Let joy be my armor,
and courage my sword,
determination will be my helm,
and confidence my shield-
my mount will be initiative,
perseverance, my banner-
resolution will be my battle cry,
imagination will be my captain-
each day will be my battle,
each obstacle will be my foe-
each challenge will be my reward,
each victory will be my legacy*

‘Could have been’ becomes ‘could be’-
‘could be’ turns into ‘will be’,
and when it does, that ‘will be’ can happen-
with desire, it will happen,
with hunger,
and with want-
there is a place out there,
nestled between thought and decision-
a mythical place,
full of balance-
a realm where want and action combine
to form resolution-
a place where ‘could be’ becomes ‘I will’,
and where ‘I will’ becomes ‘I did’*

If you’ve seen the movie Predator, you’ve seen Carl Weathers.  He was one of the few guys on film that physically held his own with Arnold; in Predator, he played Dillon, the former green beret teammate turned CIA ‘pencil pusher’, a tough guy that fit the role and looked the part.  He was subsequently featured as the mustachioed star of the mozzarella fest 1988 bomb Action Jackson, and seemed to be a burgeoning action star, but since Action Jackson, his career has rolled downhill faster than an errant goat turd.  I hate to say it, but his resume is littered with generically titled schlock like Sheriff Tom vs. The Zombies, The Sasquatch Gang, Assault on Death Mountain, and Alien Siege; this is the same guy that was awesome as Rocky Balboa’s legendary ass kicking rival Apollo Creed.  I’m just saying that it sucks to go from challenging a Predator head on, to playing a sheriff in a movie about a Buddhist Kung-fu cop (Phoo Action).  Carl’s a solid actor, and needs to return to the fold.  Bring that bushy stache back to the mainstream.  At any rate, he could pursue a role as an aging hero in the next installment of the Expendables?  Who knows.  It worked for Dolph Lundgren.  Needless to say, the guy undoubtedly has loads more cash in the bank than me, so I know he’s not complaining.  He can assault Death Mountain all he wants.

The rain was cold as it hit me like a thousand beads of ice and seeped right through my clothes and into my bones, it seemed.  I hunched and crept forward slowly to the front of the rig, and peered around it to take a quick peek at The Beak to see if I could spot any sort of movement inside or out.  I held my breath and stood as still as I could, but all I saw was darkness inside; I squinted a bit and a few icy droplets of rain caught the creases that cornered my eyes and slipped down my face like a stream of tears.  I slipped around the front of the rig and darted to one of the small trees out in front of the place, and with my back to it, peered again to make sure I was still the only one out there.  I was facing the truck now, and it felt good to know that Sally was in there, holding down the fort and watching my back.

I’ve gotta say again that I was nervous as shit, but at that point, I was so jumped up on adrenaline that I didn’t have the time to be afraid.  I was just determined to get inside, check on Sam and get him out if need be, and head back out to the rig to make sure Sally was safe and sound.  Lightning lit up the sky and the thunder roared like God was ripping the sky open, but it was pure instinct and adrenaline flowing through me, man.  A few deep breaths, a quick prayer, and a glance at Sally as encouragement, and I pushed off of the tree and made the break for the front door of the joint.  The rain pounded my face and flooded my eyes like somebody dumped a bucket of water in my face, but I made it to the door and jiggled the handle.  It didn’t give.  Whatever else happened, Sam must have locked himself in…if it was even Sam in there.  I crouched to the right of the door to stay out of sight, and figured I’d run around and try the back.  It’s the only way that I could leave the place feeling like I did everything I could.  I tried to motion to Sally by waving my arms…I had to try to let her know that I was going to slip out of sight briefly and head to the rear.  Being perched out front like a sitting duck, ripe for a plucking, seemed like a plan that was destined to fail.  I don’t know if she saw me or not, but the longer I was out in the open, the longer she had to be in the cab by herself; I had to move, and I had to move with quickness.  I reached for my phone to try to send her a text; couldn’t have her worrying about me, so I figured I’d shield the phone from the rain with my jacket, rattle off a quick text, and then head to the back.  The only thing is, somebody was already back there…I heard the racket of footsteps stumbling around and knew then that I wasn’t alone anymore.

I was about to slip her into gear when I saw the flash inside of The Beak.  It was just a split second, out of the corner of my eye sort of flash, but any eyes that have ever seen a pistol shot would have spotted it in a heartbeat.  Even in the mess of that crazy ass storm.  I can’t say it enough that I’m no cowboy, no hero, but I ain’t the kind of guy that’ll just wait in the rafters while a buddy of mine gets his guts shot out.  My first thought was to call the cops, but seeing as I just left an empty police station, I knew for a fact that there’d be no backup.  No response would come.  All I knew at that point in time was that, for all we knew, a gang of crazies was roaming the town like a pack of wolves, and my good buddy Sam could be in The Beak getting robbed or taking a hit from some doped up schmuck.  Was I supposed to just drive off and pretend that I didn’t see anything?  Convince myself that it was nothing?  I’d never forgive myself if I did that…especially if I found out later that something had happened to Sam in there, and that I waited right outside and did nothing.

