Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Illness and The Champion

Shane Carwin says it best.

I'd like to see him healthy for the next time he fights. If Brock Lesnar fights again, and he's not 100%, the fight would be cheating the fans out of watching the fullest combined expression of speed, power, and wrestling ever seen in MMA.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Manny Has a Jab

Pacquiao knocked out Cotto; Pac Man finally has a jab and a right hook. Pacquiao versus Floyd Mayweather is the fight we all want to see.

Monday, October 19, 2009

It's Not Iron. It's Rust.

Smack me in the face with a brick or the bottom of a flight of stairs. I felt both, and I won't tell you which hurt worse. I broke the landing, but the brick broke my face. Blood is red, but it's not Iron. It's rust.

If you have something iron, like a heart, a will, the truth, or a toilet seat or something, don't think that just because it was strong in the past, that it will always be that strong in the future. Even if it's near water, like the toilet seat, don't soak it with water, especially something salty like tears, urine, or sweat. Those droplets might feel good or appropriate, but don't let them near the iron, or the iron will not stay iron for long, especially faced with tears. Tears have a way of breaking things disproportionate to their own volume.

Iron monsters stay monsters forever. Only the truly stupid come by without weapons or someone to ditch who can't run away fast enough. Just because someone is nearby doesn't mean a damn thing to a monster. Instead of trying to bend the monster's iron into a heart like a circus clown with a latex balloon, keep it strong and dry. No matter how convincing or beautiful the twisted iron heart becomes, it's still the monster's calling card, and his best weapon.

Always remember that iron monster. He can masquerade as whatever he wants, but he's still a monster. If tears and low voices feign concern, the monster can't cry. If the testimony of a friend doesn't want to mix friendship with love, the monster must remember his iron. Love is for friends. Love is for the truly stupid. Love is for the masquerade, especially if it's something cool like a fake poet that does more lines than he writes, or a counterfeit pirate with a cool costume and a rubber sword. Love is not for iron monsters, even me.

I'm not armed: I let it get wet. Hope might be my sword, and faith might be my armor, but it's not iron. It's rust.

Saturday, October 17, 2009


This is ridiculous. Carl Froch lost tonight to Andre Dirrell. I'm beside myself.


I don't wish Rush Limbaugh any harm. However, I do wish he'd notice that his experience at ESPN was a terrible idea, and that he should stay off the Sports page. He didn't know anything about football then, and he still doesn't. Sometimes, he touches on important subjects that the mainstream media does not. However, Rush Limbaugh is an entertainer that makes controversial radio. His show would be boring if he just covered news: nobody wants to know exactly what's going on in Washington. If people cared, Anderson Cooper's ratings would trail C-Span's. People inside the federal triangle, the White House, or on Capitol Hill won't change their minds about him if he buys the St. Louis Rams. All it's going to do is put him on the sports page and sports television where he can be a lightning rod for idiots and sports announcers.

Saturday, October 03, 2009

Hope Glows

A little glow this evening
Illuminates the moment
A once lost face now found
Is lovely in the light

A smile and a greeting
Once common, then made scarce
My hopes and spirits soar.
"Goodbye," she said, but briefly.

Perhaps she can't remember me;
More likely, there's no past.
Each moment leaves me lonely
My solitude seems endless

No art of me exists;
My asymmetric feelings
Dominate my thoughts.
Your grapes outweigh my body.

Florescent light recedes
As I pass through the door.
A bag of food on sale:
Dessert, milk, and cans.

Momentary hopes
Lapse back to the familiar:
"Hello our old friend
You should know our names by now"

Tuesday, September 29, 2009


I can't be like the rest of you. I can pretend, living like I'm a dose away from your reality. Truthfully, every moment has a glow. Mostly, I spend my life looking at the bits of life that shine to me. Unfortunately, my only candle in an otherwise dark room is this, a place and a time where I can do nothing but string together pretty words and approximate a relationship with the truth. I don't lie, but I am blind to what goes on around me. I'm never certain of my location unless I'm in the Void where none of you can find me, or care to look. When there's nothing left but pain, ask me about my treasured moments: That is where I shine.

