Do you ever feel like you’re position in life is so precarious its as if you were perched up on someone else’s shoulders. Someone who really has no business holding anyone up but themselves to begin with. I have that feeling a lot. Except the position I am describing is intellectual and my supporters, giants! Continue reading
Monthly Archives: September 2013
I like Pelicans. There are either several difficult to define reasons for this or maybe no particular reason at all. To be honest I am not exactly sure where the predilection originated, but I’ve read several things that give me a deeper appreciation for the animal due to my religious beliefs. The pelican has Christological significance and was identified in the second century as a metaphor for the concept of sacrificial remediation. Below is an excerpt from a another website regarding the appearance of the pelican in a book called the Physiologus. Continue reading
My girls used to collect rocks. They would put all their finds in old shoe boxes. They even had a rock polisher which I think their uncle bought for them. For what ever reason, they just liked rocks.
Now imagine for a second, if one of my little girls brought one of their special rocks to show me and I took that rock and threw it as hard as I could into the middle of the pasture right in front of them. Well first of all I should be committed or imprisoned or at least throttled good and hard because that’s just psychotic and cruel. But if I were to do that, my daughters would be very upset, probably cry, and likely feel an emotional loss on some level because their rock is gone. One of their valuables is missing. (Who cares – It’s a rock, right?) But the girls found value in it even though it had no inherent worth. Continue reading
Warning: This entry contains the word homophobe, homosexual and hairstylist. I have attempted to use the words appropriately, however if the content offends, please refrain from commenting. I have likely already heard what you have to say.
The day was allegedly a down day at our location in Iraq. Essentially what that meant was we were allowed to get out of bed an hour later without consequences being enforced. That is, if we are not mortared out of our beds first. Explosions and sirens tend to have a similar affect on one’s somnocentric activities and mood, as an alarm clock radio set to the maximum volume and tuned into the most obnoxious heavy metal station available – you wake up angry. Which happened to be the case that morning. This was only amplified by the fact that I could have slept in. So to calm myself I thought I might get a hair or two cut. I enjoy a nice trimming by competent professionals and I was hopeful I could avoid being assigned one of the homosexual, Filipino hairstylists this time (apparently the word barber was too masculine for this particular establishment). Fat chance of that though because there’s only one guy in the whole joint that doesn’t fit that description and he’s always busy tonsuring the other 800 homophobes on base. Then I thought, “Maybe I should just shave my head.” Continue reading
A Spoon Full of Sugar…
I have to tell you a story about the time Auntie was declared dead thanks to an ocelot and a clumsy baggage handler and was revived by a malicious acupuncturist. Then there’s the business regarding the violent gangs of culinary incorrigibles and their dilettante groupies. But all in good time and fashion as they say. Continue reading
Chapter I “Scouting”
“In the company of wolves, the wise bare the most scars.”
“What is the color of change?” That is the question my elder posed to me through a cloud of blue cigarette smoke as we faced each other across the table. He had never deviated from his preference for Gitanes cigarettes in the 15 years I had known him. The air was damp and acrid with the smell of decaying fish and burnt tobacco. The sun was still high and intense although the day was waning and dust clouds added a reddish brown tint to the summer light. He leaned across the flimsy, plastic table and tapped his faggot into the ashtray with his index finger in earnest. “Change my lad,” he said in an involuntarily patronizing Oxford accent, “is defined by what we do not yet know. That is its nature. It is the difference between what is, and what will be. Change is the shade, the shadow between the two. And that… is what you are experiencing -the precipice of decision. There is no colour. No definition. The state of change in the present defies characterization because it is itself dynamic. It is the process of delineation.” I stared indignant at his cryptic response. I knew the pensive look bearing down on me through those bushy, salt and pepper eyebrows was an effort to hide his frustration in trying to stay ahead, in every possible way. “Queen’s bishop pawn to c4” he said, making the mental notation. Continue reading