Valentine
And all the breeze of Fancy blows,
And every dew-drop paints a bow,
The wizard lightnings deeply glow,
And every thought breaks out a rose.
. . .
–Alfred, Lord Tennyson
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In Better Context
And all the breeze of Fancy blows,
And every dew-drop paints a bow,
The wizard lightnings deeply glow,
And every thought breaks out a rose.
. . .
–Alfred, Lord Tennyson
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Cardinal & Carnal (Directions)
It’s 2 AM.
The sky runs red...
There’s something about outdoor sports.
The kind that are on a field.
Things feel cleaner there. The dirt feels cleaner. Is that insane? I feel cleaner when I am baked in dirt and moonlight on a softball field. It’s all dust mixed with peroxide and blood…
That feels clean to me.
I’m pretty sure the dirt washes out the wounds.
The H2O2 is just a test to see if you can handle The Sting.
To see if you’ll come back for more.
Wear a kneepad next time and slide twice as hard.
To see how good you get at calculating your risks.
Whenever you take on a project, and I mean you are living and stepping to adrenaline and looking at as many dimensions as you can see right in the eye and gripping them tight with two hands and bloody knuckles because you have nothing to lose and therefore everything to lose; the cold streets staring you in the face…
Every time there is a point where you think you can’t do the job. The experience level doesn’t matter: Are you the master or the rookie? Who cares, son; in this moment everyone levels because they face the same thing and think: “I can’t do it.”
“I just can’t.”
It has been said before that what separates calibers of people is that, at point “can’t,” some do and some don’t.
Nike has made whole millions off that idea. (The shoe company, not the goddess.)
I will tell you, each time you do it? That instance doesn’t help you the next time.
You are here again and you say-think, “I cannot do it.”
“Everything I do is shit.”
“I don’t deserve it.”
“People will think I suck.”
“It’s too hard.”
“I feel like I’m dying. The wrong way.”
Then you do it anyway.
Victory flies with golden wings despite The Sting.
Sacrificing your pride on the altars of fear will always get you through; balanced.
Just don’t stay there too long.
Red, Shades of:
Crimson
Sharp Scarlet
Wildfire
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DRADIS Contact
Have you seen the two different versions of the Pegasus episode of BSG that are included in the season 2.0 and 2.5 DVDs?
Namely, I speak of the scene where Thorne attacks Sharon.
Episode Guide Via Wikipedia
I first viewed the aired version and then the extended and when it came to that particular scene, I was like, “What the—what just happened!?” Those few seconds make for a pretty big contextual difference, and they ought to just have stayed with one version because it confuses the context in parts of later episodes.
And why does Wikipedia keep calling her “Boomer” when that Sharon is not the Boomer Sharon?
Some nerds need to fix that STAT.
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Flawless Victory
Pulls, bruises, knots, scrapes, cuts, sprains and even a muscle tear later, I, a well-informed athlete, am still acting somewhat like a five-year-old boy about my body.
For instance, no one is certain whether or not I might have broken my nose as a kid and just kept going without reporting it (which would fit with my standard behavior). Traces of the hypothesized breakage suggest, however, that that’s likely what came to pass.
After all, most often you don’t feel pain until you stop.
When I was a kid, I only stopped for sleep, really. Or a good book.
Or maybe a popsicle.
Still, I’ve gotten better. A little. The “it feels like the world is conspiring against me shins” shin splint in my right leg became so unbearable that I took a week off from tumbling. I’ve been taping bags of ice and frozen peas to said shin all week in hopes of recovering usage. Last week it was bothering me so badly that I didn’t even want to jump. Tonight, due to the rest, things went alright. But no, I wouldn’t take Advil. I have a thing about avoiding medication until I have to take something. I don’t mind being sore and I’m working more preventatively. Especially since I don’t have a game and am not at war so the “sew it up and get through the next few hours” mentality does not apply.
That mentality is how I ended up with a terrible quad pull that sat me for half a summer season and had me in a walking leg brace.
See? I have learned a little something.
Tumbling is hard on your body (if you’re going to learn it properly). In fact, anything gymnastic points out all of your body’s weaknesses.
Your shoulders aren’t flexible enough. You need to work on that.
You don’t jump high enough. You need to work on that.
You need more core strength. You need to—
Yes, the list of what you need to work on comes on quick and long.
You will immediately find you are not nearly as strong as you thought.
This is good, however: Plenty of potential and places to go.
So tumbling is hard on my body. And in daily life I already turn up with enough random “where did this come from?” scratches and bruises and what not already. I found a thin, crimson scratch yesterday that extends all the way up my calf! Really, now where did that come from? I checked the inside of the pants I wore yesterday for traces of scratch-blood: Nothing.
So there's the tumbling and the daily wear and I don’t run enough now that I live in the smoggy city of tea-colored air (official name).
It adds up…
I have played sports and been hard on my body as long as I’ve been alive. I have a faint scar on my knee from sliding: Things of that sort. I wonder if, in the long run, I’m inflicting too much wear and tear, too much high-impact activity on myself. Will it haunt me when I’m 80? Or worse; sooner?
On the other hand, I’ve always been fit and good enough with nutrition, so I wonder if that will help me in the long run.
You can’t know, really: It’s a combination of both (and genetics). The key is finding a balance between fitness and nutrition without overdoing the job to some extreme.
Unfortunately, I go a little hard at sports. I’m not a Defensive Lineman or a mountain climber, but it’s not like I just show up and stretch in a safe, padded place and then leave, either. (Plus, one day I could be a Defensive Lineman or a mountain climber. You don't know.)
I have traces from living and always will. I will never be, or appear, perfect or flawless.
That’s something you have to make peace with if you’re going to live in the natural world and test your might, even if it’s only for a few hours a day.
You will get banged up on the way: It doesn’t matter how good you are. Sometimes those scrapes are trophies, sometimes terrible failures that you have to live with.
That’s what it means to play.
It’s not always pretty.
Especially on camera.
People in their element, however, are a different level of attractive.
How do you think Seal snagged Heidi Klum?
I think about the wear and tear off and on because there are a lot of regular, everyday actor-types who lack any of the sort of body damage that regular folks of all ages deal with: Not a thin trace of a scar, not a bruise, not a single dead vein, no sun damage. It's as if they dwell in some sort special house that wholly protects their doll-like selves, surface to display and tour the fine product of their safeguarding at some lunch or audition, and then return to their place in the secret museum. Perhaps this preservation stems from spending so much time away from the elements in theaters or the like. That’s one way to do it.
Mine is another.
I mean lets face it, as The Grizz says, “They’ll be the first to go when the mushroom cloud comes up!”
(I think that’s a comment on their not being able to fend for themselves or something.)
Last night I was thinking on this subject, (and how I can become a better self-medic,) before I read Arctic Dreams & Nightmares. Talk about stress on the body in the name of life and adventure: Wow.
Also, I am enamored of this photo.
Did you know that National Geographic is a non-profit organization?
Did you know that they put their entire magazine online each month?
Did you know that one of those guys lost a chunk of his nose to frostbite, but it later healed fine?
True story.
PS: One time I broke my pinky playing nerf basketball in my parent’s bedroom.
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