Thursday, September 03, 2009

Food Blog from San Francisco

The food I've eaten in San Francisco so far is fantastic. Yesterday I had a mighty Mahi Mahi fish sandwich. It was perfect, quite possibly the best fish I've ever had anywhere. Annabelle's Bistro--which is the name of the restaurant--served up a thick fillet of Mahi Mahi with a custom aioli, a peach salsa, lettuce, and a big stack of sweet potato fries on the side. The fish was divine, and the sweet potato fries complemented the food very very well. Overall, the sandwich was well worth the fifteen dollar cost! Last night, I had Venison at Schroeder's restaurant in downtown San Francisco, and I had it rare. All the venison I've eaten in my life was cooked to annihilation; last night was different. I loved it. As good as Bambi tastes cooked to death, he's that much better with a little cool center. The restaurant served the venison in a traditional berry sauce, which was great on the meat, but not so swell with the spaezle. As I write this post, I eat at Lori's Diner; it's ok. The food is a little above IHOP in quality, but not enough to justify the increase in cost. However, they have freee WiFi, which makes up for the difference and then some. The Hotel wants fifteen dollars per device per twenty-four hour period. Needless to say, I won't pay. I'll post again from the next place that gives me free WiFi to update my so far excellent culinary adventure in San Francisco. Go Terps!

Friday, August 28, 2009

The Flying Pellet

I'm watching a TV show on Kung Fu and Dim Mak. One of the kung fu Dim Mak techniques is apparently a carotid artery attack. That's the same position as a rear naked choke, except the pressure is applied to the arteries instead of the trachea. Every Brazilian Jiu Jutsu white belt will know that thing. All Chinese medicine aside, that's the same "standing strangle hold" anyone can learn from plate 195 of Farmer Burns. Sheesh, I was expecting a blow to the head, liver, or spleen. "Dim Mak" can be as simple as a carotid artery attack. That's neither mysticism nor a secret. I learned Dim Mak from Randy "Macho Man" Savage. Apparently the will to kill is the difficult part, not the way to kill. Weapons and techniques don't really matter: a meat-maker is a meat-maker no matter chemistry or mysticism.

If you fancy an analogy, as I often do, give me a .45 and I'll show you the "flying pellet spin attack." It's a vital points attack to the side of the head. The temple of the skull has five lethal points.

Any strike to those points with the proper technique will result from a blow insufficient to dislocate an attacker's wrist. With time, proper breathing, and practice the flying pellet can be applied from fifty yards or more.

We can make some groundbreaking movies featuring the spinning pellet from horseback, which takes a lot of skill and technique. Tom "Sensei" Mix will be our first star. He's just a movie star, though. His flying pellet attack never faced competition.

Of course, real flying pellet masters don't advertise nor do they directly compete against each other. In fact, very few use the old Equestrian artifacts. The attacks are simply far too lethal to use in sports.

A few hours late

I'm a few hours late this week. There's nothing beautiful in my head right now, and nothing ugly.

Saturday, August 22, 2009

Ridiculous Garbage

Paul Malignaggi won tonight. Three fixed judges robbed Pauli, the New Yorker. I love Texas, but I hate this garbage coming out of Texan officials. Juan Diaz lost. 118-110 is a ridiculous score. I never want to see Gale Van Hoy judge another fight. Texan judges are now the worst. Even the worst European judging doesn't come to this. Malignaggi is righteously angry. He's a champion; Diaz is not.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Blog Ressurected

This post is the rebirth of my blog. I'll force myself to write something every Thursday, so weekly updates become the absolute minimum. My pen made a few poems in the difference, but "Stitches" is much better. Epics are my aspiration, and I'm looking for Calliope.