I belong to only me, silence for my revelry...

I miss the fighting.

Six ounce gloves, after a while the light, aerodynamic pieces of foam rubber start to weigh on your arms and shoulders like a load you have carried all day. The sweat rolling down your forearms, causing the fingers grooves to become nice and slippery, having to be readjusted every now and then. Velcro and elastic straps having to be retightened, refastened.

The feel of carpet under callused feet, the certain grip it gives after it has worn the blisters deep. The feel of it against your face if you do not mind your step, or don’t mind the leg coming for that nerve in your thigh. Canvas pants, heavy and sturdy, sliding up and down your legs with each bounce, stutter, extensions, and pulls.

The hair getting in your eyes, the patient rise and fall of your chest.

I miss the feel of my heart when I let my head down, when I came around to find Ricks rock sized fist bearing down on my head. Those shitty Velcro straps of his tearing up my forearms with each block. The look of anger in his eyes when I slipped a punch to his nose, even if I didn’t connect it. He knows I pulled it. Left to the head, feet already moving to step to the right, and a right to the kidney, step back, foot behind the knee, right to the head, left to the kidney, fall back.

Amazing the cycles you get used to.

All the smug faces on the first day of class. I’m just a long haired japanophile. Too bad this is a Korean based art. The look on the first day of sparring. Always Rick and myself as the examples. Rick’s a dangerous one, very little control, but a lot of knowledge and skill, even for an old guy.

Brick shithouse.

The smile I used to have when I got to help train the white belts. The apprehension on their faces. I like a little bit of fear. They just got to see me go basically no holds barred with Rick, and we always go strong. Nobody else will spar him, that’s how bad it is. The surprise at the first punch, the feel of their breath rushing out on my fingers, so close to their faces, the pupils dilating, the flinch, the pain that never comes.

I only wish I hadn’t had my accident.

Smug faced instructor the beginning of my last year, usual MMA build. Muay Thai, Boxing, and some jujitsu. I could feel him eyeing me up. Weighing in. Looking down. I never got to spar him. Probably never will, and most likely for the best.

I miss coming in to teach Thursday classes, and nobody but Rick being there. 3 hours of constant fighting, using the entire floor, swear pouring off of the both of us, damn near breaking each other so many times.

I miss the rush. The feeling of accomplishment. The gratification knowing that I can take care of myself.

The usual testosterone rush knowing that I can beat the living shit out of whoever.

Except one guy. I’ve been more than glad to spar anyone. Rick, insanely powerful, strong as shit, uncontrollable. Jeff. Tall, powerful, insane reach, very skilled. (I still feel horrible about busting his eye). Captain Washington. Short, stocky, quick as holy shit. Everyone else.

Then there’s Josh.
Control.
Theory.
Application.
I’m not sure that we’ve properly sparred, legs and all. 16 oz. boxing gloves sure. But that takes the speed away, limit’s the legs, and it was at night at a party in car headlights. Just messing around it’s kind of scary how effective he is. I’ve never seen anyone’s eyes weigh me like his do. It’s a bit invigorating, standing toe to toe with him, even half speed, just for locks and practice. I’ve got to properly fight him at least once. The only person I would ever really be truly…not scared…but rather…wary about.

We’ll see.

I miss fighting. And I miss my friends.

Kinda funny how that goes eh’?

When you start your journey, you go and meet your driver...

From Colorado to Nebraska to Des Moines to Troy.
Not a lot happened, visited the grand parents, let my baby enjoy the snow, and just drove.

Then Florida.
Oh boy.
Then Troy.

That’s about all I’m going to say for that.

So I guess this is the end of the ‘trip’ portion of this blog. 12,600 miles. 2,600 short of my original estimate, but when one does not want to be buried alive in horrific snow storms, one tends to cut some edges here and there. All in all, fucking amazing. I got to see the grand canyon, legoland, palmers, Seattle, the rockies, the sawtooths, Stanley, amazing places. And I had my epiphany. Ya know, the original goal, the one thing that would make me come out of this trip screaming and smiling all at the same time?

Screaming at least.

