Poison

In honor of Alice Cooper’s 75th birthday, Powerwolf released a cover of his hit song “Poison.”

I’m glad the track is more uptempo than the 80’s original. It doesn’t add much more than some additional speed, but I still enjoyed it.

“I wanna taste you but your lips are venomous poison.” Damned if that isn’t my thought every time I smell fresh-baked cookies or pizza.

Another random thought when I listen to “Poison” regards the wellness industry as it exists today. They say there’s an industry born from every problem posed. This is true in any capitalist society, and companies are inventing problems at breakneck speed. To have their industry thrive, they must convince you that something in your everyday life, which you assumed to be benign, is actually poisonous. It might even be your natural body that must be cured.

These companies really thrive when they’re able to convincingly exaggerate the danger of the problem.

I’ve seen recent advertisements tell me that tap water isn’t safe, and therefore I must buy some egregiously expensive purifiers. But that’s not enough because the purifiers strip water of all minerals. So, I also need to buy minerals to put back in the water. Well what is the point of living in a developed nation if decent water is only for the aristocrats, and must be paid for with subscription?

Likewise you need air purifiers and various scents because you are constantly breathing in poison too.

There are admittedly places where this is true. There are certainly countries where I wouldn’t recommend going outside without a well-filtered mask, nor would I recommend drinking the tap water. And it’s also true that tap water often contains fluoride and chlorine, which when consumed in large quantities can be bad for your health. But how bad?

A multitude of skincare companies tell us about how harmful the sun is. Stay inside, they say! Or if you dare to venture out, buy their cream and lather it all over yourself first! It’s a matter of life and death.

It is true that the sun may induce cancer into the sedentary office individual who dwells under fluorescents all day (and all too eager to fry at the beach for a week’s vacation). But we somehow survived for thousands of years with a fraction of the sun cancer we see now, and I suspect it’s because we absorbed sunlight in more reasonable daily amounts.

How did we ever survive beyond adolescence before these companies existed?

My point to all of this is that it’s becoming increasingly difficult to decipher the real poisons from the fake ones. Then again, at the end of the day everything is poison if overdosed on, and it’s also true that modern society is causing a lot of individuals to suffer horribly, especially in their later years.

But still, isn’t a better solution to modern maladies to shift culture instead of to simply buy more products?

I’m still convinced that one can live well in a modern developed country at a reasonable budget… if one can decipher truth from the BS, and if one can engage in a healthy community.

Random Thoughts: Form and Function

I think for any artist, it is a mistake to think that improving form will automatically improve function.

Consider the career trajectory of a rock musician. The upstart rocker is young, raw, and still developing technical skills on his or her instrument. Sometimes a band will release an album that “takes the world by storm” before its members can read a line of music. What most fans will consider their best album is often an album created from what the band members profess as “little knowledge of what they’re doing.”

An aged rock musician may say, “My skills have improved drastically since my first album.” Though the technical skills may improve, the quality of the music diminishes. The earlier albums had a rawness that lacked sound form, but walloped with effective function. Resonant art requires feeling. A fast solo does nothing without emotion embedding it.

I’m sure the band members of Metallica can play circles around their past selves. They can hit every old solo blindfolded. That does not mean that modern Metallica music is better, however. If anything, the music has objectively staled (almost no one would argue that Death Magnetic is a superior album to Ride the Lightning). Where rock music counterpart Megadeth has an advantage is their continued sense of urgency. Every song is still imbued with feeling. The fifty-year-old has the same attitude as his 18-year-old self. There is still pain, triumph, and loss behind the song structure. The quest continues, and therefore, so does the art.

The issue is similar for a writer. A writer’s prose may improve over the years, but that says nothing of the story he or she may wish to tell. A writer may edit a sentence a hundred times, but each successive edit does not necessarily improve the sentence. The master of syntax is by no means the master storyteller. That first drafted sentence, the impulsive one, may be grammatically worse, but it also may pack more punch. Even if embarrassingly poor in structure, it probably impacts the reader more than the hundredth edit. By the hundredth edit, can it even be said that the writer still maintains the intention of the original sentence? After all, the first sentence was probably written on feeling. The hundredth sentence is often written to impress an audience. Something was lost along the way.

My point is that effective art requires work, but it is a mistake to believe that function requires perfect form. This should be good news to any aspiring artist because it gives him or her permission to be imperfect, so long as they have something to say and a fiery means of saying it. It should also illuminate why a guitar virtuoso is often not the writer of a hit single.

