Clean with alcohol only. Do not attempt to replace blown fuses. Do not remove access panels. Return to certified mechanic for regular maintenance. Made in the USA.
10/23/15
The Best Thing
about Pittsburgh, after the shimmering emerald castles of summer fade, is the mass of gold and bronze and shining yellow and burned jade flags waving across the hilltops in autumn. I wish I could stop my truck in traffic, get out, stand in the bed and take panoramic photographs for you.
10/22/15
That Instant
you go from knowing nothing about a complete stranger to wanting to know everything about them.
10/16/15
Dear (_____)
Dear writing,
You are death defying. You require a supreme commitment that I cannot always answer back. I am afraid of you. You are the first mirror. The mirror first held up when the first person held up their own hand and asked "did I make you?"
You rival the original language violence and love in terms of origin and yet you have adapted in more ways than I will likely ever live to know.
My absence is not a fault of your own. Of mine. Mine alone.
I get chills thinking about you and awful pains absent of you. Complete me, as I attempt to complete you.
Sincerely,
your son
You are death defying. You require a supreme commitment that I cannot always answer back. I am afraid of you. You are the first mirror. The mirror first held up when the first person held up their own hand and asked "did I make you?"
You rival the original language violence and love in terms of origin and yet you have adapted in more ways than I will likely ever live to know.
My absence is not a fault of your own. Of mine. Mine alone.
I get chills thinking about you and awful pains absent of you. Complete me, as I attempt to complete you.
Sincerely,
your son
Helmet, Armor, Time, Money, Love.
The kind of love that lasts forever.
The kind of love that outlasts explanation.
Yep, that kind.
The inexplicable kind. The kind that cannot be explained by an affinity for a God or the affinity for a person. The everlasting, gut punching kind.
The kind that makes you change your ways even though changing your ways has nothing to do with how you express it, kind of love. The sort that makes you wish you could be a different person. The kind of love that makes your heart break when there are no more words to say what it is you had to say when you had to say it. Hell, the mouth only has so much capability inside of it.
That kind of love.
The kind that changes how and what you do despite the fact that change now has no affect on your outcomes, and you do it anyway.
That kind of love.
The kind that tells you explicitly: SEX IS NOT GOING TO HELP OR HELP FIX THIS. and you do it anyway, because you enjoyed snuffling her private parts and she enjoyed yours, snuffling, just that much. It turns into a private secret box, permanent. Oh, please! Open it up to more! To more! Nope. That's all you will get to know. Forever.
Mind, body, and soul. You are cut off. Wander the waste lands. Find an amalgam. Find a new war to fight. A new fart to sniff. The embassy is closed.
Write songs about love and body parts and knowledge and loss and wars won. Write them to whomever. You'll find your way. Eventually. Eventually, having sex on our grave, I will think about you. And
how I came
to be here.
The kind of love that outlasts explanation.
Yep, that kind.
The inexplicable kind. The kind that cannot be explained by an affinity for a God or the affinity for a person. The everlasting, gut punching kind.
The kind that makes you change your ways even though changing your ways has nothing to do with how you express it, kind of love. The sort that makes you wish you could be a different person. The kind of love that makes your heart break when there are no more words to say what it is you had to say when you had to say it. Hell, the mouth only has so much capability inside of it.
That kind of love.
The kind that changes how and what you do despite the fact that change now has no affect on your outcomes, and you do it anyway.
That kind of love.
The kind that tells you explicitly: SEX IS NOT GOING TO HELP OR HELP FIX THIS. and you do it anyway, because you enjoyed snuffling her private parts and she enjoyed yours, snuffling, just that much. It turns into a private secret box, permanent. Oh, please! Open it up to more! To more! Nope. That's all you will get to know. Forever.
Mind, body, and soul. You are cut off. Wander the waste lands. Find an amalgam. Find a new war to fight. A new fart to sniff. The embassy is closed.
Write songs about love and body parts and knowledge and loss and wars won. Write them to whomever. You'll find your way. Eventually. Eventually, having sex on our grave, I will think about you. And
how I came
to be here.