But that chapter is finished. It’s written down, and closed. Sure, I might elude to unknown events which transpired at that time, but it’s done with. Finished.

And now we start the final post.



My name is Brian Page. I was born and raised in Arkansas, and have met some of the best and worst people of my life there. I’ve spent my summers north of the yankee line, and have quite fond memories of it. Nothing like breaking up the monotony of rednecks with the laughable idiocy of high class ass. About nine months ago or so, I got fed up, and finally decided it was best for me to get out of Arkansas. I’m about a year away from finishing my college degree, maybe a year and a half, but I got burnt out, went through a bad relationship which I knew I shouldn’t have even been in in the first place, and all in all, needed to see a few things for myself.

I am currently staying at my fathers place in Ohio until I can find an apartment for myself and a full time job which will actually allow me to obtain and sustain said environment.



This is my darling. Mein leibs. What a stalwart and stoic puppy, putting up with my ass in a car for such a long time. I never thought I would ever get closer to a dog I’ve spent every single day with. Boy howdy was I wrong. The first night we camped out and she basically stood watch over me I knew this was going to be a hell of a trip.

And really, I’m not sure I could make this trip with anyone else. A wonderful companion, she’s seen more sights than most adults, and probably has more sense.

In fact, I’m pretty damn sure she has more sense.

But guess what? I’ve lost her too. Incapable of providing for the one thing that truly has relied on me, has looked to me for care and comfort and entertainment. And I’ve let her down. I can’t even keep my own fucking dog happy.

What kind of parent is that going to make me?

I like to laugh at the thought, which I first had about nine months ago. “This dog is the only bitch I need.” At least I found it amusing. Sigh.

And I can’t have her back until I have a job where I can afford a house with a yard and a fence. At least she’s a bit happier right now back in Arkansas, yapping her damn head off at the horses, ragging around with Cossette, mooching cheetos off my mother.

Evidently she mopes around by the door a little each day, waiting for me to come home.

And I’m letting her down again by not.

Heh, it’s like something instantaneous, the tears are automatically there.

Loss after loss after loss after loss. Nothing really ever gained except problems, complications, and responsibilities. Same old shit, just a different day.

Loss.















I’ve always told Einschlafen before I’ve left to go somewhere that I’ll be back. That I’ll come back for her. And I always have, without fail. Maybe Eins isn’t the one who needs me, maybe I’m the one who needs her, but either way, I love that little shit, and I suppose in a way, it’s comforting to know that out of all the shit that I’ve lost, I know that I can always go back for her, and she’ll still be the same, honest, loving wiggle butt I raised.

Well, this is the end of this trip. We’ll see how the rest of it goes.

I am an exit...I am an exit...I am an exit... I'm tired of being an exit.

We’re going to skip around a little bit, hold strong, but it’s kind of pertinent and straight in my mind at the moment.

What this trip was all about. Life changing events.

Sounds kind of ominous doesn’t it? We connect the phrase with tragic moments, bad things, tears…

Well, things just don’t change, do they? As I’ve said many times. Nothing surprises me anymore.

Nobody surprises me.

My heart has always been the worst part of me. It loves, it hopes, and it dreams. No matter what. The television, the games, the books, they all warn you, yet push you on to follow it and not your mind. Being raised on at least games and books, I’ve always kind of thought it was my duty to live as the ideas I admire so much, and to go with my heart.

My mind screams at me half the time. I listen to it, and it tells me everything I need to know. Every little quip and quirk. I’ve dealt with too many people in my life, too many situations, to not fill in the blanks everyone leaves out. I could tell you exactly what you did, exactly what you think, but I don’t. My heart knows the truth as well, but it beats. Love. Hope. Dreams. And I follow its rhythm. It’s what I do.

And it all ends the same way.
Because nobody has the ability to be surprising.
But it still beats, even though it knows it’s going to hurt with every single throb.

I knew the situation even before I came to Florida. I knew the past events that were never told to me. I filled in the ideas, thoughts, the feelings, from the looks in peoples eyes. But my heart beats. It wants to trust. And I drove. I followed my hopes here, even though my mind was telling me the whole story.