Party Like It’s ‘99

On Wednesday I finally saw Rob Zombie live for the first time. He was my favorite solo artist in high school and I still listen to his hits from time to time.

Rob Zombie is immortal. He possesses more energy and vitality than lead singers half his age. He’s highly mobile throughout his show and rocks the dance moves of a lithe professional dancer. He’s a perennial headliner for a reason. Viewing the elaborate stage setup at his show is like glimpsing into another gothic world. His bandmates are also perfectionists. John 5, the lead guitarist, is possibly the most skilled soloist I’ve ever watched. The guy can flat-out shred.

Zombie is currently 57 years old and looks as lean and fit as ever. He’s also vegan and has been vegetarian since childhood. This is noteworthy to me because most long-lived cultures I read about eat a relatively large portion of natural carbohydrates and a relatively lower amount of meat (not all, but most). I am not vegan, but I often consider this.

What was my takeaway from watching my teenage idol perform at a crowded amphitheater in front of thousands of fans? Love what you do.

Do I love what I do? I find myself yearning for my hours when I’m free. I love cycling and have gained an appreciation for running. I love connecting with other runners and cyclists who share similar goals, who find themselves aging, yet are eager to accomplish physical feats that they never have before. But that’s not what I do.

An aspiring marathoner told me on our jog last week that he’s training to “give his son a story of something that he accomplished.” That’s what I enjoy learning about: people on their journeys, and how those journeys parallel my own. What can I learn from them? How many miles can we actually crank out together? What is our true limit on this planet?

“Love what you do.” Watching Zombie was a reminder that I need to write more and create more content.

Another Place and Time

I believe that the best songs transport you to another place and time.

Your destination upon listening might be the place and time in which you first heard the song. It might awaken what you were thinking, feeling, and experiencing upon first listen. In this sense the song is constantly an automatic time transport back to the first listen. It is an echo of a moment in which you may have seen and felt the world differently.

The song may just capture the feeling of a specific moment, hour, day, or year in your life. The melodies remind you of thoughts and emotions from that era. Maybe it’s a moment you’re nostalgic for. Maybe it’s someone you pined for. Maybe it’s an angry metal song that evokes teenage rebellion.

Today I listened to Helvetesfönster by Ghost and it brought me back to a day in high school. Suddenly I was on a science class field trip to Paramount Carowinds theme park with my classmates. Or was it Bush Gardens? I took trips to both in high school and now have difficulty distinguishing the specifics of each. It was more than twenty years ago. I have a strong memory, but memories do fade.

This was before cell phones and smart devices. It was a time when one only accessed the Internet via a slow dial-up connection, when companies didn’t track us via the gadgets in our pockets.

I was content to sit and stare at the passing wilderness that walled each side of the road. I thought about how there was something special in that moment, sitting and staring, surrounded by peers who also sat and stared. I thought that our youth would end before we knew it, that we’d all move on and many of us would forget about each other, that we’d vie for good jobs and social status, and that ultimately we’d lose what made us genuine, if we were ever genuine to begin with. We’d have families and become consumed by their relevance. We’d have money and be consumed by its investment potential. We’d become what Holden Caulfield called “phonies” if we weren’t phonies already. We’d be fully absorbed by the rush of it all. We’d never again just be glad to sit and stare.

Sitting in absolute silence while a song plays and watching trees whir by a window somehow made the modern world’s anxieties seem trivial.

One of my favorite songs, Like a Stone by Audioslave, played on that bus ride. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard the song, but the song was relatively new at the time. It seemed fitting to think about life while listening to a song about death. That was when we were capable of just listening to a song, when songs weren’t a means of multitasking or a drug for numbing our hatred of a moment pressing down on us.

Like a dream within a dream, I was listening to a song within a song, and it felt nice to return to a simpler time.

I wish to turn off the noise and just listen to a song again.

Weekly Plunder: Week 27 - “Darkness at the Heart of My Love”

After successfully completing a 5-mile run at a St. Patrick’s Day event yesterday, I find myself quietly content. It was the fastest run of my life. That, for a 36-year-old coming off of a severe foot injury, is unexpected. There were a few months last year following the car hit where I wondered if I’d ever run again. I paid a physical therapist for multiple sessions per week through December and January out of desperation; my foot is finally functional again.

