04012016
   There is a tough word. Easy to say and less easy to put into action.
   I mean, yeah you can walk on your own two feet. You may even be able to walk a straight line.
   Balance on a skateboard while doing twenty miles an hour or more on a downhill. It has been done. Speed wobbles and everything.
   Do it while sitting on a bike. Bicycle or motor cycle doing 90 miles an hour on a curve and still, you may do well staying up right.
   Physical balance is just an instinct. We use it on a daily basis. And more than often take it for granted as though it will forever be there for us.
   But what about the other stuff?
   Your checkbook? Do you balance that often? If you do not balance it well, it will haunt you.
   My heart aches for the love of my most adored. Without it, life seems bleak. Seems colorless. Tastes bland. Lack luster.
   With it, comes pain and pleasure. Peace and suffering. Comes a flavorful lust for life and a shiny disposition of disgust and betrayal right along with unconditional loyalty and love.
   To be indifferent for the sake of your own hearts desire would make me feel no differently.
   Balance means so much more than you could ever imagine. For the brain fights the heart on all things. What you feel is always contradicted by the hopes and fears of your thoughts.
   It's a tough pill to swallow. At least for some. Maybe even for you.
   There is a whole world outside of your 39 mile radius. Just beyond your eyes horizon. Just beyond your 15 block walk-about.
    Fight or flight. Our first two instincts. Or so they say. Whoever 'they' are.
   You've spent maybe more than half your life never thinking about it.
   I've spent a good portion of mine preparing myself for it.
   The struggle and the strife. The lose to win situation.
   There is no reason to not trust me.
   Everything I did that was wrong, worked out in being right for you for the time. Think about that.
   I have not forgotten. My heart has weighed heavily over the shame of it.            Leaving behind all I ever knew and walking away did affect me. It did change me. It still resonates within me.
    And yet I have balanced it with direction and life experience. A tight rope of all kinds of things.
   The ropes that ground me today are more like the chains on anchors. Like the cables that hold up the Golden Gate Bridge. Not the dental floss that holds your kite.
   Holding steady. Grinding the steps taken.
   Life is good bro. The heart is as much your friend as the mind. Enjoy the present.
   Feeling the pressures of yesterday all the while facing the fears of the future. Hoping to take them all on with vigilant grit. Without over thinking the broad horizon of infinite possibilities.
   Life has no road map. There is no overview. Not even in hindsight.
   Yesterday is history.
   Tomorrow is a mystery.
   So glad you took time for me in the present.
  Night dude.

04022016
I remember easily being a kid. Not a child, but as a kid.
Life was fairly easy for me. My sisters best friends always seemed interested in me.
I was a couple of years older and my sister always talked highly of me. Seemed like a no brainer, really.
My sister has always been my greatest fan. She was always so generous with her praises and every boyfriend she ever had was given the free information that if he was to ever even think about breaking a heart, I would be there to stomp his teeth in.
When I was a kid, I loved fighting. One of my favorite things to do. I didn't care if I lost. That's what made it so crazy.
I was known that way. As a child, I was the same as a kid.
I wasn't really good at smart assing, so when it came to being insulted, I was ready to throw down dick bangers on any smart mouthed little shit!
I remember being in a fight at least once every other week. Maybe I was bully. Or I was being bullied and I wasn't going to have any of that.
It's just the way things were for me in late 80's early 90's.
I remember these two really smart gals from the trailer park that I lived at when I was a kid. There names were Yvonne and Bret. These two girls could speak French and Spanish as well as English.
If you were a boy, it was on like donkey kong, but if you were a girl, I was taught well. I do not hit girls.
Balance, right?
These two girls were tough as they were smart and although they could speak 3 languages, their favorite language was jive smacking trash talk.
And they were good at picking up a puff up case once in awhile. And some days were worse than others.
"Mother fucking titty sucking two balled bitch!" They had a whole rhyme that went along with this. I wish I could remember it. It was funny enough to make a whole bus load of kids laugh.
I was so angry.
I remember this kid laughing with them as they were name calling and telling mama jokes and just shredding me, and I looked that kid in the eyes, and I punched him right in the nose.
Just for laughing along.
We got off that bus and with his blood soaked shirt, we wrestled and punched and fought and scrambled all the way home.
So here is the funny thing.
Today, I have to stay controlled. I have to stay cool and chill when I'm heated by pressure. By friction.
When my moment seems to be escaping my grips and I am close to lashing out I am supposed to breath and clasp my fingers together and smile through it.
When I have no control over the situation, the place, person or thing, I am supposed to be an adult and not act out like a jackass.
Some days, I am really happy I acted out like a child when most people were telling me to be a good kid. That instead of being the good kid everyone wanted me to be, that I was a fucking asshole little jerk who fought like I had nothing to lose.
Cause as an adult, it's a constant battle with myself to not just throat punch the rudest of people I come across on a daily basis. It isn't totally out of my system.
Really.
But I can not imagine what it's like for all those good kids, that never even found out how to release that angst from their system.
It's all just bottled up like a shit flavored soda pop, shaken and ready for that strong gripped twist that never comes.
My kid days, were awesome.
My adult days are equally rad, but that doesn't come without sacrifice.
Today, I look up to my little sister. She now is sought after by a couple of my friends. She is a wonderful mother, and now, a very active grandmother.
My mother has come full circle with me now as well. She used to be ashamed of me. Now she is proud of me.
With time and experience, we change. We do grow up. We find our way. We evolve.
I used to be fearless cause I had nothing to lose. Now, I'm fearful of losing the few things I have.