The one nobody surprises you with.

I respect the people who tell it how it should be told. Without switching the words around to make it seem favorable. Without holding back. Coming clean. But nobody does that to me. Am I an easy person to lie to? No. It may seem like it, but that’s just my heart holding words back. Love. Am I an easy person to fool? No. My mind works quite well.

I grew up to early for that shit. My mind is cynical and hateful, but my heart, I let it lead me. My heart will always be the little boy running around in the same green shorts for months, digging into the dirt just for the feel of it, and being captivated by that one darling person.

I love my heart.
I love my mind.
But they never agree.
Life.

I became a man last night, strolling through the fog. My heart and head snapped. They can at least agree on that.

My head snapped and said “Toldja. Down to the last detail, I fucking TOLD YOU BRIAN! And now I’m hurt.”

My heart snapped and said “That’s it. I’ve hurt you too many times, and I can’t take it again. I’m not leading anymore. Loving. Hoping. Dreaming.”

My eyes snapped, saying nothing, opting to instead play their watery strings across my cheeks and down to the corners of my mouth.

I guess there’s nothing boyish about me anymore. My heart kind of folds in on itself, my mind shakes its head in despair.

“He was a fool, but he was entertaining. The memories I have, the love I’ve felt, the things we’ve seen.”

My mind actually weeps for my heart. Maybe that was the only thing keeping me innocent. Maybe it’s what made me happy on many occasions.

But now, through and through, I think I’ve grown up. My body still hurts, my heart huddled into the corner of my self, shut down. Some things are just too much for it to take still, I suppose. I almost feel sorry for it. But my heart has caused me so much pain. Following it to women, places, religions.

My innocence is dead. My memories of fun filled, exhausting, boyish times have all been had. I…

Well, I’m a man now.
Following my head.
Never my heart.

All the decisions I’ve made with my heart have turned to hell.

I doubt there’s much to expect from the ones I will make with my head.
But that’s what an adult does right? Heh…


A house on a hill, comfortably made, comfortably lived in. A spreading lawn in the front, a well built vanity fence surrounding the back. Red shingles on the roof, green gutters, white siding, green trim around the windows. A loving wife. Laughing kids. A loyal dog. A good life.

Yeah. Boyish dreams.

Those are gone now.

Comments are open to all. What do you see in my eyes?

Believe in me, cuz I don't believe in anything, and I, wanna be someone, who believes...

Something hangs in the air, a heavy piano dangling delicately by a slender string threatening to crush whatever passes beneath.

Instead of a piano we have words, held back by a breath hoping for a better tomorrow. A breath which is corked by dreams and gagged under the threat of all that we have hoped for, all that we’ve planned, will be crushed by the words building in our hearts.

I refuse to delude myself, right Josh? No matter the cost.

Some days I wish I could though. For the happiness, the ability to turn a blind eye to problems, to not notice the little quiver on the edge of the lips, to not see the slight glean hovering behind someone’s eyes.

To not hear the full story coming through in quips and quirks.

To never break down again, to never have to question my reasoning.
To accept the shortcomings.
To accept how my life is going to be.

There was a point in my life, not so long ago, where I would think back, and picture events in my life which I thought were quite important. But I would imagine them as if I weren’t there.

Now here’s where perception kicks in.

I told him, eyes boiling with tears, that “I just think, sometimes, that things would just be simpler if I didn’t exist.”

And I find with each person I encounter.
Each person I fail to impress.
Each life I influence.
Each god that I question.
Each time I fail to believe in myself.
In others.
Every time I plan my future.
Every time I fail to be a good man.
A human.
A god.


I find that I’ve been right all along. But then again, maybe I’m here to cause disarray. Maybe my past life had shitty karma, and this is penance.

Ah fuck it, don’t come out and say anything about anything. I’ll find out sooner or later the words that never come out of peoples mouths.

Nobody surprises me anymore.

Wherein and herein, between us and near us, zero and zero, is nothing but zero...

