, increasing the size of the wall and starting the cycle over again.

Last night’s experience had been the worst in a long line of ever worsening sleep cycles. He held off the Gloom for half the night but at 3 a.m. finally gave up and slipped into slumber. There was no more rest today than on other mornings when he dragged himself out of the fog, but this day there were two feelings that persisted through his first cup of coffee. The first was a fear he was familiar with. It had been almost as constant a companion in his life as the Gloom had been; as comfortable as the ratty old t-shirt he wore to bed each night. The fear was a feeling that some event, some happenstance, was charging toward him. It was like a train just over the horizon but coming fast. He heard the whistle getting closer. When it arrived, it would crush him and his life would never be the same again. It was a feeling of impending doom and dread.

The second was a longing. A deep desire to be rid of the Gloom and all the discord it created in his life. He yearned to rid himself of the anger that plagued him daily and turned his waking hours into long stretches of misery. The anger poisoned him. He was decent at hiding it in public, but he wanted it gone. Oh, to sleep, to sleep, perchance to dream. Shakespeare had penned that line and, to a man haunted as he was, it was the most beautiful line ever written in the annals of literature. But that was not for tonight. Tonight he needed to get home.

On the road, as was usual, he had the radio on. Just white noise to try and drown out the thoughts running through his brain. He realized he had been carrying on a conversation with himself in his mind. Actually, it was less a conversation than a mumbling, really. Nonsensical phrases just under his stream of consciousness.

No.

That wasn’t it.

He hadn’t been talking; he had been listening, lulled by the soft singsong phrasing — the same phrases — over and over again telling him it would be alright; he would be safe and that he would sleep. Not the sleep he had experienced up until now, but the deep sleep that refreshes body and soul. He would have the sleep that cleanses the mind and makes one feel alive and ready to seize the day and squeeze every drop out of it.

All he had to do was close his eyes.

As he turned the final corner he blinked, and when his eyelids touched he … saw? No. That’s not right. He felt the sudden overpowering presence of the Gloom. So comforting, so unlike the malevolence he normally felt when the beast came forward. This time, the constant companion was welcoming. He felt warm and safe in its presence. He felt it beckoning, its thoughts softly echoing: “Come and be at peace, friend. Your journey is almost done. In here you will find comfort. Put away the anger and rest with me.”

He considered pulling back, but the thought of letting go was just too powerful. Resigned, he embraced the Gloom, his oldest friend, and watched as the sun sank slowly into the Pacific Ocean bathing him in an explosion of oranges, reds, purples and pinks. It was more beautiful than he had ever imagined. A tear slipped silently down his cheek and when the darkness came, the peace he had longed for his whole life gently embraced him … and he slept.

What knitting teaches me about life

As you may or may not know, I taught myself to knit a few years ago. I knitted myself a 20 foot long Doctor Who scarf. Tom Baker played the Doctor when I was growing up and I LOVED watching him on PBS. He still holds the record or playing the Doctor longer than any other actor … seven seasons! What I didn’t like was that PBS only showed Doctor Who during their fund drives.

tom1

Tom Baker was, and is still, an amiable old fellow. I liked him because he had curly hair like me. He wore a floppy old brown hat and that scarf and I thought that was the coolest thing ever! That scarf … I deeply coveted that scarf. Before I taught myself to knit, I had looked for them on the web. They were selling for more than $100 and they looked like crap. I wanted one, but not that much for THAT low quality scarf so I finally decided to knit one myself.

I found a website, The Witty Little Knitter, and, after reading every page, following every link, realized that I could actually do this! She had talked with the BBC, seen the original scarf and had everything I needed to accomplish this goal I had set or myself. She had authentic patterns for every scarf by season; YouTube links to teach me all the tricks and techniques I would need; and the specific colors/numbers of the yarn I would need.

It took me six months to make that first scarf and you can see me still wearing it today. I was very proud of the way it came out with a few small exceptions. You see in teaching yourself to do something like that with no help, you make mistakes that aren’t caught until it’s too late to fix them. Well, an EXPERIENCED knitter could have fixed it probably, but I was far from that so my mistakes stayed in the final product. Still, people tell me that unless I had showed them, they wouldn’t have noticed them. I believe them but even with the mistakes am proud of myself.

I decided to knit another one. The first one was the “First One,” both for me and the Doctor and it was the longest one they made. As the seasons went along, the scarf got worn and damaged and they removes those sections and gave it back. So it got shorter and shorter every year. I am knitting the shortest scarf they used in the series now and here is the life lesson stuff.

Knitting requires me to have patience. Not because I’m slow but for other reasons. First, I see the pattern and know I want it, but I can’t have it because it doesn’t exist yet. This denies me instant gratification which is a good thing. I see the pattern, I see the yarn and the needles, but I have to put those things together and sprinkle in a little (lot of) time in order to be able to put the thing around my neck.

Second, it forces me to pay attention. The mistakes in the first scarf came when I didn’t know what to look for. I started out with 55 stitches across. Suddenly I noticed I was up to about 70 stitches. I had no idea how THAT happened and had no idea how to fix it. I finally realized I had split a number of stitches due to my inattention (and not really knowing what the heck I was doing) and had added 15 extra stitches that way. I had to figure out how to fix it without unraveling the whole section. I ended up doubling up on stiches randomly until I was back to 55. As a result, I know have a perfect example of a Bell Curve in one section of the scarf. Live and learn.