      04032016

   It isn't a pop up or a puzzle or anything cool like a maze, but it is a photo.
   I did this one last week. I had very little time to prepare for it because this guy is heading out for Afghanistan next week. He wasn't supposed to get tattooed before going over there.
  Health reasons I guess. When one of these military guys wants a tattoo, who am I to say, "No, you're gonna have to follow protocol, buddy."
    I tattoo. I can't do it without rad people who wanna wear the stuff I draw up, right?
    So stress is a normal thing in our tattoo shop. I hear your idea, I put it to paper or I draw it on you. I balance my stress with confidence. I know that if I can draw it, I can tattoo it. And that's how it's going to be.
   I wanted to be a tattoo artist, right?
   It's days like these that I love my job though. Guy comes in. Wants a tattoo.
   Knows what he wants.
   "Can we do it soon?"
    "Like tomorrow?"
   He says, "Yeah. For real?"
     "Hell yeah! Someone cancelled. Seems like God has your back!" I say, "I can put something together for you by the time of your appointment at 11AM and we can get you the body adornment you desire by 4 o'clock. Provided that you're looking for a black and grey tattoo."
   He's like, "Hell Yeah, dude! Black and grey is just what I'm looking for."
   Well, I already have a full day of working today with no extra free time between to draw up anything. 8PM comes quick on some of these days.
    So for me, that means I will be showing up early for work. Really early if I am to keep my word. And I do like keeping my word, for real.
   I show up at 8:30AM and get to tapping lead. Concept art is easy to do really. It just requires a lot of time.
  I might draw on something for hours before the tattoo even gets to be a tattoo. So the next time you want a custom tattoo, be nice to your tattoo artist, he or she has already given you hours of work, and still hasn't even shaved your hairs and broke skin yet.
   This guy was hella fun to tattoo. I was stressed and full of this awesome coffee called PILON from Cuba. It's a dark rich espresso and I make a latte out of it with vanilla syrup and whole milk.
   So good, I'm sweating. It really is pretty good, if you have the chance to buy it, perhaps you would try it.
    Anyways, the work could have been better I guess. I am my own worst critic, though. I believe it to be decent none the less.
   My home life and my work life right now seem to teeter more to my heavier plate. Work is good.
   Sunday's around here are spent just slothing around and cooking! One of my best most favorite things in the whole world from the day I was born, was to consume.
    Doing it with family? Even better.
   Started cooking this brisket early this morning. And it turned out kind of chewy, but it wasn't dry like shoe leather. 
    Brisket is a tough meat to smoke. It's an art really.
   A very expensive art form. It breaks me every time I attempt it.
    I'm always chasing a flavor, texture, and tenderness that a few of my friends get with their brisket. I am so far behind even though. I've tried all sorts of methods but it's the first time I tried this one.

     This is my brisket this morning at around 11AM. butter is only half of mop sauce. And this is what keeps the brisket tender. (Mop Sauce)

Right before I cut this son of a bitch up and tore it down.
    To balance a five day work week and family time, every Sunday the last few months, and a few more in the future are dedicated to grubbing, slothing, and last but not least, THE WALKING DEAD!
     Do you watch the show at all? It's all good. Tonight's season finale was hard to watch with all the damn commercials on AMC and I just wanted to watch the show.
     I love how they get me all caught up in that drama. Cliff hangers and plot twists.
    And then after the show, THE TALKING DEAD. The show where they actually talk about the show you just watched.
   I learn so much about the behind the scenes stuff and the quizzes. Those are like pop ups, puzzles, and mazes.
   I love family time.
   Today was a day like ICE CUBE once had, man. I hope today found you close to the family you have made and accept. Chosen or blood.

04042016
I can not tell you how many chances at a normal life I've kicked in the ass on its way out the door.
I mean yeah, I've had a couple of great starts in life. And like an asshole I've beat it into the ground. I've jack-knifed through the curve. I've buried every single chance life gave me and sometimes I may have buried it twice!
Was it worth it?
That is always the question.
Hell yeah! I have nothing better than now to gage against it. It was every mistake, every bad relationship, every good paying job, every ass kicking that life backhanded me in return that got me to here.
I have a crap ton of stories I will not ever be able to tell anyone.
I'm going to have to write a secret book on here and just keep my phone easy to open so that the last minute I die, I can open the app and tap publish!
Just because I don't want to face the comments and critiques of what you may have been hoping to read the whole time!
I spent a good portion of my life totally relearning the lesson of do good then fuckin wreck the ship.
My nickname should have been SHIPWRECK. That's what I do. It's what I've done.
It's how I have lived my life. All the way through the birth of my son, Brody. All the way through his 5th year of life. Up to around 2007.
I made a true life choice.
A real to the bone decision to seek something that is better than I have ever imagined. Something that I had never experienced before. Something much better.
   So today, I'm hiking deep woods with my trusty sidekick doobie doobs and I am out of breath and was thinking about how I used to blaze through trails like this.
   Like in the last chapter, "I could hear the bark ripping off the trees as passed them with my velocity" so I took my big hand and I monkey gripped a pine and listened to it as I physically rubbed bark off the tree with a solid grip.
   My life has been so fast. Everything about it. And as I wheezed up this hill, I had time to stop and reflect a little.
   I was deep woods. So far from the road I couldn't hear the cars anymore. I'm sitting on a rock, just listening for the cars and instead, I got song birds.

