Saturday, January 27, 2007

Boxing After Dark

Kelly Pavlik just knocked out a tough Mexican named Jose Louis Zertuche; it's not a shocking victory, but it is a notable one. Prior to tonight, no man knocked down Zertuche in all his twenty four professional fights. Zertuche was down twice in this fight: he was game, but just couldn't take the punches Pavlik threw at him.

Jorge Arce, with a lolipop in his mouth, came to the ring on a dancing horse. Let's hope the fight is as explosive as the ring entrance.

Arce's opponent, Ler, landed only 17 punches through four rounds. He's running away and covering up on the ropes. The fight wears on. Arce won every round through eight. I see more running from Ler, more laying on the ropes, covering up. I've never seen more taunting; this fight is a stinker, but it's not Arce's fault. Ler opened up in round nine, but no serious attempt at offence.

When Winky Wright fights, he fires back with accurate jabs and left hands. Winky seizes the initiative, and wins rounds; Ler is doing nothing.

Ler fakes a low blow from Arce in the eleventh round. Arce would win by knockout if Ler fought at all. Ler isn't fighting to win. Ler is fighting to not be knocked out. This is ridiculous. Twelve rounds to nil on my card, Jorge Arce wins a stinker and still gets an ovation. He threw lots of punches on Ler's arms. The judges gave three rounds to Ler; I don't know what the hell fight they watched.

Friday, January 26, 2007


Hello our old friend
You should know our names by now
He doesn't want your help
Or your love
He wants only our mercy
Don't worry,
We won't hurt him
And you'll never hear him scream

We have all been weighed and found wanting.

Wednesday, January 24, 2007


I'm sleeping tonight, and I'm going to sleep for a long damn time. I'll make sure of that.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Hatred Fuels Me

When I was a kid, my father and brother beat me. Extension cords were fair game for my father, as was my back, legs, and occasionally arms. My brother knew no bounds. Once upon a time, I confronted him with a stick to defend myself from his wrath. He preyed upon my antiquated and useless ideas of chivalry, saying that I could set down my weapon or do the dishonorable deed of striking an unarmed man. I told him "fuck you" or some other reproachment, and set down the stick. He grabbed it, tagged me in my ribcage and broke it over my shoulder.

Many times, revenge tempted me to put them both in jail, or simply execute them in self-defense. I did neither. Now, I have to look at my father every morning, listen to him say that he loves me, and treat him as a son should treat his father. Every Sunday at church, I get to sit next to my brother and his wife. He has a life, a wife, and a future. I remain damaged goods. My father has my mother, my brother, and me I guess; that's more than I can hope. I could have killed them both hundreds of times, but I didn't; it would have been justifiable, but I didn't. I did so out of my antiquated sense of forgiveness and my often-wavering faith in Christ as my savior. It would be my hatred towards them if I would have used the law to its harshest extent, not their actions towards me.

Now, I operate with a sincere and accepted apology from my Brother. I have to forgive him no matter how much I hate his smug attitude sometimes. I never received a sincere apology from my dad, but I've grown to accept that. He hid behind alchohol then and now. It's not a proper excuse, but I have to live with him reminding me every day of power in pain completely out of my control.

Just because circumstances are out of our control doesn't justify taking life. Legally, it does with certain circumstances, but we all know inside those laws are for killers and revenge, not for the safety of the children of God. Just because a life reminds us of its injustice and horrors, doesn't give us reason to execute the human reminders of that horror, be it a brother, a spouse, a father, a lover, a friend, a son, or a child in the womb.

Monday, January 22, 2007

Old Glory and a Pirate Game

Many of you know me as a face-to-face friend in addition to my writing on this blog. I love RPGs, both playing and game mastering. This post probably belongs on my gaming blog, so I'll put a copy of it there, too.

Old Glory makes a line of 25mm pirates, including ships. I just joined their discount program, bought 60 pirates and two sloops. I'm starting a piratical D&D campaign with a world of my own design. Players will be privateer explorers who stumble upon a fantasy world in a distant sea. Fun should be abundant, along with adventure! So if you know me, and you're interested, just give me a ring, or an email, or a comment, or whatever.

Friday, January 19, 2007


Tonight I'll be at Blue Fin Bar over here in Maryland; my friend Karen is finally playing a show within my unjust five mile limit. It should be loads of fun; she's very talented, and has obviously honed her talents well. Before I head off to see her play, I'll be at my regular Friday night Bible study group. They're good people, and they allow for some of my unorthodox (at least for a Baptist) beliefs such as my dedication to Transubstantiation, and my disbelief in eternal damnation. I'm a Bible boy, but I'm also a weirdo. Hopefully, things will fall together well tonight.