I am preparing for a 30-ish mile bike ride this morning. Though the competition yesterday was fun (to be honest, I find competition to be utterly intoxicating), I no longer find myself at an age where I yearn to “chase an athletic pinnacle.” I’m not training; I’m preparing for a quiet few hours along the river. I’ll see the same flock of geese that I encounter multiple times per week. They recognize me now, I think, because as I pass, they regard me with a near-rude nonchalance. They used to fly away. Now they keep loitering about in place.

If there is enough time when I return, I’ll skateboard a little, and do so badly. Something about having hobbies that you suck at is invigorating.

I am “in the game” now not to “beat people,” but for a splash of sunshine and to reenact a recurring dream, that as I ride over the Chain of Rocks bridge that takes me across the Mississippi River, I’ll keep riding into a spirit world, never to be seen or heard from again. I aim to be lost in time, to let this day feel like an eternity, to exist only in the now.

I have a strong relationship with the bicycle because my body is its gas, my legs are its pistons, and my hands are practically laced together with its brakes. It is a unique symbiosis of human and machine. There is also a darkness at the heart of my love; each pedal forward is, I must admit, a fight against my own mortality. At the heart of all love one can find a dose of darkness.

What I’m watching: Servant, season 3. I was intrigued by the first two seasons of this M. Night Shyamalan series, but I find season 3 to be repetitive. It has its moments but I can’t say I’m enraptured.

What I’m reading: The Midlife Cyclist by Phil Caves. This is more about embracing one’s “second life” than it is about cycling (but it does have some useful cycling tips).

What I’m listening to: “The Darkness at the Heart of My Love” by Ghost. Impera, the new Ghost album, dropped on Friday. I’m obviously a fan and I’ve had it on repeat since Friday. It seems to be an album about the eventual fall of empires. This is my favorite track on it. It’s not the lead single, and it’s not necessarily a ballad either. It’s just different, and yet it speaks to me. It’s also the inspiration for the title of this blog.

What I’m doing: I’m packing for a week-long trip to Northern California. Bringing my best camera for this one!

Weekly Plunder: Week 26 - St. Patty

I registered for a 5 mile (8 km) “St. Patrick’s day run” with some friends. Usually I try to avoid these sorts of events, especially considering that I am still far from my peak running form, but I thought that completing the run would give me some closure in my foot rehabilitation.

It took months to walk painlessly following my foot injury, and more months after that to jog again. I’d like to see a tangible result of my daily rehab.

On another note, I was asked once what the goal of this blog is. The answer is, there is no goal at all. It is a collection of my thoughts, sold without a charge, undiluted and lacking an editor. It is as flawed as I am.

Regarding the need to profit from my writing, there is a quote I think of from Cicero: “The free man who sells his work lowers himself to the rank of slaves.”

What I’m watching: I revisited Dark City after thinking about the modern fascination with “flat earth” theory (no, I do not actually believe the earth is flat). Dark City is a delightfully weird film with a twist that oddly enforces flat earth theory. It’s also The Matrix before The Matrix.

What I’m reading: The Right to be Lazy, and Other Studies by Paul LaFargue. LaFargue writes with both comedy and consistent anger. He was wrong on a lot of predictions but made some valid points that I find worth considering.

What I’m listening to: “Snow (Hey-Oh)” by the Chili Peppers. I sang this song a lot in karaoke during my last few months in China. I think for that reason I now associate this song with finality and endings. I knew during these karaoke sessions that my time time was coming to a close and as my final days neared, I sang this song more frequently. I can’t hear this song now without thinking of both China and of endings.

What I’m doing: I’m preparing for Sonoma county in two weeks. I’m looking forward to biking along the Pacific coast, drinking wine, and breathing fresh air. And of course I’m looking forward to seeing San Francisco.

An Evening with Ghost and Volbeat

February 21, Saint Louis—Presidents Day

I walked approximately two miles from my apartment just after dusk to get to the rock show. I trekked alongside the construction site of the upcoming downtown soccer stadium, then walked through a vacant St. Louis University. I turned left on Compton Ave and suddenly I was at the arena and eager for some rock and roll music.

Rock bands Ghost and Volbeat played at Chaifetz arena in downtown St. Louis.

Volbeat is a Danish band that draws influence from a variety of genres—rock, metal, rockabilly, and the blues—and has a strong knack for hooks and catchy choruses.

I was glad to hear them play some of my personal favorites, including new songs “Temple of Ekur” and “The Devil Rages On.”

The show also brought additional depth to hit song “Die to Live.” As lead singer Michael Poulsen stated, “Sometimes ya gotta die a little to live a little” as the band launched full speed into the track.