   Wind pushing through the cedar and a couple creaks made me look up. I watched these tree sway in the breeze and the sun pushed through the needles just enough for me to make out a tiny baby fisted sized birdie. Just singing away. Chirping.
   It was blue and gray with a long sharp beak. It didn't care that I was below. Whatever it was searching for, must have his itself well.
   While I'm sitting there trying to catch my breath, doobie is too. We are both wheezing in the moment.

   A family of chipmunks run over some rocks and over a log just fifteen feet away from us. I look to my left just up above the skyline and there are two buzzards flying circles.
   I stand up and begin to walk forward and I almost step in fresh deer poop. Pretty distinctive little shits. There was a deer very close around here just laying in wait for me to pass.
  Movement not five feet away a rabbit begins to run away. I think to myself, "There was a deer close by! Thumper just went a running!" I think doobs and I are just too out of breath to care for chasing rabbits. We keep hiking.
   I stop again.
   This is a vertical hike at times. But the views are amazing. And I need to get out in my back yard a bit once in awhile. That's what the entire area is to me. My backyard. It reminds me of why I chose to live in Rapid City, South Dakota.
   I do love it here.

   This is the Buzzard Roost loop. It's beautiful here.

   A great place to reflect. My oldest favorite thing to do was burn bridges and never look back. Now I'm a bridge builder.
I realized that my newest favorite thing in life is the call of the brave.
What does this mean?
I have lived so long like a shit head, and all of the sudden, I want to start climbing. Climbing the other way.
So I started digging.
The analogy goes for me, I was deep in a hole. Almost a well that lead to the center of the earth.
So instead of digging deeper, I started digging out the sides and started stepping on it. So instead of my hole being narrow and deep, I started making it wider.
Dig the side, step up.
My favorite thing in life started getting easier once I made a habit of it.
Each life goal met was a step up higher and sometimes the walls would cave in, and at first, that shit sucks but when I dug myself out of a cave in, I was hella much higher.
As I dug the days got longer. Because my hole got wider, the sun stayed over head longer. And as the days got longer my hole became less of a hole.
I love climbing.
I felt the fire returning. I felt my heart burning. I felt an overwhelming heat inside of me. I felt a warmth from inside here.
So look, this is what I will be writing about starting tomorrow.
So I choose to BALANCE my beginning from jumping from when I was 19 to when I was 32.
I hope I don't lose you.
Sometimes I think God smokes weed, and he was high when he made me.
See you around man. Until next time.
Much love.