Third, it forces me to slow down. I’ve gained some speed in my technique since I began, but I have to watch it. Even after I realized about the stitch-splitting problem, I’d be speeding along and realize I had done it again. I also find that when I slow down and take my time and everything is going well, time flies and I am really enjoying myself! The mistakes I made with the first scarf will not happen with this one. I want it to be perfect. It’s not GOING to be, but that is my goal.

So, teaching myself a new skill, having patience, paying attention and slowing down to enjoy things … those are the things knitting teaches me about life. For me anyway, they are lessons I can always use a refresher course in. And in the end, there are worse ways of spending the next six months. Right?

Welcome 2014

cross-tattoos Mod So, 2013 is gone and we are at the genesis of a brand new year. I will not miss the past year, in fact I’ll wish that it is speedily forgotten. The past year was forgettable for a number of reasons. My house flooded for the second year in a row, my pay was cut short by the sequester and then eliminated by the furlough. Yes I got it back in full, but by that time I was well and truly in a hole I’m finally starting to climb out of.

I will turn 52 in a little more than a week. Having pissing most of those years away trying to find the bottom of the latest bottle or bag, I find myself with a “so much to do and so little time” list that is daunting in its length and growing every day. Some are simple: Kill and dress my first deer; ditto with a hog. Some are not quite so easy: Get my finances in order so as to be prepared for retirement; script film and edit my own short film.

I want to concentrate on some art stuff that I really enjoy. I want to write and have started keeping a journal. I want to concentrate more on my photography and have already cleaned up my Flickr account to help. I want to knit another scarf (I have had three started for way too long). I want to read more books that I’ve bought and put to the side thinking “I’ll read them later.” There are a lot of things that I physically want to do, too many to list here.

Other things in my life that need addressing this year are my lifestyle and attitude. First off, I want to develop a more positive attitude toward my life and my circumstances. I’m the guy you ask “How’s it going?” who replies “Meh, I can’t complain.” and then sets about the next twenty minutes complaining about everything. I need to change that.

I need to finally quit smoking. I hit bottom with my drinking and quit cold turkey more than two years ago. I want to quit smoking before I’m sitting in the doctors office hearing a diagnosis of cancer of whatever kind that would force my hand. I’ve smoked at least a pack per day, on-and-off, mostly on, for the past 43 years. It’s time to stop.

One thing I really want to do is get my life a little more organized. I stay up late at night, most nights until midnight at the earliest. If I had to guess at an average, I would say it would probably fall about 1-1:30 a.m.? That’s not good. It’s not good for my health and it’s not real good for the ability to get things I want to spend time on, done. I want to start getting to bed earlier, getting up earlier and organizing my days to be more efficient with regards to my goals.

I need to pay more attention to my spiritual life as well, but that’s between me and God and I’m sure you’ll be happy to know I plan to keep it that way.

I need to simplify my life. What does that mean? Cutting out some of the dead weight that drags me down. Whether that involves possessions, processes or habits, I need to do some pruning.

I don’t make resolutions but I do plan to change some things. I’m going to give up Twitter and Facebook for the most part. They are huge time sucks in my life and I can use that time for other things. I’ve been thinking about this since Thanksgiving and have the basic outlines of a few goals and a sketchy plan to get there.

All in all, I’m happy 2013 is dead and gone and look forward to the changes coming in 2014. I just hope I’m not writing this same post a year from now. Happy New Year and thank you for being a part of my life. Here’s to the future!

Wondering about this whole blogging thing …

I’ve been blogging for a lot of years now. I think I started in 2005. I was doing it so much, I got my own domain and diched Blogspot for the prestige of a personal domain. It was also a great way to get a steady, personally owned e-mail address.
I kinda got in trouble blogging at work several years ago, but kept at it for a while longer anyway (just not at work.) Then I had some personal problems and pretty much gave it up. I love the format and still think I can contribute to a community, but who would come back and follow? That’s the million dollar question.
Or maybe what I Inshould be asking myself is “If it’s so damned important to you, why does it matter who comes back?”
You know what? Yeah, me neither.

An oldie but a goody …

Quote

… or at least I think so.

angels-demons

Fear and Bones

Hells fire flashes as demons laugh.
Dark, viscous venom cutting rivers in their chins.
Nails flaying skin, shredding, wailing
into the night. The demon taunts me, “God is calling!”

Hells nightmare follows me, toying, teasing.
Insanity closes with every tick of times passage.
Ha! Glowing embers, eyes I’m sure, searching,
hunting from the inky black of Gethsemane’s garden.

Hells demons sniff and snarl, measuring fear.
The stench of decaying flesh surrounds me.
Shrieking into the dark I run, “God, save me from this!”
It’s mine. The death stench permeates my very soul.

Mortal fear feeds Satan’s addiction. When fear fades
bones crunch and Satan smiles. Snapping blades
shred sinew, slice muscle, “Why hast thou forsaken me?”
My blood heavy on his belly, sated, his eyelids droop.

The demon slumbers. And I? I rise to save the world.