Nowhere or Now Here?

Seeking insight, flailing madly to grasp
Wisdom and understanding as we move
Through our individual motile sphere.
Now dying as if poisoned from the asp.


What makes us wring ourselves in rending pain
Insomuch that we cannot breathe or gasp?
Worrying about things out of control.


Silence is the tool to be used as a rasp
Shaving off slices of time in a groove.
Here, now. Not then, not there. Work to be clear,
Relaxed, silent. Let go. Release the clasp.

Footholds

I watched her from the other side of the fire pit. When we caught each other’s gaze, her face turned stony and firm. When she interacted with the clutch, she was more at ease. She had no worries or concern. She knew her place in the group hierarchy.

The clutch didn’t differentiate between genders. Males and females had a place in the clutch that seemed to be a combination of skill, worthiness, and merit rather than the regular order of gender chronology.

The burliest male in this clutch was not at the apex of leadership. From what I could tell, he was somewhere in the middle. She, my love, was in the upper reaches of the group. She had rights and rank above that behemoth. He had to follow her orders.

Everyone in the clutch seemed to be able to submit ideas regardless of rank. The clutch leader was a middle aged man with greying hair that was cut short and slicked back with some sort of oil. His face, like the others was worn and seemingly sand-blasted. There were pockmarks in his reddened flesh. He was from the deep desert wastes.

He called himself Aes. She was introduced to me as Tersphaaret M’Peeri Mopia. She allowed me to call her Phaari. I didn’t know how long that was going to last. I may have just been dropped in rank within the pack.

Being an off-worlder had already put me at a disadvantage, but now that Phaari was angry and distancing herself from me, other members of the pack could be free to challenge my position. Based on past history, that meant anything could happen. I didn’t like being in the midst of unknown possibilities. It didn’t track well with my orders or my team.

Wilkins kept looking at me from underneath his helmet as if to ask, “What the hells?” He was getting nervous. I ignored him. I was the one who let me feelings get in the way of the mission. I had to find a way to fix it.

The mission depended upon our integration with the indigenous forces to defend against what was coming from beyond the solar system. The Sparq Legion’s cruisers were two days from planet fall and it was going to be hell trying to defend the place without local support.

The ball of dust and sand dunes needed to be secured. We needed the foothold. I needed her.

3. Clutch

I Write Things

I would like to say that I’m at the point with my writings that I don’t care what the public thinks. It’s a lie, of course, but I’d like to have that confidence.

I’d like to have my writings be looked at and understood to be meaningful in some way. I know that is not always going to be the case. I mean, they’re meaningful to me, and that’s important, but I’d also like to know that they’re helping others to think and bridge a gap somewhere. I know that’s my ego talking too (as supervised by my id in the need/want).

Too often, I throw my words up here and watch to see what sticks. A couple members of what has been coined as my ‘fan club’ are truly supportive of what I do. I cannot thank them enough. They take my thoughts seriously and recognize that there is true effort in what I do. It helps that they both write as well and understand the pains I go through.

There is little commentary on the work I provide from others though. I can only assume that they think the work is shoddy or it is not connecting with them. I would ask my family, but they also do not read my work, and to be quite frank, I’m tired of asking them to do so. I feel like I’m begging and that’s just not me. I’m not sure what they think. If I think about that too long, it hurts.

So, I go onward and put up things I find are worthy of public consumption. I put effort into writing the things I want to read. I put myself out there in metaphor and allegory and thought. But, so do many other creative people. I am one of many who do so.

At this late time in my life, I am of full realization that the culmination of any dream I have of making a true living (even becoming an international success) off of my work is laughable and even naïve. Still, there is hope, there is want, and there is desire, ephemeral as it may be.

There are going to be those who say to me, “Don’t let your dreams die...” Yes, I understand that the vision I keep is more important than the current reality of the situation. I thank you for your sentiment. If you like what I write, please share it. Please talk about it. Please tell me about it in some way.

There are also going to be a few who may say, “You can do it, look at me! I was XX years old and I finally broke through…” I agree! That is a bonafide success and I’m proud of you for doing so. Perhaps when I’m XX age, I’ll do the same. Perhaps it will take me a little bit longer as I have no marketing strategy other than word of mouth.

I’ve taken to adopting a more Buddhist/Taoist mentality towards all of it. It helps to keep me sane. If success comes, it comes. If success does not come, it does not.

I know that with every piece of work I put out, I get better. I learn more about myself and the craft. I learn the rules so I know how to break them (as displayed in my current poetry schemes).  I think I would like to keep studying story structure and possibly essays, but I’m currently in a happy place with the poetry and smattering of flash fiction that I write.

I still have plans to keep moving forward, don’t get me wrong. I’m trying not to stress about it – trying. There are times when an extreme melancholy hits me because I’m just a lone voice amid a cacophony of sound. I sometimes feel that I’m contributing to the chaos rather than providing relief.

I recognize the emotion and know it’s mostly a false front and a manifestation of fear. I get this. I know it will pass. I know I need to keep writing during these times. It’s the only way out. If I let it run over me, I find myself in a morass that is difficult to shake off. These are the times when I’m at my most vulnerable because the depression has a cascading effect on my person as well.