  4052016
  The house was dark. It must have been night time. The smell of musty stale cigarette and basement. 
   I lay in a box. A box just small enough for me to see ankles walk through this dark room.  People are talking but I can't make sense of it.
    I see bare crusty feet and they look like old feet. Ashy. Blue spider web veins and dirty old yellow toe nails pointed at me through these birdcage bars.
   I try to look up and see the owner of these crusted feet that smell of dirty work boots and twisted cheese.
   I try to make out words but it's like I'm in a windy tunnel. I make out noise that sounds like words but I'm helpless.
   There is no room to move on this box.
    I try to turn over but either there is no room or I haven't the strength. I'm trapped. And none of this makes any sense.
    I lay suspended of movement. The light in the room is red and it makes color on everything I can see. Mere shadows of what may be curtains or blankets.
   Looking like the floor is cement. I can make out a drain. And then the shuffling of feet and the light goes off and there is nothing but darkness.
    I start pushing at the door of this box. Pushing against the wall of my box as a baby pushes off a uterus in birth. My face against the cage with a shoulder.
    "Fuck! Fuck this box!" I push out the bottom of it.
   My hands and feet are bound behind me.
   How did I get in here? Where the fuck am I? All the normal questions hit me all at once. 
   Did I make too much noise? Did someone hear me bust this cage? I squeeze through the opening. Worming my way through. The cage face catches my binding and I'm stuck.
   Then the answer to one of my questions came upon me like lightning.
   A light from a dull bulb comes on above me. It's light illuminates this room I'm in.
   There is an old chair with clothing piled on it.  Wallets and purses. A box on its side showing a tumble of possessions such as cell phones and car keys. Old cans of chew and money.
   I can hear a clambering down some stairs. I try to break free of this cage and bindings but it's no use. Worming through isn't working.
   I try rolling. The box turns with me as I am half out of it.
   I look up and see the shadow of a man looking down at me. He is dressed in pajamas and a bathrobe. A distasteful mess about him.
   His anger turns to a smiling face. As if almost amused by my situation.
  "Ah, look at you laddie.  Aren't you just a mess? Let me help you there little buddy." And he lays back a leg and the last thing I see is a heel.
   And then darkness.
I awaken to different bindings.
  I'm under a single light and the room is not the same one I was in before. I try not to make much movement.
   I tilted my head slightly to look around. Making sure to test my boundaries.
   My hands loosely bound to the arms of a chair. Tied down the whole rest of the arm of the chair.
   The chair itself was antique. Easily I would say by the curved claw foot at the end of the arm. My fingers tracing the lines of it. It's cream at first site but with closer inspection you can see the mint green through the scratches and paint chips.
   I look closer at the floor and it seems wooden. Worn and scuffed by many draggings and pushing of things over the years.
   I can see my foot.
   Then I start to feel pain again.
   My middle toes have been removed and there is blood all over the floor. My feet must have put up quite the battle. There was blood smeared all over from a definite struggle no less.
   But my feet were loose still.
   I must be drugged I thought. I don't remember any of this. Any of this happening at all.
   Where am I?
   What the fuck is happening here?
    I want to go home. Do they have my family too?
   All of them?
   I gently peak to the right. Nobody there. I stay there what seemed like hours. Just looking right, as if that was the way whoever left me, left me.
   Couldn't of been hours though. I'm way too restless for that kind of patience.
   I looked slightly over to the front of me. And there was those crusty feet again.
   "I knew you were awake. You're a tough guy. A real tough guy aren't you?" He said, "I know your type well, you know. You were a tough guy in your early life. You were so tough. So cool. And as you got older, you thought you could live on the reputation of your youth. Right?!"
   "I know you're awake laddie."
    I looked up at him and smiled. I had no words for this old bastard.
    "You're a tough guy, laddie. I know you better than most do." He said, "You're just scared. Terrified at everything. Fight fight laddie. Go ahead keep fighting. Fight to the end."
   He was old. Skinnier than I thought now that I could look him in the eyes.
   He was in some tight whities. Sitting at a table not far from me. He was sipping what seemed to be cold coffee. It was dark in color. In his other hand was this billy club.
   It was a short little bat all wrapped in cloth tape. The cloth looked bloodied and some of it still fresh.
   Was it mine?
    "So, you aren't talking to me, lad? If your not going to talk, I will get you to make some noise."
    He took the billy club to one of my knees. "Aye, there ya go laddie. Still nothing?"
    I knew my feet were loose. I knew it. But how loose? How old is this chair? How weak is it?
    I start rocking back and forth trying to test these bindings. Test the chair for squeaks and creaks. A little sturdy chair indeed but I'm a big fucking guy, right?
    Who the fuck is this old Scottish chap anyway. And why does he have so much power?  And why the fuck does he deserve to have any power over me?
    He is balding and white hairs are like wires coming out of the side of his head. He had a big nose. You could tell it had been broken a few times. It was crooked and had a knot at the top of the bridge.
    Lines of wrinkles accentuate his cheeks coming down from the sides of his nostrils. More like old man jowls.
There is a chin jutting out from loose skin hanging where a neck should be.
    He isn't fat. He looks sickly nearly naked in his tight white underwear. Which are filthy and dingy looking. Almost coffee stained.
    He's just sitting there across from me. Waiting for some kind of reaction. Looking right through me.
    He goes to smack me again.
   And this time I stand and turn 180 and jump onto him using the chair to break against him and I.
    The chair does not break.
    I jump up and on him again.
    This little fuck may be old. He may look weak but weak he is not.
    He almost laughs at me in my second attempt to break the chair on him with my weight. He pushes free of me and steps on my ankle.
   He doesn't stomp it. He simply turns his toe instep and puts heel to my ankle and pushes me. Almost telegraphing my move.
    Maybe he's too soft to break the chair on. But not the floor. My weight plus push times the angle of decent, dividing me from the chair, all except the two claw foot arms that I'm tied to.
    My balance is wobbly. My toes missing probably had something to do with it. I'm still tied to these arms and luckily I am.
    This billy-club is flying at me and I have these antique chair arms to block the hits with some protection. I grip the ball of that claw foot and start uppercuts. Hay makers. I connect here and there. I may have closed my eyes a few times. I was connecting but I couldn't tell you where.
    I felt a squirt. It was warm. I slow myself in the moment and he is bleeding.
   I turn and run.
   I pass a door that swings both ways like a kitchen door and as I pass through it I look around for anything that could help me in my situation. But the counters are clean. Nothing.
   I see another door and I kick through it. There are many stairs leading up. And I take them.
   I'm running higher and up and higher. And turn and higher and turn and more fucking steps. I am nearly out of breath but there's all these stairs and no doors. Just more damn stairs.
    I'm wheezing. I'm hurt. It's painful every step. And I'm confused. Where could I be that there's so many fucking stairs. Still who is this fucker calling me laddie?
    I get to the top and there is just a grey sky.  Wind pushing clouds. I can hear the wind pushing through my tunnels in my earlobes. A whistling. Just faint.
    I hear steps behind me. And then I hear a distinct gunshot.
   Even the clouds stop.
    Silence. Not even my heartbeat.
    Not even my wheezing.
    It's as if everything went in slow motion.
    I look back and the old bastard shot someone in the head.
   Just massive amounts of blood pouring out of their head. I couldn't see it running down out of their nose. Down their arms. Pouring down the very steps we ran up.
   Who was this person that got shot?
   Who is this guy? Why are they both behind me? Why did he get shot?
   So many questions and nowhere to run. There is literally no where to run. No where for me to turn. No doorway.
   I look back to this old bastard and he's now in bloody dingy underwear. Blood pour out of the back of this persons head. Down over his crusty white hairy legs.
   The white hairs of his leg covered now in the color of Crimson. He is holding this person under one armpit and laughing as he has his billyclub stuck in the top of the skull and he is pushing and pulling it in and out of the top of their head.
    "You're a tough guy, Laddie. You're soooooo tough now aren't you boy?"
   Skull fucking this person with his billyclub I could see the eyeball moving under a closed eyelid.
    "You're so tough, Laddie"