Frontman Michael Poulsen has an absolutely booming rockabilly-inspired voice that hits each note with pitch-perfect precision. I’ve also been a long-time fan of lead guitarist Rob Caggiano, who has served as producer for several Volbeat albums and was known before joining the band as a once-lead guitarist of legendary thrash band Anthrax. He’s a true virtuoso and the type that makes the most blistering solos look effortless.

There was a fun guest appearance by ZZ Bottom, who brought some zest with saxophone and piano to a few tunes.

I could have listened to Volbeat all night, but headliner Ghost is one of my favorite bands (latest album Prequelle is one of my most-played of the last two years).

Swedish rock band Ghost is arguably a solo project helmed by frontman Tobias Forge, who records much of the instruments for the studio albums and is the primary songwriter. For live shows he is assisted by the “Nameless Ghouls” on instrumentals, who for this show wore sinister looking gas masks and black uniforms.

The elaborate stage setup featured a giant fake stained glass painting of “Papa Emeritus IV,” the character that Forge portrays on stage. Emeritus is a diabolical satanic pope all too eager to spread the will of his dark lord (he repeatedly asks the audience to fornicate after the show).

In spite of the sinister theatrics (this includes flames geystering up, as well as the nameless ghouls routinely bickering with one another and competing with Emeritus for stage attention), the beauty of Ghost is that it is a legitimate rock band, more in line with Blue Oyster Cult than screamo death metal. The songs are melodic and Forge sings rather than screams. The hooks sink into the mind and linger there long after hearing them.

A shower of glitter rained down during “Mummy Dust.” Forge went through a diverse and fun wardrobe selection (everything from a pope costume to a glittery jacket). The band launched a moving cover of Metallica’s “Enter Sandman” (the ghouls can really play), and the crowd headbanged to the crunching metal song “Faith.”

What an excellent way to spend Presidents Day!

Weekly Plunder: Week 23 - Joyless Urgency

I have written somewhere in the dark recesses of my notes that Marilynne Robinson coined the phrase “joyless urgency.” I think it’s an apt description of modern Westernized culture.

“Joyless urgency” is a difficult trap to free oneself from and I’m not sure if one can ever pry out of its snares completely. This mental prison is deeply engrained from a childhood of perpetually “preparing for what’s next”.

Even our exercise habits exhibit joyless urgency. We rush to the gym, obsess over machine metrics, count our calories, and then hurry to what’s next.

I try to counter this joyless urgency by exercising without metrics most of the time. I don’t use a smartphone app or calorie counter, nor do I go to the gym.

I bring this up because with each passing year, as time accelerates and mortality seems more obvious, it seems more important to find ways to counter “joyless urgency.”

Notes for this week:

• This was the first week I was able to run two days in a row (since a foot injury last August).

• The first week in which I was able to sprint with only minor aches in my bad foot.

• Still completing my physical therapy exercises daily. Three times per week I perform 2x30 minutes of physical therapy.

• I took the bus to Central West End on Saturday and on my return, the first bus that I expected never showed. I ended up having a fun conversation with an Indian college student at SLU while waiting the extra 30 minutes. I always appreciate a random and fun talk with a stranger.

What I’m watching: All of us are Dead. Okay, this show is incredible. What starts as a simple zombie apocalypse narrative quickly becomes something much darker.

What I’m reading: Four Thousand Weeks (finishing it up as I left it half-way completed for the sake of another book). Also revisiting Orwelle’s Animal Farm.

What I’m listening to: “Northwards” by Amorphis. This album is what I would describe as “proggy melo-death metal”. I also listened to the new Korn album but it did nothing for me.

What I’m thinking: There’s an interesting passage in Four Thousand Weeks that I can only quote to do it justice. It has been on my mind all week:

“One way of understanding capitalism, in face, is as a giant machine for instrumentalizing everything it encounters—the earth’s resources, your time and abilities (or “Human Resources”)—in the service of future profit. Seeing things this way helps explain the otherwise mysterious truth that rich people in capitalist economies are often surprisingly miserable. They’re very good at instrumentalizing their time, for the purpose of generating wealth for themselves’ that’s the definition of being successful in a capitalist world. But in focusing so hard on instrumentalizing their time, they end up treating their lives in the present moment as nothing but a vehicle in which to travel toward a future state of happiness. And so their days are sapped of meaning, even as their bank balances increase.”