In these times, nothing is good and nothing matters. My upkeep goes to shit and I drift into a place where the light of day is more a grey wash that has momentary flashes of brilliance. It’s a place I don’t like terribly much. It’s not useful in the least except to manufacture more splintered fears and see myself as a failure.

Lately, I’m on an upswing. I push to write every day. I push to not take feedback too critically. I push to maintain calm and be happier than I was the day before. When I do fail, I know it will pass. I know it will not last forever, nothing does.

I try not to have too many lofty expectations of myself. I’m just a guy who knows how to use a keyboard. Sometimes wonderful things come out. Sometimes they’re awful. My goal is to draw strength from the characters and situations I write about and share that strength with others. My goal, as always, is to make a difference and let people know that they matter.

Like Diogenes, I’m trying to shine the light in the dark place to find the truth. Truth about me, the world, and everything else that I may decide to investigate. The sad part is that sometimes the truth is terrible. Sometimes it is overwhelming. Sometimes it is as black as pitch. Sometimes it is fear disguising itself as truth.

Life is tricky like that and sometimes I’m not so clever. What’s meaningful about it though is recognizing how I’ve changed whenever I go through the process. I can see the changes in how I tell my stories.

I hope you can do the same.

Travel

When the days are burning and the sand is flame.
When the sun shines down and dries you all up.
When the wind blusters through, baking your skin.
When you cannot remember why you came.


You lose yourself to the shifting landscape.
Ego lost as you take on an unknown name.
Throat dry, eyes crusted, heart pounding, so bright.


Soul bound and the heated desert aflame.
You chance it, rolling bones in a dice cup,
Living timeless, wondering what has been,
Knowing you keep moving all the same.

Of Burning Desire

In the land of the Djinn, how do you fair?
Do you wish upon their strength and magic?
Are you mesmerized by their power
As they split the sky, sundering the air?


Fierce, they are, these ones form the City of Brass.
Kindred of devils, mankind unaware
Of the true trappings of the bond they have.


Caliphates and Sheikhs use them for warfare,
Land and goats, wives and camels. Barbaric!
It can be tricky, in your darkest hour
Not to call upon them when you despair.

Learning from Sand

Slow pinpricks scuttle throughout my body.

My connection to the world shifting too.

It is not happenstance, it is design.

I wait, stillness likened to the wadi.

Wisdom, like rain, will soon come towards us.

The need, simple to everybody.

The understanding though, mostly complex.

Concepts understood, but to embody

Requires much concentration and review.

Defining battles controlling the line.

Before prayer, we are our own Kadi.

Coin Operated

Midnight. Alone in broken jagged thoughts
Wondering what passes for love these days.
Flitting, like smoke exhaled from poisoned lungs.
Do we all damage to be the hotshots?


Lights twinkle in false hope.  A scream echoes.
Sirens sound off, soon there will be gunshots.
A cat howls. A dog barks. I sit and smoke.


Homeless bodies die, lying in their cots.
Ignoring them is not the latest craze.
Told to climb the ladder -- can't reach the rungs.
Me, a whore for mere food, nightly jackpots.

Rites of Vengeance

Poetry based on keywords from @PoemCrawl.

My demons
Serving a master that is not my own
Crawling through
A dark devotion collecting my soul

Magic held
Moved to hold me fast in hypnotic trance
My soul bound
In movements of a kept secret in blood

September
Wisdom should have led me towards success
October
Ambition brought me to sacrifice though

Cants ringing
Around drawn circles and flickering flame
Held me strong
Bound, a mere thing for the summoning rite

Bone and flesh
Soft white covered in a dark crimson stain
Harsh breathing
Sounding off against ancient words and song

Beastly eyes
Piercing through the veil of what is and was
Gruesome maw
Starving in long-tailed demonic hunger

Heated blood
Born of exsanguination, flame, and blade
Bold hatred
"Vengeance will be mine," quoth I in low breath

Flame rising
Blazing in power, mirroring evil
Darkness moves
Seeping into my mortally frail mind

Tenderness
Cooling my fever, soothing knotted wounds
Lowered chants
A sweet delicacy to strange echoes

Madness reigns!
Nothing left of me I exist to serve
Evil smiles
My humanity in lamentation

Collecting Change

Awake! Waking in calm is a blessing.
Mind – ready. Body – willing. Lungs – breathing.
Simple beauty can be easily seen.
The world turns as it should and the birds sing!


Other times, the penumbra covers sight.
The song is deep and jaded with a sting.
It poisons our views, killing us slowly.


Breathe now. Release the things to which we cling.
Understand the anger. Feel unsheathing
And join in protesting the hate machine.
Hate to hate breeds hate. Love wins by loving.

NaNoWriMo 2016

I say, “the world does NOT need my novel.”
It cannot seem to recognize the words
That I do struggle with and publish now.
I will still wright though, down in my hovel.


It seems that audience is not found, no.
They wander, flitting from one to the next.
Fan base? Platform? None of this matters now.


Oft silent, making me beg and grovel
For my petty phrases ignored by herds.
It seems that they are not brutal somehow
To garner attention at that level.

Love, Baby

Putrescence in lollipop flavors: life.
Blood and puss streaming along the gutters. How
Is that what’s passing for justice these days?
Broken teeth, dead men, open tears, wildlife.


Black and blue, we stream this violence, eyes
Wide open and hearts aflutter in strife.
Can we even make a difference here?