The Rage Tank
When I see you. When I see myself with you. I wonder: what does he have that I do not.
I see that he has a several few things. A successful family and a family that communicates with itself. A family that loves and is open. Brothers and sisters that can get along. And then I look at myself.
A family with a brother that can get along with one sister. A sister foreign. Another brother that is foreign. Extended family that is all strangers.
I ask myself what I actually have to offer and the answer is pretty stark. Pretty stark and pretty pretty in it's own way. Pretty pretty in it's own way, but damn near not the same.
What do you want to be associated with? By definition, that.
I ask myself every day.
I tell myself 'nough said.
I hate myself more and love myself more.
I ask myself what do I need to do more to be more accessible and then I ask myself what I need to do to be more of a person. I have no idea. In all consuming rage everything makes sense. I think we were working around that. No?
The rage tank is deep and has many chambers. We will explore them soon.
I see that he has a several few things. A successful family and a family that communicates with itself. A family that loves and is open. Brothers and sisters that can get along. And then I look at myself.
A family with a brother that can get along with one sister. A sister foreign. Another brother that is foreign. Extended family that is all strangers.
I ask myself what I actually have to offer and the answer is pretty stark. Pretty stark and pretty pretty in it's own way. Pretty pretty in it's own way, but damn near not the same.
What do you want to be associated with? By definition, that.
I ask myself every day.
I tell myself 'nough said.
I hate myself more and love myself more.
I ask myself what do I need to do more to be more accessible and then I ask myself what I need to do to be more of a person. I have no idea. In all consuming rage everything makes sense. I think we were working around that. No?
The rage tank is deep and has many chambers. We will explore them soon.
At the End of the Seventh Week (damage report)
Out of the fog of wars, asked for and not, comes the final damage report.
The total bill:
1 fractured left jawbone submandibular fossa.
1 dislocated left jawbone condylar process.
1 dislocated left jawbone coronoid process.
The total paid:
1 healed jawbone submandibullar fossa.
1 healed jawbone condylar process.
I don't think the coronoid process will ever heal correctly.
Total bill:
Zero $.
Constant pain in the coronoid process, but bearable and adaptable.
Final result:
No crippling pain.
Unforgettable pain. The kind of pain every morning and every evening and every time I think about eating. However, the kind of pain that will remind me to be a better a person. The kind of pain that is unforgettable and good in its way because it will diffuse further scuff ups and other opportunities to speak my mind whenever I feel like, be it the thrill of getting ice cream or the the assuage of killing off the thrill of murdering someone else because I ... a good deterrent. There are only so many ways to explain so many things. This one is adequate.
I can eat. I can chew. I can tear. I can exercise. I can use the rest of my body. I refuse to incriminate myself. And I will not start here.
The healing has been amazing. I am able to smoke again. I wake up every morning feeling like a railroad spike has been shoved through my skull from the left side, right up through my ear, behind my eye socket and I've never had a migraine by definition, but this must be close to it.
I choose to let it go.
I choose to move on.
I have to.
Head hunters don't lead good lives.
I am furious and love struck and oh so amber and rose and pink in the joy of being able to wake up with 90% of my function back and if that's as good as it gets, hell baby, I got off lucky. I will take that and dance and swing hammers and think about the next time and maybe I will strike first or maybe I will disarm myself before what you are carrying becomes an issues, but for fucks sake, it is good to be able to laugh free again.
The final damage report is this:
Mistakes were made on one side. Mine. I ate it. I came out on the other side, tempered and galvinized. A shorter fuse and a shorter leash too. I expect less of other people and more of myself. And that is flipping pretty good for a prognosis of a wire job.
I've known what it is to not be able to speak for days at a time, not because you couldn't, because you were literally locked closed. A blindness. I've known unprovoked hate in the shade of unbridled happiness. Your spectrum is Roy G, Biv. Mine is unspeakable in its range and color and temperature and length. It has no name yet and I may not be able to give it a convenient one.