Weekly Plunder: Week 19 - On the Edge

Late afternoon at rush hour and there was a faint mist in the air. Standing in a still but frigid air, I waited for the signal to walk cross Tucker Boulevard. Tucker Boulevard is arguably the most dangerous street in downtown St Louis. I’ve seen a lot of brutal wrecks on Tucker and it’s a typical week when one reads in the news about a Tucker Boulevard death or two. Cars can drive recklessly and downright maniacally.

From the other side of the street, a man indifferently crossed toward me while the “Do Not Walk” sign clearly glowed. Cars seemed to bullet at him, first from the left and from the right when he crossed the median. I waited for the sound of metal breaking bone but never heard it. A bus sharply swerved into another lane to avoid hitting him and the bus also barely evaded the car to its side. Honks sounded from everywhere. I was pleasantly surprised when the man made it to my sidewalk still in one piece.

When the man crossed he looked into my eyes and grinned. “Sometimes you just gotta say enough’s enough and live on the edge.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I said the only thing on my mind: “That was pretty damn gnarly dude.” And then he walked off. I agree with his mantra, but I also know that my own risk tolerance has its limits. Still, there is a point to safety preventing us from experiencing the full potential of exhilaration.

The one-off encounters we often have with strangers…

What I’m watching: Cobra Kai season 4. A continuation of the characters from the Karate Kid films as they deal with middle age. I loved season 1. Season 4 is often silly but also addicting. I find Terry Silver to be the best character, maybe because I see a lot of him in myself (at least in the early episodes). A former martial arts master living an aristocratic life in Malibu, he is content to retire in comfort and luxury. He was a sensei and an extremely dangerous martial artist. His former partner brings him back into the world of karate by warning him of the emptiness in dying in comfort and fine dining. “Come back to the struggle instead of fading into nothing,” his old partner seems to say. In doing so he reawakens both Terry’s killer instinct, which is downright ruthless, and his talent. I have a lot of Terry Silver in me, which is why I’ve long-avoided competition. But there might be a return.

What I’m listening to: “Carry Me Away” by John Mayer. He’s really at a creative peak (he arguably always has been).

What I’m reading: The Comfort Crisis by Michael Easter. It’s one of those books that articulates well what I often think about and want to put into words myself.

What I’m doing: I’m aggressively rehabbing my foot with several physical therapy sessions each week, as well as rehab exercises I’m performing twice daily. And I’m back to both cycling AND running. Next week is my final week of physical therapy. The ankle feels better by the day and it’s very close to healed. The journey to heal the ankle was one I’d rather not do again, but it was also a purposeful one. Sometimes we find meaning in struggle. Building a foot from nothing to something has been a project that has inspired me to use the foot far more than I had in the past.

Weekly Plunder: Week 17 - Looking Glass

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” Reality is whatever we construct it to be. In that sense, we are creators to a much further extent than we know. Our villains are evil because we hone in on their faults and our heroes are pristine because we fawn over their virtues.

On a long walk through downtown today I thought about how I could choose to see the magnificence of the man-made city structures and the electric bulbs affixed to them that render them ethereal at night. Or, I could choose to see the sickness hanging over the streets, the homeless who freeze to death on cold January nights and the rats that scuttle through sewers beneath the sidewalks, where they can breed disease and occasionally sneak above to the world of man and forage for food.

Much of our interpretation of reality is subjective.

On another front, my physical therapist says I am ready to start some light running and jumping on Wednesday. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that this is the final stretch of rehab, though I’m not announcing myself healed just yet. Still, I feel that I am on the cusp of “going full-throttle.”

What I’m watching: The Silent Sea, Season 1 on Netflix. Another exemplary Korean show in a long list of excellent Korean shows. Korean screenwriting has really honed the craft of story structure. Layers are peeled from the story’s world at a perfect pace to keep the audience guessing and intrigued. Screenwriting is an interesting combination of mathematics and imagination.

What I’m reading: The Comfort Crisis by Michael Easter. Because comfort kills.

What I’m listening to: “Hotel California” by the Eagles. In my opinion this is their masterpiece. It’s essentially a song about someone who has gone to hell and doesn’t realize it until he can’t escape. That scenario can be applied to an infinite number of personal situations.

What I’m thinking: There is an implicit contract between writer and reader. I, the writer, imagine my words will have a certain emotional effect on you, the reader. However, I don’t know how much you will read… if you’ll read a certain passage once, multiple times, or just skim a few words. I only assume we will connect somewhere, however briefly, in the two dimensional realm you’re staring at now.