And then I awoke. It's taken most of the day to write this dream down for you. I'm sure if you look any of this stuff in a dream dictionary, there's all kinds of revealings.
   I never look them up because when I try to decipher them, my brain quits dreaming. It's disturbing. I know it is.
   I needed to put it here.
  Good night.

04062016
I was just 22 years old.
I was in between jobs. You see, I lived in Elko, Nevada it was the end of 1995. During a slower time for a driller hand.
I had been laid off from this company named LANG DRILLING. It was a pretty well paying job for a guy way back then.
I got laid off because I was one of the hands that did not have a commercial drivers license. I did try to get one by the deadline but I had failed the written twice. And then once I passed the third one, I failed the round about physical inspection before driving.
If you cannot pass all three tests, you cannot retain a commercial drivers license.
It isn't really a hard test. People get these all the time. Maybe I was dumb or whatever.
The point is I had to keep making money up so I wound up finding three jobs.
In the morning from 9AM TO 5PM I was a bar back in two casinos in the downtown area. The Stockmans and Commercial Casino were two different buildings where I rotated beer and kept a stock list and changed out ice machines and what ever.
I was doing a great job of it and the owner of the famous SILVER DOLLAR SALOON noticed me working hard and thought that maybe he try me out after 8PM to closing.
The Silver Dollar had the biggest wooden dance floor in Northern Nevada. People came from 50 miles around to come dance that honkeytonk scene every weekend.
Yeah. I used to work in a Honky Tonk. A cowboy bar. Jitterbug and swing the wooden dance floor was a normal thing for me to see in there on any given night.
I enjoyed the scene. Although I pretty far from a cowboy, this place was hopping. Line dancing with all the clapping and turning was a local favorite.
If I drank enough, you could find me out there.
I used to drink this drink a lot in there. It was called a trailer park martini.
A full flavored MGD. Miller Genuine Draft with two green olives shoved down the neck. I am not sure if I made it up or if I got it from someone else. All I know is I really drank a lot back then. Beer kept me cool enough to be a part but I never got so wasted I couldn't keep up with what my boss needed from me.
Plus collecting three checks a week was pretty sweet. I kind of looked like a job whore while collecting my money in the bank. I was pretty money driven, even then. Even now.
The owner of the Silver Dollar wanted to pull in as many people as he could in one night. He had heard about this special entertainer who was on tour and coming through the area.
He knew a guy who knew a guy and somehow they all talked and one month later, after a lot of promotion and many whispers and lots of talking the night came. Finally came.
50 dollar cover charge and expensive liquor but you may have the opportunity to see a Country Legend play a concert in the SILVER DOLLAR SALOON.
Me, being a bar back, I was looking forward to watching it all go down and not only was I going to get payed, I was gonna make large tips and watch people dance and probably get laid when it was all over and done with.

I don't know if you know who this is. Maybe you do.
This is way before I ever got clean and sober. Ever even thought about it.
This guy was half way through his set and I was told to bring a bucket of beer to these guys back stage.
Happily, I packed a bucket with some iced beers and made myself a TrailerPark Martini and headed back there.
The guys were very happy to see me and naturally I felt like the coolest fuck ever! People love the beer monkey.
I was walking past this old dude and he looks at my hand and says, "whatcha got there kid?"
"A trailer park martini!" I say.
"Looks interesting" he says.
"You want it?" I say.
"Yeah, let's try it out!" He grabs it from my hand and downs about half of it quickly. Looks at me, and smiles.
"You like it?" I say, "you want another one?"
"That's the first beer I've had in eleven years son. Thank you very much. This one is fine."