I now have the power to teach, and I will not. Unless you press me.
///TV on the Radio - (Lovers Day) of course, there are miracles... the people we think you are. give me the keys to your hiding place
The total bill:
1 fractured left jawbone submandibular fossa.
1 dislocated left jawbone condylar process.
1 dislocated left jawbone coronoid process.
The total paid:
1 healed jawbone submandibullar fossa.
1 healed jawbone condylar process.
I don't think the coronoid process will ever heal correctly.
Total bill:
Zero $.
Constant pain in the coronoid process, but bearable and adaptable.
Final result:
No crippling pain.
Unforgettable pain. The kind of pain every morning and every evening and every time I think about eating. However, the kind of pain that will remind me to be a better a person. The kind of pain that is unforgettable and good in its way because it will diffuse further scuff ups and other opportunities to speak my mind whenever I feel like, be it the thrill of getting ice cream or the the assuage of killing off the thrill of murdering someone else because I ... a good deterrent. There are only so many ways to explain so many things. This one is adequate.
I can eat. I can chew. I can tear. I can exercise. I can use the rest of my body. I refuse to incriminate myself. And I will not start here.
The healing has been amazing. I am able to smoke again. I wake up every morning feeling like a railroad spike has been shoved through my skull from the left side, right up through my ear, behind my eye socket and I've never had a migraine by definition, but this must be close to it.
I choose to let it go.
I choose to move on.
I have to.
Head hunters don't lead good lives.
I am furious and love struck and oh so amber and rose and pink in the joy of being able to wake up with 90% of my function back and if that's as good as it gets, hell baby, I got off lucky. I will take that and dance and swing hammers and think about the next time and maybe I will strike first or maybe I will disarm myself before what you are carrying becomes an issues, but for fucks sake, it is good to be able to laugh free again.
The final damage report is this:
Mistakes were made on one side. Mine. I ate it. I came out on the other side, tempered and galvinized. A shorter fuse and a shorter leash too. I expect less of other people and more of myself. And that is flipping pretty good for a prognosis of a wire job.
I've known what it is to not be able to speak for days at a time, not because you couldn't, because you were literally locked closed. A blindness. I've known unprovoked hate in the shade of unbridled happiness. Your spectrum is Roy G, Biv. Mine is unspeakable in its range and color and temperature and length. It has no name yet and I may not be able to give it a convenient one.
I now have the power to teach, and I will not. Unless you press me.
///TV on the Radio - (Lovers Day) of course, there are miracles... the people we think you are. give me the keys to your hiding place
That Instant
the question "what's he got that I don't have" trails off mid bloom into: "what's he got that I do-" and its hang is so withering in its hot brilliance you have to check to make sure your eyebrows aren't singed stubble.
That Instant
You realize you are not going to get to the bottom of anything until you find a way to turn the giant sci-fi horror pulp novel pitchfork switch that drops your heart out of your chassis like a fried transmission.
10/3/15
That Instant
you realize guns are the problem and the big "and" in the equation may also be the lack of physical harm and being able to identify with physical pain. Emotional pain is very hard to describe and very very difficult to relate. Physical pain is universal and grounds to the primal circuit. Everyone understands. Emotional or mental pain, few will understand or be able to identify with you without deep and lengthy contact. Anyone can fire a gun. Many fewer can speak. Fewer still can converse. The problem is there.
Everyone gets in a tiff about gun control. Fine. If you are not willing to attack and control it from the top, at least allow people to begin walking at the foundation. I don't know if the previous sentence ends with a question mark or a period. Violence and communication can be quite the self reciprocating machine and it's something else to be inside of it and hoping someone would stick a bar into the spokes of the wheel.
Everyone gets in a tiff about gun control. Fine. If you are not willing to attack and control it from the top, at least allow people to begin walking at the foundation. I don't know if the previous sentence ends with a question mark or a period. Violence and communication can be quite the self reciprocating machine and it's something else to be inside of it and hoping someone would stick a bar into the spokes of the wheel.
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