Big heads, all smiles weave magic into a knife
In order to cut our ties anyhow.
We don’t need to think for ourselves, eyes glaze
Over: our minds only work to the fife.

Doctor, Doctor...

Don’t flatter me with sweet and unctuous words.
I’ve had my fill of such things from villains.
The sounds they make – the taste they have are vile.
Pretense, for damage is done, mere watchwords.


I choose to see, or not see, as the case
Issues forth. Pithy traces of my blood
Move downward seeking brief respite from you.


I’m left cold from your impression and herds
Of adoring fanatic gangs still in
Cahoots with their egos and hateful style,
Chirping and singing and feeding like birds.

Branding

TLDR: I’m more than you think I am.

The above is for the ones who don’t really get why I post things. They choose to see me in a linearly defined role. They have me branded as, “geek” or “sci-fi nerd” or “curmudgeon” or any other various names with severe stigma attached. Frankly, I’m tired of being branded as such.

I may have aspects of all of these descriptors. I may choose to show myself as one or more of them at any given point in a day. That is my prerogative as a living being that is capable of thought and emotion.

All of this shouldn’t be affecting me as it is, but the sad fact of it all is that it does. It is a bubbling mass of insecurity that has long been roiling underneath my skin for many years. I’m more than the “old man” or “the dreamer.” I’m not just the “failure” or “step-father.”

I’m not just the “villain” that I’m portrayed to be at times.

I know that these are the facets that are seen. I’m keenly aware of that fact. I’m aware that I’m often unliked and unwanted at particular functions. I’m overwhelmed with that sentiment every time conversation comes up and my input is often not heard or disregarded. You’ve shown me on more than one occasion where I have nothing to offer that is praiseworthy or needing of comment.

Yes, I got the message some time ago. This is why I rarely try to speak anymore when we all gather. I’m not as stupid as I look, folks.

I do not ask for your attention anymore. I get the fact that my passions are my own and do not carry any weight with you. I found it somewhat insulting when one of you told me that you’re, “just not into sci-fi” not realizing that I write more than sci-fi. I found it heart-wrenching when another of you simply avoided my obvious need with a simple, “I can’t read.” Still another just makes fun of me because there was a lack of understanding on their part in the words I choose to use.

Yeah, that one stung a bit.

So, I don’t extend myself or share my deepest thoughts with you anymore. I have opened myself up and bled for all of you for too long. I have forgiven many of these trespasses against me. I’m sure I will work up to the ones that have cut me deepest in time. I’m sure that you are doing the same for what I have done and have allegedly done.

Many will understand what I’m talking about, some may not – and that’s all right. As I said, I’m more than what I appear. I just carry the brands that folks have given me. While I can try to peel them off like dead flesh, they are still there.

I cannot change minds. I can only be who I am.

Zazen

Tell me what you see when you look at me.
Is it merely the outward appearance?
Free yourself. Will you always be so blind?
Do you even bother to try to see?


I am more than the skin on the outside.
How do you not know of my energy
When I exude it throughout my being?


Try sitting. Stillness can help you foresee.
Paths open up in silent conference.
Allow the mind to discover and find
The way to move onward through a stilled peace.

Life – A Posteriori

Photo by @black_canary02

From the Fog of the North they came, silent.
Seeking blood and bone for their unholy feed.
Weapons of fear and magic, they held fast
To ply into the living in lament.


Long forgotten, yet still found in pockets
Of remembered cants, these things of torment
Came to devour their lessers, body and soul.


Clutching for hope, we still fight devils sent,
Trying to remain strong for belief and creed.
Our vision is life holding strong – to last.
Yet, this life is short, we have to relent.

Dark Thread

Burning grief can be felt throughout lifetimes
Leaving an impure stain upon our soul.
Tainted scars show through, sleeping deep within
Bringing us to wish for the end of times.

Drunk in pity and angst, we succumb now,
Finding the darkness was carried at times
Through our actions, rather than from our past.

Here, in the simple silence of quiet times
We yank the thread and pull it from our soul.
Briefly we unravel, finding the dark in
A small, ugly ball. Painful? Yes, sometimes.

The Feeding

Hunger rises speaking in strange chorus
Through pangs of want, the cravings of desire.
Driven slowly mad by the smell of meat
And gristle and bone and sin. GLORIOUS!

And still, there is no satiation here.
The empty rumbling is omnivorous.
There is no safety in this weakened state.

Perhaps a rest from the chewing and thus,
A great belch of relief, rekindling a fire
That now burns twice as fast to a drumbeat
Faster than death comes. I, victorious.

Sparks

Living life, we move to shape what’s fated
Massing together a form that will shine.
Lost, we seek a shelter to protect us
Wholly from the things we’ve created.

What if? What if, though, we let it all go?
Things that leave us incapacitated.
What then would we do in fearsome respite?

Found in us, new capacity slated
To reveal to ourselves that we are fine
Even when afraid, broken, or curious.
The spark, when found, will leave us elated.

