Battle Scar

via Daily Prompt: Heal

“Time heals all wounds”, another lie they tell.  First a hit, a flash of blood.  The pain comes later, with the ache.  A scab, maybe stitches or staples to close the hole.

A painful scar, red and swollen, tender.  It has to be in a place that you hit against everything around you.  Probably, on the side you sleep on so it wakes you up in the night.

So you start to heal.  You can sleep through the night, sometimes.  The wheal is less noticeable.  People ask about it less often.  It’s old news.

I wish it was me.  It should have been.  But, he was there instead.  Always there at my back, covering me.

Outside, looking in

via Daily Prompt: Outlier


Outside, looking in and shaking my head in sad disbelief.  That’s the way it feels.  I’m not the minority, claiming oppression or institutional discrimination.  I am not the religious zealot screaming on the corner, condemning everyone who passes to whatever version of hell they fear.

I am the iconoclast, laughing at religions who pray to the same god and argue about who is right.  The same groups that war over such stupid disagreements.  I talk about faith instead of religion.  I’ve studied history and know where most of the holy ritual come from.

I am the radical who refuses to accept excuses for your life.  I refuse to accept responsibility for what others did a hundred years ago.  Two hundred years ago.  When you bring up institutional discrimination, I ask what the equal rights laws are.  Why can we have a Black Caucus but not a White Caucus?

Yep, I’m an outlier.  A statistical improbability today.  Someone who doesn’t care what your opinion is about my opinion.  I’m willing to discuss any topic you want, but refuse the social expedient of agreeing just because a poll says everyone else does.

So, Where are all the Centaurs?


I had one of those pseudo-science conversations the other day.  The unnamed source said that there is only a 3 percent variance in the genetic make up of man and  other mammals.  A quick check shows it more in the neighborhood of 20 percent, based on the limited mapping of DNA from other species.  Still, it got me thinking.

If the statement were true, that would create amazing opportunities. We could splice our NDA with others and gain their advantages.  Gorilla strength.  Dog hearing.  Cheetah speed.  The possibilities are staggering.  From there it’s a short step to genetic compatibility research.

It’s probably because I live so close to Pennsyl-tucky.  But, it made me wonder… Where are the centaurs and Satyrs?  I hope I didn’t go to far.

Still Sexy

via Daily Prompt: Denial 

Mountain Fest WV, July 2014

I can’t wear skinny jeans.  I’m not emotionally strong enough. Or, cruel enough to subject others to the sight of me in skinny jeans.  That’s just to much information walking down the street for everyone to deal with.

I am still carrying two-hundred pounds of “mostly muscle” pretty well.  I haven’t had hair in fifteen years.  But, I did cut down on my drinking.  If you ask, it’s because I finally grew up, probably nothing to do with hangovers.  Still a biker though.  I’ll rumble out five-hundred miles in a day and end the trip at the bar.

Yep.  I’m still sexy.  If the light is bad and she needs glasses, I’m damn sexy.

Champion and other dying words

via Daily Prompt: Champion 

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The NCAA Championship Tournament is over, The Tar-heals win again.  Who cares, March Madness pisses me off.  I don’t understand basketball and it interrupts my regular scheduled programing.  Still, I recognize the effort and drive to be the best.  To be Champions.  Victors.

I doubt there are very many left, champions that is.  In a world where every child has to be reassured that they are special and as good as everyone else, even when they lose, champions are dying away.  To spare a child the pain of defeat, we no longer keep score.  Instead of explaining that the other team worked harder, trained harder and deserved recognition, we give trophies for showing up.  We spare them the agony of defeat.

We also deprive them of the joy of striving and achieving.  No more the reward for effort and sacrifice.  Soon the Lombardi Trophy, Lord Stanley’s Cup and Claret Jug are going to be melted down or put in a museum.  We will no longer need the word champion either.  A pointless and barbaric reminder of the days when some men and women were better than others.  A time when effort and natural talent were applauded.

I worked and trained.  I competed and struggled against others.  I even won sometimes, most times.  But, I was never the Champion.  That is reserved for the best.  Sadly, it’s a dying breed.  Dying word.


A Child of the World

via Daily Prompt: Passport 

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Travel gives perspective.  I don’t mean the all inclusive trip to Cancun or Cruise to the Bahamas in a floating hotel kind of travel.  Those are fun and a nice, comfortable way to see the world. Maybe somewhere in between backpacking across Europe for your Senior Summer and moving to another country.  I call it adventure traveling.  You get on  plane with a language phrase book, a map and couple of spots that look interesting in mind.

This floating ball of mud is full of wonder.  There are sights that will fill your soul everywhere, if you bother to look.  The next life changing event probably doesn’t include fruity drinks with little umbrellas on a beach.  If you want to change your life, travel to Central America, with a suitcase full of sandals and coloring books.  Take a train to no where.  Stop early in the afternoon and go to the local store to buy some sweets.  Maybe a soccer ball.  When you walk through the village, start passing out your goodies.

For the rest of you life you will take that trip in your head again.  Touched by the poverty that couldn’t stop the smiles.  Laughing with children who don’t speak you language as you kick a ball down a dirt street.  You will remember the taste of the stew from the community kitchen better than the finest meal.  That little book in your back pocket isn’t really your passport.  It’s your birth certificate.