I did what I thought anybody in that situation would do.  Or at least what I hoped that somebody would do for me.  Was it stupid?  Probably so.  Nobody ever singled me out for my brains, anyhow.  I looked over at Sally and told her what I saw, and told her to sit tight.  She said that she didn’t see any flash, that she was looking down at her phone.  She pleaded with me to stay at first, and told me that it was probably nothing, but I convinced her that I couldn’t let Sam go down like that.  I at least had to see and be sure.  Sally understood, and I didn’t forget that.  Part of me just really wanted to get in the mix and find out what was really going on in that damned town, as crazy as that sounds.  I grabbed my piece from the console and flung the door open; the bang of the storm filled the cabin with a big wet whoosh, and the cold of the rain hit me like a hard reality.  I was scared, man.  Real scared.  If it weren’t so damned wet already, my palms would’ve been slippery as wet rocks.  I told Sally to grab hold of the slugger and to keep a good look out for me…I didn’t want some punk sneaking up on me and taking me from behind.  The wind was sending her hair across her face in soft brown streaks; as weird as it sounds, she was beautiful in that moment, and it was just the jolt of courage that I needed to head into whatever I was heading into.  I flashed her a wink, hopped out, and shut the door tight.

 

Born in the Caribbean to a French plantation owner and a slave woman, Boulogne was renown for his swordsmanship and athleticism; he also gained considerable fame as a composer and violinist, often referred to as the ‘Black Mozart’ for his musical prowess.  It was noted that he excelled at fencing as a youth, and was praised by his contemporaries for his skill and grace in masterfully defeating his peers.  During that time, he studied under several prominent Parisian musicians, gaining notoriety for his compositions and abilities.  As an aristocrat, he served in the army during the revolution, commanding a regiment of free black volunteers, and also led the ensemble of the Concert des Amateurs, in which he played violin.

Symphony Concertante in F Major, Opux X, No. 1

Behold two cheesy and melodramatic classics; 1953’s The Robe, and its sequel, Demetrius and the Gladiators.

A life as simple as the pictures that I stared
into as a child,
those clean cut watercolors and pristine woodcuts-
two dimensions of crystal trees and monsters
and shimmering castles-
two dimensions of lofty adventures-
glinting swords, and scaly dragons, and lovely
damsels,
and the muster of heroism that always won
each and every day-
there stood the proud hero, sword held on high-
there stood the conquering explorer,
standing tall beside his flag, fluttering happily
in the thin air swirling about the crest of some
towering peak-
the pictures opened up my young mind like
a heavy blossom-
they showed me a brilliance of color and a palette
of expectation-
I willingly lost myself in those forests,
never hoping to be found-
I purposefully immersed myself in those glistening
seas,
blissfully lost to the world-
life was 1 + 1,
and now it’s an algorithm-
I never was good at math-
counting the days was challenge enough*

I guess it all started at Miller’s, the gas station on the other side of town; these kids came in all hurried and frantic, knocking shit over and screaming, and one of them was bleeding, and they went nuts when the guy behind the counter didn’t dial 911 fast enough.  They tore up the place, went to the Beak, tore that joint up too and sent the regulars at the bar running, and somewhere or the other, the power got knocked out to the whole town.  That’s all she knew at that point.  She didn’t know if it was the gang of kids, or from the damned storm.  Either way, it was as dark as a mine shaft out there, and the town just kind of locked itself shut since nobody wanted to deal with all the racket.  I don’t blame them one bit.  I sure as shit wouldn’t want to tangle with a platoon of loaded coke heads.

Fuckers like that are so doped up that they don’t feel a thing.  Punches and blows just bounce right off of them like nobody’s business.  And you can’t reason with them.  But that explained the lack of cops; I’m sure those cowboys had their hands full wrangling up all those rowdies.  That made perfect sense.  She went on about what her cousin had told her, and her cousin said that we should either head over to where she was staying with her family, or just up and head out of town and keep on moving.  Either way, she wasn’t budging.  And she said whatever we do, we should be quick about it.  Sally said that her cousin emphasized the quick part.  The cousin said she’d been hearing random gunshots up and down the town since nightfall, and everybody and their grandmothers were bottled up inside, holed up and waiting for the official word.  Sally and I started to brainstorm our options, trying to stir up a proper game plan.  Sandy Creek was the next town over, and we sure as shit weren’t driving 50 miles that way, not in that weather.  And we really didn’t want to head back toward Harvey’s in the storm, so we figured we’d rough it out there in town for the night; we just hadn’t figured out the where just yet.