Divination

don't hear the words I speak, don't, don't do it
go on with your petty life with ego
you think you've earned the right to go through it
without consequence, unable to grow
ignore the thoughts, ignore the wounds, just fly
roar into that karmic chasm of hate
because it's fun for you to be "that guy"
roll the damned bones, become one with your fate
it's always been about you anyway
there was never a question in regard
tunnel vision is fine, now go away
find yourself behind the face of a card
there is an echo of humility
knowing you though, it is futility

Clutchmates

blood connections drive us all into fray
memories: soft, warm, rancid, cold, bitter
bringing us from the past into today
brethren create and destroy our litter
cruel loving and loving cruelty abound
attention whores and loners together
move to fight and fight to move in rebound
demons with us in regretful tether
try as we might to break free of these chains
they are part of us, chemical makeup
memories, freshly cut, bleed to refrain
to see them reflecting upon wakeup
family is not to strong to ignore
celebrations waning, "PEACE!" we implore

Reclamation

remember when we saw love together?

each in one another's eyes, time spent lost

could it be we thought it was forever?

only what we found was nothing, lent frost

chilled, cold as ice, bent, broken and crippled

darkened, black, poisonous in hateful spite

twisted, lost in a slice of time, rippled

messenger of Alberich, baleful sprite

movement though, comes revitalizing me

orbiting succulently, offer to

come again too close, vandalizing me

blood and bone and brain and heart hither to

seeing beyond the past, let ego rest

connections light, now beating in our breast

Crazy Isn't Comedic

My crazy isn’t comedic. It is not for you to pick up and analyze. It is not for you to tape together with strips of well-intended jibes. It is not for you to scoff at. It is not for you to misinterpret as a cry for attention.

My crazy isn’t comedic. It is not a case of nurture versus nature. It is not because I wasn’t hugged enough. It is not because I am ill-adjusted to society. It is not for you to judge.

My crazy isn’t comedic. It is not an adverse reaction to the medications I take. It is not because I’m not taking enough medications either, thank you. It is not because I am over 40. It is not because I cannot adjust.

My crazy isn’t comedic. It is not because I am an Anglo. It is not because I’m stuck in the city. It is not because I work in an office. It is not because I’m an artist.

My crazy isn’t comedic. It is not because I live in the desert. It is not because I eat too much. It is not because my sugars run high. It is not because I am the last of my clutch.

My crazy isn’t comedic. It is not because I dream of better things. It is not because I go without. It is not because I stand silently. It is not because of my stoicism.

My crazy isn’t comedic. It is not because I refrain from letting the entire truth out. It is not because I am accountable. It is not because I carry excess weight. It is not because I wear bifocals.

My crazy isn’t comedic. It is not because I am encased in adipose tissue. It is not because I can’t handle it. It is not because so few stand up to the darkness inside. It is not because I fear for the future.

My crazy isn’t comedic. It is not because subsystems are failing. It is not because dawn is breaching from a darkened sky. It is not because the world turns on without care.

My crazy isn’t comedic. It is not because I keep thoughts to myself. It is not because I have a love of peanut butter and chocolate. It is not because an urchin begs.

My crazy isn’t comedic. It is not because coffee gets me through the morning. It is not because words rattle through my brain. It is not because I can sense patterns in the air. It is not because a red shift highlights my life.

My crazy isn’t comedic. It is not because I meditate. It is not because angels dance on the head of a pin. It is not because of deep blue seas. It is not because we bless the Maker and His water.

My crazy isn’t comedic. It is not because I have attachment to the firmament. It is not because I feel. It is not because I see a larger picture. It is not because I travel forward in time at 60 seconds per minute.

My crazy isn’t comedic because I am human.

Contemplation

Of kin and kith
Of bone and blood
Of sin and myth
Of stone and mud

Of breath and life
Of text and page
Of stress and strife
Of sex on stage

Of fear and fright
Of smoke and rain
Of black and white
Of choking blame

Of bits and bytes
Of lips and teeth
Of tits so bright
Of legs and feet

Of space and time
Of sonic screams
Of pace and rhyme
Of chronic dreams

Of heads and news
Of whores and pimps
Of beds and blues
Of laughing chimps

Of cash and debt
Of magic gloss
Of flash and fret
Of tragic loss

Of wings and horn
Of cats and claws
Of things unborn
Of crime and laws

Of moist and dry
Of creed and care
Of choice to fly
Of breathing air

Of fangs and dogs
Of juke and gin
Of gangs and hogs
Of fluke and fin

Of candle flame
Of bleeding shot
Of brand and name
Of me in thought

Told

Told to follow my feelings
Told that it will not last
Told to not stop dreaming
Told to do it fast

Told to keep my chin up
Told to try my hardest
Told the wounds would clear up
Told I’m an artist

Told to forget about yesterday
Told to look ahead
Told to keep smiling and play
Told to keep my head

Told to toughen up my skin
Told to look around
Told to accept my sins
Told to be unbound

Told that my time will come
Told to shine bright
Told that I’m not so dumb
Told to be the light

Told to be in the moment
Told to be the man
Told to work to pay the rent
Told catch as catch can

Told to play by the rules
Told that life’s no game
Told not to align with fools
Told money’s not the aim

Told that I have to carry on
Told to let it all go
Told that I should meditate upon
Told to be in the know

Told that my age is too young
Told that my mind is old
Told to live and have fun
Told that my words are cold

Told that I’m smart and able
Told I brood and sit
Told I’m valued at the table
Told I’m full of shit

Told I should let my ego fade
Told that I can do
Told I should lay in the bed made
Told to drop the shoe

Told to take the world all in
Told to be the change
Told to throw it in the bin
Told I’m too strange

Told to seek and I shall find
Told that love won’t fade
Told to endure the daily grind
Told it from cradle to grave

Told I’m talented and skilled
Told that I do well
Told that despite feeling ill
I should run go tell

Clutch

She seemed to absorb the dark shadows of the cave as she stood. I was kneeling there with my mouth agape. I must have looked like a fool.