Out here, outside social media, we are in the Wild West. We have no skin in the game, no one to compete for followers with, no agenda to push (outside our personal opinions). We do not push for attention or popularity, or even sales. We don’t even know each other, you and I. And therefore, with nothing to lose and no reason to continue, we are fully free to be ourselves.

Thoughts by a Windowsill

The winter elements bring to my mind the word “desiccated.” With Mother Nature having stripped all green from the maples, oaks, and brush, I mostly see skeletal branches above and beside me. These spindly things are like brown and dried-up arteries running over the pale winter sky.

I look at my windowsill and the plants that rest on it. Exposed to the elements they would die quickly. In the artifice of my apartment, under my control, they are in a constant state of growth and comfort. We like to believe we control the fates of ourselves and the things around us. To helplessly watch the things we see in our day-to-days wither away, more victims of time, reminds us of our own mortality.

We don’t have as strong a concept of mortality as we used to. That’s what I suspect. A disease of yesteryear would wipe out a third of us, and it would scare many of us, but the modern compulsion to control and reign in was not so much a part of the process. Now we’re more prone to believe that immortality is just a matter of politics or “supporting the better science” or “having the best retirement plan.” I suspect that death for the delusional is an especially terrifying matter.

I’m listening to a song I first heard in 2017 and finding myself in a poignant and melancholy mood. I love the song, but I’m not sure if I love the song because of the melody or because of the place and time it takes me to. I wonder if this fusion of memory and melody is what aging does to music. With each passing year we feel a more turbulent maelstrom of emotions from our old songs, not because of the brilliance of the composition, but because of the memories that the songs stir.

I observe that as people get older they tend to stick to the songs from their youth. Maybe this is where their most vivid memories reside. Maybe this is where most change and most significant events occurred.

May the song I seek always be the one I hear tomorrow.

Weekly Plunder: Week 15 - Buy Buy Buy

Saturday morning. Christmas arrives in seven days. Millions scramble to buy, wrap, and prep the belly for gluttony. In one week, millions of pounds of torn wrapping paper will be disposed of for the sake presents that most didn’t need or want in the first place.

I read that once upon a time, the holiday was celebrated primarily outside, and that the holiday tradition focused on helping the poor. Celebrators spent much of the day on the urban streets, selflessly helping the starving, the diseased, and the mentally ill.

The modern holiday was invented in New York City. The NYC aristocrats of the day didn’t like this ritual of selflessness, likely fearing class warfare and social unrest. In the early 19th century, the New York City elites reinvented the holiday. “Santa” emerged as a core piece to the holiday and “gift giving” was refocused to be more self-serving, focused within the family unit. Therefore, economic growth became intertwined with ritual. The NYC aristocrats, also known as the “Knickerbockers,” made a new series of traditions. St. Nick emerged.

So, much of this “holiday tradition” that we consider Christmas is relatively new and wholly manufactured.

What I’m watching:

What I’m reading: Books that are controversial and contrarian. Having a different opinion leads to more interesting conversations.

What I’m listening to: “Wish You Were Here”by Pink Floyd. Sometimes a path forward requires looking backward. The lyrics of the song, besides indicating a longing for a lost friend or partner, emphasize the need to embrace struggle. Said Roger Waters: “It's to encourage myself not to accept a lead role in a cage, but to go on demanding of myself that I keep auditioning for the walk-on part in the war, 'cause that's where I want to be. I wanna be in the trenches. I don't want to be at headquarters.” This really resonates with me.

Why? Because comfort kills. Let me struggle as a novice, so long as I keep pedaling forward.

What I’m doing: I’m two sessions into physical therapy. Already I’m noticing more foot mobility, which makes me incredibly happy. I’ve waited so long to run again and it’s finally looking like it’ll be possible one day.

It’s overcast and cold. I’m gearing up for a long bike ride.

Weekly Plunder: Week 14 - Tornados

The weather has been apocalyptic lately.

I woke up Friday morning to a St. Louis that was blanketed by an opaque fog that rendered the city grey and misty.

Tornados and severe storms swarmed the city later that night. Wind ripped sheets of rain sideways in steady violent pulses.

That night I dreamed myself in a small Italian village based in a mountain pass, perhaps the Basilicata. Winding marble stairways sheened under the sun and wove upward through the village along the mountain pass’s edge. The village had layers of shops and restaurants, all connected by these marble stairwells.

I climbed up the main stairwell, hoping to reach the top, stopping occasionally to view people eating gelato or sipping wine. Why couldn’t I stop and join them?