My Everyday Bullfight

I wait at the moment of truth
my sharp espada in one hand
a red muleta in the other

my only arms against my troubles:
the sword and cape are always close
to guard against the charging bull

the ring and crowd remain the same
as people stand and shout their cheers
some cheer the bull, but most cheer me

the bull is strong where I am weak
there's too much weight behind the horns
kept sharp despite their frequent use

each pass comes closer to my skin
as shouts for blood grow louder
the horns, near hips, get stronger

the shoulder grazes my left hip
they struck my right hip yesterday
and put me under very fast

I can't stop fate or alter it
I plunge my sword deep in the bull
my grip is lost, it charges still

my heart beats fast as horns dig in
my eyelids close as I fall down
I sleep like death with Thorazine

the nurses clean the ring
and dissipate the crowd
the tempo slows to a crawl

it won't be slow forever
my spirit never dies:
they can't take that away

my sword is in these verses
my cape is in my heart
I'm ready for tomorrow

I'll fight the bull again

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

My Brother

My Brother was in the hospital last night and this morning, but my five mile limit prevented me from driving to see him. Maybe I will get a chance to visit him tomorrow at his house; the hospital discharged him this afternoon. I'll be praying for him, and I think he'd appreciate it if the rest of you did likewise.

Monday, January 15, 2007

A Picture of Me

That's my face obscured in the photo on the right. You can see my eyes; they are truly the windows to the soul. You can also see my hands; they are the windows to my madness. I got tired of Gaugin's vision of Jacob's wrestling match; I wanted something original, so I took a shot with the iSight built into my brand new Macbook.

Tuesday, January 09, 2007


I thought I wouldn't have it this way again. I tried to scream; I did scream. No sound came out of my mouth. I didn't even move. I threw punches at the air, but didn't get my arms off the sides of my body. For almost ten years, I haven't done this. My symptoms are getting slowly, surely worse.

I hate my hands. The sight of them disgusts me. I'm left with nothing but a burning desire for my habit. Nine years ago, I wore them constantly. I didn't have to see my flesh, and nobody else did either. My demons were my cilice, and I covered them in leather gloves. In high school, I wanted to be a monk; I thought it was a noble way to stay safe from myself. Today, I'm almost monastic: my travel is limited, it's a rare day when I speak, and I write this to the exclusion of other communication. I'll call myself the Order of My Solitude. This blog will be a window into my lonely struggle. How else will I be heard when I scream and punch in desperation, but don't move a muscle?

Sunday, January 07, 2007


James Toney should hang 'em up. He can still take a good punch, but that's not a fight-winning virtue for a thiry eight year old warhorse. This wasn't a fight, this was a funeral. I love "Lights Out," but I don't want to see him hurt any more than he already obviously has. Sam Peter gets better and better with every fight. He shows me something more every time I see him fight. I'll be honest, I thought James Toney would win this fight in a decision. I was wrong. It's the eleventh round, and I'm already writing my obituary for "Lights Out." He shouldn't fight again. Vlad Klitschko hit the canvas thrice against Peter. I think Peter knocks out Wlad in a rematch. Boxing is a serious business, and this is a serious beating. In between the eleventh and twelfth round, I'm looking in at Freddie Roach, Toney's trainer; I wouldn't let James Toney out of the corner. Freddie Roach sent him out. I'm truly sad. The fight is over; James Toney took too many punches, and I don't want to see him beaten badly again. Scores should read 120-107 for Peter. The judges gave some sympathy rounds to "Lights Out," I wouldn't have.

After the fight, it seems Peter is a Don King fighter now. I never understood the allure of fighters to Don King. James Toney's speech is significantly more slurred now than it was yesterday. He can't even tell that he was beaten. I have one more comment to make: I don't like it when fighters thank God. God doesn't take sides in boxing matches. None of the qualities of a good fighter make a good Christian, with the possible exceptions of a good pain threshold and a thirst for righteousness. Fighters can walk with God, but not in between the ropes.

Saturday, January 06, 2007

Simms versus Rivera

Travis Simms knocked out Jose Antonio Rivera with a scintillating ninth round. Rivera was game, but he didn't have enough to challenge Simms' superior technique, hand speed, and defense. I didn't give Rivera a round on my scorecard. Junior middleweights around the world, watch out for Travis Simms. He hasn't been active over the past few years, but that makes for a trim, slim, experienced, and skilled thirty-five year old fighter. I'll post heavyweight comments after the James "Lights Out" Toney versus Sam Peter fight. This co-feature is a beauty; Simms fought a near perfect fight.

Wednesday, January 03, 2007



My eyes are closed,
my mouth is open
i smell the honeysuckles
while laying in the grass

i know the wilds well
the wetlands and the forests
they tell me all their secrets
in whispers, howls, and silence

the horror of the dark
is still around out here
no fire, no food, no shelter
and i am on the prowl

where everything has changed
and i am once again
the hunter, not the hunted
with danger very real

my talon is my pen
my vigor is the inkwell
with broad strokes through the night
i make this world my own

the danger of the night
makes demons of my passions
they hear the madman's wail,
but silence is my stanza

this is no way to live
when there is so much beauty
made clear from nature’s grace
to me, right here, right now.

in all those pretty things
that freed me from my troubles
i still find little reasons
to populate my nightmares

the traces of my genius
i lost so long ago
still guide me in the darkness
and lead me through The Void