You know, now that I'm clean and sober, I know exactly what happened there. At first I used to brag about this moment in my life.
It could have been anyone to give him his first beers in eleven years. But it was me.
Today, he passed away. Merle, you played music that I could understand and it wasn't all cheesy sad relationship songs. They were songs for the working man. The drinking dude.
You came from a time, where you had to be mentally tough. Physically tough. And from a place where things just aren't nothing like how they are today.
It's been fun man. Thanks for all the great music and the few good times I've had with you playing on from time to time.

04072016
I cannot lie when you truly know me. It is funny, really.
Maybe it's that way when I write in here.
Perhaps you, as a reader can just see past the bullshit. When your reading through pages and pages of words and you see me on a roll of the right word combinations which keep you riveted to this story. The straight and narrow line I walk while giving my complete attention to this without quiver or disconnection from the objective.
We may have met at one time.
We may have never met ever even once.
Yet as we walk this path and move along, you are learning me well enough to know exactly when my writing is a total push to just jot some shit down and when it's really tangible. When it's heartfelt and true as the sky is blue, even behind the darkest of grey days.
I believe by now, if you've read to here, you probably know me as well as any of my closest friends.
I remember when I started writing here, I told myself, "Dude, don't write too much about yourself. No incriminating shit about yourself. No password stuff. No answers to any of your life lock questions."
Honestly, I have done really good about that.
But not putting too much about myself? Shit man. That was the reason I started writing you to begin with.
I wanted you to know me.
I was screaming for it. I didn't ever know if I was going to reach you. I had no idea that this was going to be anything like this.
You could leave a comment? I could converse with an author or others that were reading? How rad is that?
When I started here, I had no idea about how any of this worked. What it means to get a star? Or what it meant when I left one on someone's work.
I thought it was more like a wink or a thumbs up or basically a calling card or something like an "I WAS HERE" sticker.
I had no idea it was a vote.
Still, it is what it is.
Whether I knew or not, I did figure it out.
Writing here really wasn't a thing to me like a Facebook or Instagram post. Where you get a shit ton of likes for whatever reason. For some picture of my work or some silly quote that made sense somehow in my moment of the day. That isn't what I am here for.
This is where I post real thoughts. Real feelings. Real emotions. This isn't a social site. Not like those mindless ones where you share shit that isn't yours or share photos you didn't take.
At least not for me.
I never expected to get reads. Or stars. Or whatever and as more time went by, my work started getting larger. Bigger.
And the words started piling and although there weren't as many parts as some of the other people I was reading in here, my parts just had more.
The parts were long. Probably harder to keep up with.
Honestly, I was just writing.
Hearts truth. Just expressing all the things I tagged for the work in my profile.
I started writing in here long before ever reading anything. So that explains my hella long ass introduction.
It's not that I haven't ever read any books. That I didn't know what an introduction was. Or that I didn't understand how a book was written.
I just didn't have any help configuring a writing app. I was just writing here.
It came out the way it did.
It's different from many other writings here on wattpad that I've read. In format, anyways.
I apologize for nothing. I cannot apologize for being myself. Or how I do stuff. It's just me in my own old ass way of thinking.
I just started writing in this app like I was writing stuff in one of those spiral notebooks of my past.
Before making a new part, I remember looking at the introduction and reading it with all its mistakes and laughing a little about it.
I was laughing because it's a precursor of exactly what my writings are like. Random as hell.
If you wanted to keep reading after an introduction like that, you're on your own! It was going to have a lot of bouncing from short stories to poetic thoughts.
It isn't dated like everything else here. It took around a year or so to build up the idea that I would start writing to you like this, on a daily basis.
I was just figuring out how it worked. How to put works up for you to read. That first year of writing from time to time, I didn't get very many reads or back then, it was eyeballs. But I probably only had 20.
Eyeballs didn't have a hold on me. I got plenty of likes on Instagram and Facebook. I have tried to keep this separate.
I don't post anything in those sites that I write here. Mainly because I am kind of introverted. I share what I want where I want. But I don't feel the need to share on everything on every social site. And this is quite a bit different from those anyway.
That would be too easy if I wanted to be noticed. I really didn't want to catch anyone's attention but yours anyway.
It was you all along. The reason I am here. The reason I jot down pieces of myself.
I am amazed with the love and words of these other rad people, who have come along the way. Who venture with me and leave the cool comments and mentions.
I like that, I've learned more about writing in here. I actually enjoy it more than the old spirals I used to write in.
Trying to get my friends to just read a page was like trying to sell fire to the devil. He doesn't need fire. And they didn't need to read my spiral notebooks.
I like reading the works here too. It feels like I have gotten to meet some of you as well. Make friends and reach places I've never seen or experience things I've never experienced. And the cool thing is I have a direct line to the author.
Comment. Mention. Star that shit!
I can not lie when you truly know me.
It's true.
My facial expressions give me away every time.
On the phone, maybe it's a breath or a pause or a tone in the crack of my voice. But if you honestly know me, I can not lie.
Even if I'm trying to. If you really know me, it's impossible for me to do so.
I make it fucking hard as fuck to get to really know me.
Not because I like to lie.
I cuss a lot. It just adds to my already very abrasive personality and condescending demeanor. I'm not a dick. I swear it. At moments, along with my overbearing size and low riding eye brows, it's easy to think so, but I'm just another asshole who is hiding the teddy bear stuffing.
I just have a lot of life experience where I am usually on the losing end of things. So I use this personality at first to disguise my defensive mech.
Fight not flight?
I will always choose to fight.
We are rad individuals who deserve to live out our lives without fear. Even if we are scared shitless, we must overcome.
I am fighting.
Not necessarily with fists, although I am using my opposable thumbs. Jajaja.
Every day. A note to you.
A moment of this day for you.
To let you know, I do love you. I do think about you. I have thought about you. And although, I have little to show for it, I have this now.
It is for you.
It has become much more than I ever imagined it to be. Much more.
I'm only four months into it. I have an idea how long this is going to be. And after much work, and time, I am still hoping to read a comment from you.
Maybe I will get it.
Maybe you will never give me what I want. Tis the nature of youth.
Well look, I hope this finds you in great spirits. Truth be told. No winks. No thumbs.
Life is good. Watching the number of reads gives me hope that maybe one of those numbers is you. I think that's all I have to say today.
Have it good, or tell it to fuck off.
Laters.