“Your Epuuc does not rule the clutch or what it feels. My pain is my own. I feel for the clutch and the clutch feels for me. That is simply it. There is no other than the clutch.”

Back on the Youngstown, I read the field reports. The clutch was more than family and friends. It extended beyond the local nuclear family. It was beyond the definition of social, casual, and intimate love. Clutch held an amalgam of deep interactions.

One’s clutch held not only brothers and sisters, but also fathers and mothers. It held parents, uncles, aunts, and cousins of all sorts. It also held more than familial members. A clutch could also contain the children you grew up with outside of the family.

The clutch also held lovers, past and present. It held people together beyond feeling and ego. Clutchmates were bonded for life even though their relationships changed over time. It was a mind-boggling net of connections. To my knowledge, there were no foreign clutchmates. We were not close enough to be included in the defining qualities of clutch.

“But,” I blurted as her boots scraped against the flooring, “Epuuc is clutch to me.” She stopped and looked back with hardened eyes.

“What is Epuuc to the air?” she asked. “What is Epuuc to the earth, and water? Does Epuuc consider his clutch before all others?”

“He is love and desire.” I fumbled with the words. I knew she understood love. I saw it in her eyes and the way she looked at me.

“Is that all?” She was waiting for the answer. “What does Epuuc know of the fire that burns slowly, but cold? What of the invisible storms?”

The field reports didn’t cover anything about invisible storms or cold fire. Her metaphors were lost on me.

“But, what I’m speaking about is beyond what is front of you physically. It’s a feeling that comes from deep within. It isn’t tangible. You cannot touch it.” I patted the cavern floor.

“Then it isn’t clutch and has no place here.” She turned from me and walked towards the others who were gathered around the firelight. I stood, confused at the conversation. There was obviously something I was missing.

I followed her lead and joined the others as well. Her smile was back in place. Some of the other natives nodded to me, I nodded back and found a spot where I could just gaze into the fire. There was something about that word that meant more than I was meant to understand.

The fire danced for me, drawing me into the flickering. The embers lit to a smoldering red as the slight breeze came in from the cave entrance. I sat in the group and contemplated clutch. Some of them were clutchmates, many were not though. These were my fellow crew from the Youngstown. They were my comrades, brothers-in-arms.

The word meant more though. It was some sort of intrinsic connection. All I could do is sit and hope the mystical meaning would come to me as I sat by the flame.

2. The Touch of Epuuc | 4. Footholds

Analysis of Blood Test

Today, I started with the concerns in my blood test. I put my skillset to use and with a more than perfunctory use of Google, I've come up with what I think is going on.

The next step, of course, is to formulate and enact a plan on how to get the numbers into the right areas and become a more healthy person (well, at least physically).

Understanding, I believe is going to be paramount in this. I need to understand exactly what is going on in my body and how it is working. I need to clearly understand what's going into my body so I can ensure that I am preventing what I can. I need to understand that want is not an option.

The line in my mind has seemingly been drawn and I need to adhere to it.

Onward...

Test Name	My Result	Acceptable Range	Complications
Hemoglobin A1c	9.0 H	<=5.6 (%)	Diabetes II
Glucose	132  H	65 - 99 (mg/dL)	Diabetes II
Magnesium	1.7	1.7 - 2.4 (mg/dL)	Diabetes II/Kidney issues-Nephropathy
Vitamin D, 25-Hydroxy, Total	21.8  L	30.1 - 100.0 (ng/mL)	Need to be outdoors more/Kidney issues-Nephropathy
Microalbumin, Urine, Normalized	137  H	<=29 (mg/g creat)	Microalbuminuria/Kidney issues-Nephropathy
WBC	7.2	4.0 - 11.0 (k/mm3)	White Blood Cells
RBC	4.83	4.30 - 6.00 (m/mm3)	Red Blood Cells
Hemoglobin	12.9  L	13.0 - 18.0 (g/dL)	Total amount of the oxygen-carrying protein in the blood.
Hematocrit	40.5	40.0 - 53.0 (%)	Percentage of total blood volume that are red blood cells.
MCH	26.7  L	27.0 - 34.0 (pg)	Calculation of the average amount of hemoglobin inside a single red blood cell.
MCHC	31.9	31.0 - 37.0 (g/dL)	Calculation of the average concentration of hemoglobin inside a single red blood cell.
Specific Gravity, Urine	1.007	1.005 - 1.030	Microalbuminuria/Kidney issues-Nephropathy
pH, Urine	5.5	5.0 - 8.0	Acidic. Need more fruits/vegetables/Kidney issues-Nephropathy
HDL Cholesterol	37  L	>=40 (mg/dL)	Obesity/Lack of Exercise

Yes, there is work to be done.

Blood Test Results from 08-27-16

I'm still Diabetic.

Some of the results here are not surprising, but I do have to look some things up and review what I'm doing to battle the disease. Significant changes need to happen or my body is going to start to shut down critical systems without my permission.