Upward still I climbed, the village narrowing as elevation rose. But each time I thought I reached the top I’d look up to see another level of the village above me. There was no end in sight, and it seemed the climb upward would last forever. Why was I climbing? I had to have the best view, I told myself.

It seems a fitting metaphor for life. I’m glad I remember that dream.

What I’m Watching: Hellbound on Netflix. A pretty weird and thought provoking Korean show that explores religion, belief, and societal control.

What I’m Reading: From Paycheck to Purpose by Ken Coleman. As I transition away from a lifestyle driven by paychecks, I find it worthwhile to have some guidance from those who walked a similar path in the past.

What I’m Listening to: “Monochrome” by Between the Buried and Me. This is an interesting song without a genre and I suspect it will mean something different to everyone, so I won’t reveal what it means to me.

What I’m Doing: I start physical therapy next week. The ankle is getting there. I jumped for the first time in four months this week, and I successfully completed a one minute run. I’m happy that I ran again before 2021 closed its window forever.

What I’m thinking: I’m thinking about that dream and the “chase to the top”. Is the pursuit worthwhile when knowing full-well that the chase has no end? Or it it better to stop, take a seat, and have some gelato in that quaint little Italian village?

The Weekly Plunder: Week 12 - Cold Rides

Most people hate cycling in cold weather. The frigid and dry winter air bites with sharper teeth when you’re on a bicycle. Fingertips go numb quickly if they aren’t well-insulated. There’s an art to dressing for a winter bike ride.

I find winter cycling to be pretty awesome. The cold gives you something to fight against—an element to conquer and a challenge to navigate. We need challenges in life to overcome. They verify that we’re alive.

Outside of cycling, I have laser focus on rehabilitating my right foot. Getting the foot to 100% health is proving to be a trying process; I have essentially re-learned to walk again over the past few months, and now I have to strengthen a lot of very weak ligaments.

Currently I am regaining stability in the foot by practicing balancing on it, walking on the ball of it, and standing on toes. The foot stability left me on that fateful 36th birthday weekend. But like the seasons, sometimes parts of us die only to later be reborn, albeit reborn with a different set of leaves.

I am seeking a physical therapist to help me with this portion of my recovery. There’s a slight chance I’ll be able to manage a brief jog later this week.

What I’m listening to: “Revelations” by Judas Priest. This is, in my opinion, one of their most overlooked gems. It’s a swirling epic about Nostradamus and his prophesies. The band tries a lot of synths and strings on this album; though it isn’t one of their strongest albums, it has some standout tracks such as this one.

What I’m reading: Crossroads by Jonathan Franzen. Whoa, this is a long book. There’s another powerful section about an aunt who dreams of acting (but fails to “make it big”), lives in New York City, and shuns the suburban family life. She dies of cancer at a young age and with few friends, a real-life Eleanor Rigby. There seems to be a message that our aspirations don’t define us, nor do they ultimately matter much.

What I’m watching: Clint’s Reptiles on YouTube. Reptiles get an unfairly bad reputation when in fact most of them are a tiny fraction as dangerous as dogs (I don’t believe most species of reptiles pose any danger whatsoever unless threatened… but why would you threaten them?). I really enjoyed the video this week on the best “uncommon” pet reptiles. The emerald tree skinks look especially fun.

What I’m doing: I’m standing on one foot, my bad foot, and trying to strengthen it. The road to “100%” is a long one, and it will likely require external help. Sometimes we have to suck it up and ask for help. It ain’t worth attempting the journey alone.

What I’m thinking: I’m thinking of Shenandoah, when I was sleeping in a tent more than 4000 feet up in the Blue Ridge Mountains. In the dead of night I was awakened by a sudden clang. Something was trying to break into my steel food box outside of my tent, and it was more than likely a black bear (admittedly it could have been a very strong raccoon, though black bears were prevalent in the area).

At the end of the day, we all want the same thing. You, me, the Blue Ridge mountain black bears, and the spiders that hang in the corners of our window frames.

The Weekly Plunder: Week 6 - Divine Intervention

Gray hues streak the sky and a dense fog hangs over the tops of the downtown Saint Louis buildings as I write this. The lack of sun renders everything pallid and gaunt.

I attempted a bicycle ride this morning. A mile uphill started the ride and it was particularly grueling for the foot. Pain shot through the upper left part of the sole, the same spot where the most severe sprains occurred from the injury. It’s the spot I have felt with every step, with every movement, over the last few months. I guess it’s my “Achilles Heel”.