04082016
   To quote my lovely sister who posted this today, "Life is a lot like an avocado. Grab it quick and do something with it. If you don't, it's gonna go bad! Make some fucking guac bitches!
   And let me tell you, she is a fucking wizard filled with magical wisdom.
   It's so true.
   You know, I think my son was eight years old the first time he came to visit me from Arizona when I decided to move here, in Rapid City.
    I decided that the fix to some of my biggest problems of the time was a geographical solution. I decided to live clean and sober here far away from Arizona where I dug the deepest of holes.
    Upon arrival, I began reclaiming my life. After treatment, I started with a job and going to twelve step meetings.
   Twelve step meetings were a god send. But that wasn't all.
    Going to meetings, yeah, but what really helped me honestly was an occupation. Having something to do outside of worry about my emotional status on the daily, was the beginning to freedom.
    Twelve steps allowed me to feel less unique while balancing with the many kind words of strangers telling me I was extraordinary.
    That I was unique.
     I'm beyond that now. That teetering wasn't good for me after all and it seemed to confuse me.
     You see, I know I am not alone. There are many like me. I know that we are all special. That we all have top shelf qualities.
   At first I barely had a life.
   Long story short, I got my shit together and started forming some good habits. And they started to pay off.
    Building a clientele, and stabilizing, I got this little hole to live in. And when my son came to visit me for the summer from his mothers home in Arizona, I was able to show him all the rad shit that he could do in South Dakota.
    Camping, hiking, and all sorts of rad tourist traps.
    Once in my life, I devoted time to something else other than my selfish wants and needs. It had been two years since I had any one on one time with him.
    I had been working those two years on learning how to be a person again. I took a bunch of classes on parenting and moral recognition training. I took some relationship classes. And while I was in rehabilitation, learned more about some other issues.
   When he came here to visit just one summer, he knew I had made "fucking guacamole." The spicy kind and I was serving the lime flavored chips.
    He came to live with me four months after his visit in the fifth grade. He has lived with me ever since.
    He now a junior in high school and it's been a real blessing to have him all this time. A privilege I don't take lightly and it's really the same for any of my kids.
    He has been there to watch the trials and tribulations and has seen the many different levels of stress' that I've been through which complicate many things in our lives.
    A few relationships that didn't work out as well as meeting his sisters on different occasions and getting to know them whether they are getting along or not on any given day.
    I often wonder if I would have enough reason to stay the way I am, if I didn't have them all. These kids all have taken time to get to know. All have been resistant to some extent. And although I know I am worthy of being a great parent, they may disagree on any given day.
   Kids. Even if they're adults. They're always and forever your kids. My reason to be the person I am. My purpose for keeping level headed and ready to protect and help on any given exchange.
   My kids are having kids. I'm lucky to have a place in there lives. I'm lucky to still be alive to have a place.
   Different, they all are not.
    You can not deny your DNA.
    The scowling brows and the animated face. Rubbing feet and clenching jaws. Restless at night, lazy in the light. Insatiable appetite.
   Stuff like that.
   For what it's worth, every amount of effort I've made was worth it. It's been nothing more than my best attempt to make sure that they all know I made an effort to know them.
    In a lot of cases of my life, effort is way above intention.
   Thanks sis for reminding more about lemons. I totally agree. Do something with your life before it goes bad. Or be prepared to work your ass off when it all goes south.