I'm not at all pleased with the results, but I'm also not shocked about them either. I need to undo years of practices and rethink the solutions on what I thought was working.

So... onward.

Test Name	My Result	Acceptable Range
Hemoglobin A1c	9.0 H	<=5.6 (%)
Estimated Average Glucose (eAG)	212	Not Established
Glucose	132  H	65 - 99 (mg/dL)
Urea Nitrogen (BUN)	20	8 - 25 (mg/dL)
Creatinine	1.1	0.60 - 1.50 (mg/dL)
GFR Estimated (Non-African American)	80	>=61 (mL/min/1.73m2)
GFR Estimated (African American)	93	>=61 (mL/min/1.73m2)
BUN/Creatinine Ratio	18.2	10.0 - 28.0
Sodium	138	135 - 145 (mmol/L)
Potassium	4.9	3.5 - 5.2 (mmol/L)
Chloride	101	96 - 110 (mmol/L)
Carbon Dioxide (CO2)	26	19 - 31 (mmol/L)
Anion Gap	11	4 - 18
Calcium	9.6	8.7 - 10.5 (mg/dL)
TSH High Sensitivity	1.79	0.45 - 4.50 (mU/L)
Magnesium	1.7	1.7 - 2.4 (mg/dL)
Vitamin D 25-Hydroxy Total	21.8  L	30.1 - 100.0 (ng/mL)
Creatinine Urine Random	41	Not Established (mg/dL)
Microalbumin Urine Random	56	Not Established (mg/L)
Microalbumin Urine Normalized	137  H	<=29 (mg/g creat)
Vitamin B12	391	243 - 894 (pg/mL)
WBC	7.2	4.0 - 11.0 (k/mm3)
RBC	4.83	4.30 - 6.00 (m/mm3)
Hemoglobin	12.9  L	13.0 - 18.0 (g/dL)
Hematocrit	40.5	40.0 - 53.0 (%)
MCV	84	78 - 100 (fL)
MCH	26.7  L	27.0 - 34.0 (pg)
MCHC	31.9	31.0 - 37.0 (g/dL)
Platelet Count	387	130 - 450 (k/mm3)
RDW(sd)	40.9	38.0 - 49.0 (fL)
RDW(cv)	13.5	11.0 - 15.0 (%)
MPV	9.3	7.5 - 14.0 (fL)
Segmented Neutrophils	63	40 - 85 (%)
Lymphocytes	25	10 - 45 (%)
Monocytes	7	3 - 15 (%)
Eosinophils	3	0 - 7 (%)
Basophils	1	0 - 2 (%)
Absolute Neutrophil	4.6	1.6 - 9.3 (k/uL)
Absolute Lymphocyte	1.8	0.6 - 5.5 (k/uL)
Absolute Monocyte	0.5	0.1 - 1.6 (k/uL)
Absolute Eosinophil	0.2	0.0 - 0.7 (k/uL)
Absolute Basophil	0.1	0.0 - 0.2 (k/uL)
Immature Granulocytes	0	0 - 1 (%)
Absolute Immature Granulocytes	0	0.0 - 0.1 (k/uL)
Color Urine	Normal	Normal
Clarity Urine	Clear	Clear
Specific Gravity Urine	1.007	1.005 - 1.030
Leukocyte Esterase Urine Qualitative	Negative	Negative
Nitrite Urine Qualitative	Negative	Negative
pH Urine	5.5	5.0 - 8.0
Blood Urine Qualitative	Negative	Negative
Glucose Urine Qualitative	Negative	Negative (mg/dL)
Ketones Urine Qualitative	Negative	Negative
Urobilinogen Urine Qualitative	Normal	Normal (EU/dL)
Bilirubin Urine Qualitative	Negative	Negative
Protein Urine Qualitative	Negative	Negative (mg/dL)
Cholesterol	127	<=199 (mg/dL)
Triglyceride	94	<=149 (mg/dL)
Cholesterol/HDL Ratio	3.4	<=4.9
HDL Cholesterol	37  L	>=40 (mg/dL)
Non-HDL Cholesterol	90	<=159 (mg/dL)
LDL Cholesterol Calculated	71	<=129 (mg/dL)
VLDL Cholesterol	19	<=29 (mg/dL)

As I mentioned above, I need to do some more research, but based on the Microalbumin test above, my kidneys are passing protein through my urine. This possibly means I'm eating more protein than I'm using or that I need to adjust my diet to decrease the amount of meats and increase more vegetables and grains. It's really a Catch-22 situation.

Gods know that I don't need my kidneys to fail too.

At this point, I have to absorb what is useful and store the rest for analysis. I have to keep moving forward and not let this bog me down. Knowledge is power.

My overall takeaway is this:

• Eat more greens
• Reduce fatty and processed meats
• Exercise more

And finally...

My A1c has dropped by .07 points in 6 months!

I know I need to do more, but I'm not going to begrudge a small amount of success.

The Touch of Epuuc

“Oh you,” I could see her face better now that my eyes adjusted to the darkness in the cave and the diffused firelight. “You say that without this ‘Epuuc’ you would not know me. What is he that is so powerful?”

“My dear,” I crept closer to her and took her hand, “Epuuc is one of the Primordial. He is one of the few that were spawned from Xaoc and because of that, he is within each and every one of us. Epuuc is the one who pulls the heartstrings in the dead of night.”