The thought that the pain could carry for much longer gave me a feeling of despair (I know, logically, that the foot will heal eventually). I wondered, though, if this was my purgatory, to be constantly yearning for a healthier tomorrow that doesn’t seem to arrive (this must be the inevitable conclusion to aging). It’s strange to me that in extreme moments we seek out biblical metaphors for our problems. Everything is rendered hellish or heavenly or purgatorial.

I kept pedaling, thinking that it was unfair that I should be beaten by my own damned foot.

And as I thought this, I just kept pedaling. And slowly the pain in my foot subsided, for reasons I don’t understand. Hours later, the foot felt better still. Miraculously better. Suddenly I was walking reasonably well. I hadn’t done that since I was 35. I don’t know if the feeling will hold, but some things make no sense.

What I’m doing: I am thinking about stories, in general, and where they come from. I’m also thinking about fall and the beauty in a ground strewn with puddles, fallen acorns, and brittle yellow leaves. I’m thinking about walking, running, and swimming. I’m thinking of the past and present and the wonderful lives that have crossed paths with mine.

What I’m listening to: 1. “A Crisis of Revelation” by Trivium. I’m a sucker for a fast metal song with a solid chorus. 2. “Hunter’s Moon” by Ghost. An odd song dedicated to Michael Myers about sibling love, devotion, and obsession. 3. “AEnima” by Tool. 4. “Goodbye Blue Skies” by Pink Floyd

What I’m watching: Midnight Mass. Wow, what an excellent show. It’s much more than a horror show: it’s a show about family, community, faith, and forgiveness.

What I’m reading: Trying to finish up Full Throttle by Joe Hill. I’ve been slacking with my reading and intend to pick up the pace.

Den Standiga Resan

I’ve always been into Opeth (okay, that is an understatement!)… and as much as I enjoy listening to the English versions of the songs, listening to Mikael sing in his native tongue adds another layer of beauty and richness, even when it’s a cover song such as this one (one of my favorite cover songs).

Den Standiga Resan (The Constant Journey)

Translations:

When I think about the constant journey through life

When it always feels like fall

When the wind slowly turns to north

And the flowers die

It's raining in my dreams

I have to travel again, and search for solace

I have to search again after the voice of tenderness

I have to travel again, to the next fall

The constant journey to the next fall

When I walk on the stony road through life

When it feels like I carried a sorrow

Then the sun slowly hides in the clouds

And the word is goodbye

The snow will soon be falling in my dreams

I have to travel again, and search for solace

I have to search again after the voice of tenderness

I have to travel again, to the next fall

The constant journey to the next fall

Oh, the constant journey to the next fall

https://lyricstranslate.com

Torn Asunder: The Weekly Plunder

Fall hits gradually, but winter hits abruptly. Winter imposes itself on the Midwest like a sudden switchback on a long desert highway. It shows abruptly, having long-been hiding behind shimmering mirages.

What I’m doing: In my reenactment of the protagonist’s mission from the Stephen King novel Duma Key, I am attempting to walk a little farther each day (rehabbing a busted ankle=slow and tedious, like your typical Oscar winner, badabing). Today I managed to walk around my apartment building three times, which felt like a minor triumph. On Sunday I’m going to attempt an early morning swim. It’ll be my first swim in about a year.

On the minimalism front I sold a decent weight of clothes this week, not so much in a quest for less as from a standpoint of, “I bought this more out of vanity than for function.” “Stuff” is fine so long as it’s functional. It’s when we get obsessed with upgrades that it becomes dangerous. And of course, an expensive bicycle causes more pain when stolen or crashed than a stripped-down bicycle does. An expensive wardrobe is just more money lost in the event of a flood. The newness of it all stales, like all things. Take things in moderation. Enjoy cool stuff but don’t let materialism sink its fangs into you.

What I’m watching: Movies mostly suck these days but I’ll watch the James Wan film Malignant tonight. Wan directed The Conjuring and Insidious, both of which I found to be effectively suspenseful. Check my Reviews page in the upcoming days for a deep dive.

What I’m reading: Born to Run was a magnificent and inspiring novel. I can’t wait to run again. Now I’m on Full Throttle, a collection of short stories from Stephen King’s son, Joe Hill. Hill is a masterful storyteller in his own right. I’d say it runs in the family but I think it’s more a matter of picking up good habits from one’s immediate surroundings.

What I’m listening to: “The Parchment” by Iron Maiden off their new album Senjutsu. This one showcases the master storytellers at the top of their game. Kick back and let this one take you places.