04092016
It's Prom night here in Rapid City and the surrounding Black Hills Area.
This is a picture of me and my youngest. Every life moment of his seems to be captured inside a tattoo shop at some point.
Brody is a great kid man. As I have said, this kid has watched my evolution from where we were to where I am at. I do believe it's shaped him in many ways.
Someday he may read all of this, and you know, I hope he'll be glad to know I made it a point to introduce you to him. As you can see, he is a bit taller than me. And quite a bit more hansom.
Our travels together has shaped him into a pretty responsible kid. 17 years old and has had 2 jobs consecutively for the last few years. Last year, he turned in 7 W-2s because he would get a job, and if he didn't like it, he would find another that was better by pay and hour.
He did all of this on his own and is truly money motivated just like me. Money isn't everything, but it sure helps with a lot. I've just instilled that in him.
He recently started to realize the lesson. You can have time, or you can have money, but you rarely get both. So he kept one job at Harley Davidson and quit his other job at a store called TJ Max. Not sure if you have heard of it.
So anyways, prom tension has been building over the last few weeks and I have very little experience in prom stuff. What I do know is that about three weeks ago, I suggested that he go get fitted for a tux long before anyone is thinking about it because as you can see, he is a little bigger than me and if they only had a few suits that would fit him, he should reserve them now.
So weirdly, he listened to me. He chose men's wear house and found out that they had a prom program. If he could get five kids to rent tuxes there, he would get his tux for free.
If he got ten friends to get there tuxes there, he would get a suit to keep for free. Wildly, he had a dozen people show up with cards with his name on them. So free tux and free suit.
I had to give hums one extra money. I didn't have to pay for anything really. So I didn't mind.
I wouldn't be surprised though if the manager of Men's Wearhouse allies him up and wanted to see if he could sell suits like he sells his friends on the idea of suits and swag.

My 19 year old daughter went to prom tonight as well. As you can see Camp Troxel is looking pretty damn stunning tonight.
This is Skysha and her lovely daughter Dinah (Den-nāy).
I don't get to see them much but when I do, we have a great time.
I remember Skysha an I first were reintroduced to each other back in 2009. She played soccer and was a small town girl who was very content doing 8th grade girl stuff.
Those first two years were rough.
Very strained, I would say, but with much effort I have found that hard work pays off. It took some time, but I proved myself to her.
I watched her grow up. Showed up to the soccer games I was invited to and life events. Prom nights. Graduation and the birth of my grand daughter.
I'm pretty proud of the mom she has become. And the woman that she is becoming.
Although she has graduated, a boy who is still in high school has asked her to prom and he is lucky she said yes. Jajaja. He seems like a nice kid.
They've been going out for a few months and I hope the best for her happiness even if I wish that she would raise that bar a bit higher.
She is robbing the cradle though, so, I guess I should be proud of that too. Jajajajaja.
I have two other kids but they didn't go to prom tonight other wise you would have met them all dressed to impress.
My kids wouldn't look so well put together if it

wasn't for the love of my life.
This lovely selfie just shows a bit of her rad personality and Rosco is just posing showing off for the pic.
She's an awesome cosmetologist and she dyes my daughters hairs and gives them amazing style as well as chops mops and keeps us all up to date.
She does way more than that really.
She makes plans and keeps them. She's a goal reacher. She works her ass off meeting above and beyond our needs.
She doesn't have children, I struck gold really. If we wanted kids, I would have no problem giving her some.
She is already an awesome mom.
I absolutely love her without a doubt. All of our lives are touched by her. She is beautiful in every way and every level.
I go to bed knowing that I am lucky as fuck to have such a woman beside me. True gold.

4102016
   Sunday is dedicated to the walking dead, however, if you're a fan, then you understand that the season finale was just last week.
    So the season premier of FEAR THE WALKING DEAD was tonight. Which is the same show just happening on the other side of our country.
    Instead of it happening on the East Coast, FTWD is happening on our West Coast.
    Funny thing is though, judging from last seasons finale, I remember that they were going to go all modern day zombie runaway pirate just off the coast of Southern California.
    So....
    For dinner tonight I smoked up this little fishy fishy.

   It seemed appropriate due to them being out on the sea.
    Surprisingly enough it doesn't take very long to smoke a salmon. Only 20 to 30 minutes if you cook it at 375 degrees.
    I smoked it for about two hours at around 125.
    It turned out awesome. Truth be told, it may have had a few almost raw spots in the thicker spots but it was not over done.
   Over done fish sucks.
    I smoke and BBQ a lot. That's why my lady and I are a great couple.  She makes salads like nobodies business. I cook meats, she makes great side dishes.
    We made stuffed clams as well as risotto and a side of sautéed zucchini and summer squash. 
    It made an awesome looking plate.

  I just can not figure out why I'm so heavy these days. Jajajja I love being clean and sober man. I would have never dreamed Of life like how I'm living today.
     Who knew that there were so many Aussie in the FEAR THE WALKING DEAD. 
     It's playing all over the world folks. They said so today on the talking dead. So if your not watching this, it's your fault.
    Get caught up on Netflix. So we can eat stuff and discuss this stuff.
    After I'm done watching this Talkin Dead Show, I'm going to go hit the gym so I can kill a little fat.
    Maybe at least try and run off all the stuff I ate today.
    I hope you are surrounded by loved ones enjoying some time and connecting. That's what it's all about. It's what keeps me where I am. Much love my friend. Thanks for reading.