“His tunes are played and we, the songs are meant to be full of sound and joy. It is only through Epuuc that we could dare to understand the life we live. Without His force, there would be no love. There would only be the darkness and hatred that boils within mankind as a whole.”

“Epuuc moves that hatred into the confines of warpspace to live with his father, Xaoc. This is how the storms keep going. This is why travelling through the warp is so dangerous. There is much hatred and rage there. All of the negative emotions that Epuuc finds end up there in the swirling mass.”

“As one of the Primordial though, his Touch still brings about some of the confusion and pain of his father in the warp. At first the Touch of Epuuc is akin to insanity. It fills one’s mind with thoughts that ought not to be there when trying to maintain focus.”

“It brings about a melding of fantasy and reality. It fills your heart and soul with a fullness that cannot be truly recognized while in the moment. It is a flock of birds singing a silent song that only you can hear. It is a bristling upon your skin that only you can feel. It is all of this and more.”

I could see her brows knit together in concern. Her eyes drifted to the fire at the other end of the cavern and then back to me.

“With all of this, there is still pain?” she asked, her mouth suddenly becoming serious and her shoulders becoming fixed. I could tell that the casual nature of the conversation had shifted.

“As with anything we experience,” I paused, licking my lips, “there are different facets. The orbits around suns create day and night. The things we eat can be sour and sweet, or even savory and bitter. It is the same with the Touch.”

“It can bring about such heights that no starship could ever reach. It can also bring about the most depraved lows that would put any time spent traversing the warp to shame. It has brought about times of war and times of peace. It has brought men to murder as well as brought forth new life.”

“The Touch of Epuuc is tainted through perspective. It is the manifestation of our own chaos that we inherited from the Primordials when they created mankind.”

She let my hand go and made to stand up. Her face was frozen. She was back to being the warrior that I found in what seemed like a lifetime ago. The hard points were all in place.

“I do not like this ‘Touch’ as you call it. It does not serve me well.”

1. Provenance | 3. Clutch

An Empty Stage

We were there once, at the center of the universe. We performed on stage for all the world to see. The lot of us were young and powerful. We were charming and lively. We were the chameleons, changing to what the world expected of us.

Now though, our troupe has scattered. Love, once given freely is now horded. Camaraderie that was once unbeatable has been left broken and bleeding backstage. Power, once shared is now forgotten and put into phylacteries for display on shelves.

The memories put away and left to collect dust. It is obvious that our bond is one of those memories. Best forgotten, I suppose rather than cultured and put into use. I know that deep within your Cabinet of Curiosity, I exist as a mere trinket that you fondle on lonely nights. Other than that, I am a relic of days past.

Still, I would believe that even in our advanced years, you would not have forgotten our magick. I cannot blame you though, it was I who left the stage so many years ago. It was I that did not come back. I left you there to hold the limelight and the crowd.

I was dying, you see. I was in a decaying orbit around you. I was the shadow to your light. I always walked behind a step and off to the right a bit. You seemed to lead and I followed.

Well, that’s what I saw — what I felt.

I was the nobody to your somebody. I was just another body in the chorus line. I was never the star. I was not the headliner. I suppose I could have been happy with that too if there were enough crumbs being spilled my way.

But I made that fall in disgrace too, I suppose.

We appeared ordinary and mundane. We were anything but. We were the Lords of the Universe. The Princes of Time and Space. There were none that could stand in our way. Other than those who were there before us. In retrospect, I can see those fledgling souls behind us as well as those magnificent beasts ahead. We were on the middle path then.

I would not have guessed I would have to hold my own spotlight and carry the show. I’ve not talent for that it seems. I was apparently born unto the role of assistant, of chorus rather than talent.

Some of us are destined for greatness. Not me though. My duty was one of support. Mine was to make the talent look good. I was the clown, the buffoon. I was the fat jester to your lean kingly role. I was the idiot on stage for us all.

No one thought to see what was inside of me. No one thought to ask if I was comfortable in my place. I never thought to ask either. It was just the thing for me to do.

Now, all these years have been mostly empty because I still played the part of chorus when I was to be in the spotlight. I could not be my own star because I was never used to playing that part. Mine was of harmony and backup.

I had no entourage to support me and I was not skilled enough to put a starring role together. So, here I am, trying to fill my own skin and play my own part.

Alone.

The Touch and Sound of Daybreak

What do the Fates hold in the miasma of breaking dawn? Do you hear their whispering in the subtle glow? Can you feel their exquisite touch in the sublime peace before the world wakes?

Listen.

Feel.

Be.

It is here, when our minds are open and our hearts are calm that we can almost discern these glorious movements and our placement within them. In the quiet we can feel the connection. In the silence we can breathe with purpose and function.

As we tune into this slow and powerful wave, we can ride it to almost remembered vistas. The inherent and forgotten connections seem to reestablish themselves. Deep memories begin to open as we allow our energy to meld with that which flows around us.

And what I've discovered is that I am not just one in the world. I am many joined together pushing our entirety into a more wakeful and present existence.

I am not just the power of one amongst many.

I am the power of many within one.

Clan is Clan

I used to have a strong tribe when I was younger. We were damn near immortal.

We were formed during what were supposed to be our college years. The core group were together since High School. We lasted for years through dedication and devotion to ourselves. It was good to know that I had that tribe when I needed them.

I needed them a lot. I still do.

Sadly, I moved well out of orbit. A couple of times tribesmen came to visit. I tried to reciprocate. Electronic and social media connections really didn’t pan out. Conversations dwindled to quick hits and unanswered emails.

I’m of the understanding that this is how life goes sometimes. I don’t like it, but that is the state of this older tribe. Frankly, I don’t know what to do to change it. I don’t know if it needs changing.

I know I miss my friends, but it seems that is me living in the past and holding onto nostalgia. I recognize that sadness and I am coming to grips with it. I still think of my lost clan often and with the fondness that is typical of an aged memory and missed camaraderie.

They will always hold a special place in my heart.

Clan is Clan, after all.

Better Living Through Modern Chemistry

Glucophage/Glucophage XR (metformin hydrochloride):
Biguanide; decreases hepatic (of or related to the liver) glucose production and intestinal absorption of glucose, and improves insulin sensitivity by increasing peripheral glucose uptake and utilization.

Glucotrol (glipizide):
Sulfonylurea (2nd generation); lowers blood glucose acutely by stimulating insulin release from pancreatic β cells (beta cells store and release insulin).

Cymbalta (duloxetine):
Selective SNRI; not established. believed to be related to potentiation of serotonergic (liberating, activated by, or involving serotonin in the transmission of nerve impulses) and noradrenergic (liberating, activated by, or involving norepinephrine in the transmission of nerve impulses) activity in the CNS (Central Nervous System).

Lipitor (atorvastatin calcium):
HMG-CoA reductase inhibitor; inhibits conversion of HMG-CoA (3-hydroxy-3-methylglutaryl-coenzyme A) to mevalonate (precursor of sterols, including cholesterol).

Prinivil (lisinopril):
ACE (angiotensin-converting-enzyme) inhibitor; decreases plasma angiotensin II, which leads to decreased vasopressor activity and decreased aldosterone secretion.

Chlorthalidone (chlorthalidone):
Monosulfamyl diuretic; not established. Acts on the cortical diluting segment of the ascending limb of Henle's loop of the nephron (the basic structural and functional unit of the kidney) and produces diuresis with increased excretion of sodium and chloride.

Trulicity (dulaglutide):
Glucagon-like peptide-1 receptor agonist; increases intracellular cAMP (cyclic adenosine monophosphate) in β cells (beta cells store and release insulin), leading to glucose-dependent insulin release. Also decreases glucagon secretion and slows gastric emptying.

Lantus (insulin glargine):
Insulin glargine; regulates glucose metabolism. Lowers blood glucose by stimulating peripheral glucose uptake and by inhibiting hepatic (of or related to the liver) glucose production. Inhibits lipolysis (the breakdown of fats by hydrolysis to release fatty acids) and proteolysis (the breakdown of proteins or peptides into amino acids by the action of enzymes), and enhances protein synthesis.

Provenance

Our part of the cavern was dark and well away from the group as a whole. The firelight was lost in the darkness that reached down from the ceiling. I could only see the slight glint in her eyes that let me know she was looking at me. They drew me in as her confident voice, soft and absorbed by the cave, asked me for a tale of my homeworld.

“Xaoc was the first thing. There was nothing before him. He was a raging chasm churning with all of the energy of the cosmos. Within the folds and rents in time and space, he seethed like a terrifying but powerful child. Xaoc was angry, hungry, frightened, and alone. He was a mere shade of what he was to become.”

“As an unshaped mass, jumbled beyond recognition, Xaoc could not ascertain what was right or wrong within the new voidspace he occupied. There was nothing he could observe beyond the yawning gap that was his great self. His was an energy and body born of pure cosmic power. The wont and scope of Xaoc could not be contained.”

“The unstoppable Xaoc spilled over out of the chasm of his self and roiled into and out of voidspace. He was sheer might manifested in the jumble of all elements. He was the shapeless taking form. His birth from the nothingness of all could only be reflected in the great rage that he was feeling.”

“It was here that the wilds of warpspace were born. They still storm and writhe with that remembered pain of birth. They still heave with that unhappiness and solitude. They still scream in Xaoc’s great name.”

“In the void, Epeboc was spat out of the mass that was Xaoc. Epeboc’s darkness soothed the great beast and cooled his temperament. The tears he cried pooled within voidspace and Nus was born from the coagulation and freezing of this primordial liquid.”

“Bits of power were scattered from Xaoc and this thrashing fit of being born. These too cooled and coalesced into what would be known as Taia, Taptapoc, and Epuuc or the Land, the Abyss, and Love.”

“This is how my homeworld started. This is how everything started. We all exist in a fine line between what is voidspace and what is warpspace. Without Xaoc, we would be nothing more than an insignificant burp of soulless energy moving within the cosmos. Without Epeboc and Nus, we would know only the boiling of the stars.”

“Without Taia, we would not know the lands of planets orbiting the stars. We wouldn’t understand her gifts that she brought. We wouldn’t understand the soul of voidspace.”

“Without Taptapoc, we would not understand our own journeys through the void to get to the warp. We wouldn’t know what to fear in either the light or the darkness. We wouldn’t know that we were safe as he held the keys and chains of the beasts set to destroy us.”

“And, without Epuuc, I wouldn’t know you.”

2. The Touch of Epuuc