Seattle was really everything I could have asked for. A tall, bright skyline, plenty of social activity, and things to look at. Not just big pretty displays, but stuff most people just kinda skim over now and then. The open air soup kitchen not three blocks from some of the tallest, flashiest buildings. Three middle aged men on the stoop of a closed down shop, passing a joint back and forth. A mass of holiday shoppers streaming into the crosswalks, hellbent on beating the traffic across. What’s the hurry? Take a hit, imagine how much you’d have to spend on Christmas presents or Hanukkah dreidels once you get the settlement. The terraced streets would put San Fran to shame, the close proximity each house is to the next, the steam rising from the sewers, the lavish Christmas lights decorating the shopping centers, the gleam of the streetlights radiating in through the windshield, the sheer activity of the entire city is…obscene, almost.

I love obscenities.

The things we turn a blind eye to, the things I’ve been looking for, I’ve found here in Seattle. I love this place. People are outwardly nice. But there’s an actual force behind it, there feels like there’s some truth. Sure, there’s a dick here and there, but for the most part, I’ve found genuinely good people in this city. The views from the top of the main streets is wonderful, the wharfs and the ports easily visible, the open air markets, the slackers sitting on the steps of their apartments having one last cigarette before they shuttle off to sleep, the hipsters in their uggs with their louis vuiton custom made handbags scurrying along to their next credit-crushing destination, businessmen standing around in their black felt trenches, cradling their gourmet coffee in genuine leather wrapped hands, the mothers and their children, the performers and their music, the boys and their girls. Actual people.

And us fiends with our dogs.

Feeling better about this already. Seattle is exactly what I’ve been looking for.

The Space Needle was a big disappointment. Never believe what you see on the T.V. because it’s tiny compared to the one in your mind. Ah well.



Freezing rain, have to keep the wipers going or else it starts to stack up, crystallizing my vision, but mainly, annoying the hell out of me. Back on the road out of Seattle the morning after with the snow piling up against the concrete barriers, rising well above my chest in certain places.



Eins was not amused with the pet area.



The mist started to fade slightly, but thankfully we were slammed right back into it near the north western corner of Oregon. A crystal white/slate grey world, visibility just at the right level to make you feel secure, restricted enough to make you feel important. Weiter.



Things flatten and clear, the night starts to fall as we creep along towards Idaho. Vast stretchs of white land, rolling hills, factories lighting up nowhere like a brand new sun.

We settle again for the night, a decent day of driving. Not enough pictures taken, but enough thoughts played out, situations assessed, processed, categorized, prioritized.

I like to be ready for whatever may come. Maybe someone will actually surprise me one day.

Heh.



We wake and zoom past Boise, snagging a few shots on our way in, and hit the highway north to Stanley. I’m not quite sure what to expect, except beauty. I am not disappointed as I gently guide my car through the winding base of the mountains, admiring the snow covered pines, and the semi-frozen river that seems to ebb and flow in time with my hands on the wheel.



This is peace.

I don’t have many pictures of my trip INTO Stanley. Why?



Idaho doesn’t believe in guard rails on mountains with a 15% grade and 120* turns. Talk about damn near crapping yourself. The view from the road on the way up and on the way down was astounding. One of those beauties that could captivate you, like the perfect set of eyes that you just can’t seem to stop looking at…

Of course, this beauty will send you flying off a god damn cliff and sure as shit end you quick. So we kept it to glances when we could.

We settled off the slopes and started cruising into the valley nestled in the sawtooths.


Wicked looking aren’t they?
Shortly after that nice little view we roll into…



Stanley.



Notice the population. Sounds like my kinda place some days. Quite beautiful, log cabins everywhere. We don’t stop, this is a rolling tour.



According to dad, this MOTEL is spelled out in dice. Jesus.



Guess who lived here!? It’s a historical site now, mom.



Lower Stanley, with lots of buildings from way back when.

After a few phone calls, and getting stuck in a driveway for a few minutes, we roll up Galena. I’ve got a nice big smile on my face as we start heading up, as I can’t wait to see the view coming off the other side of this beastie. I chuckle to myself as I ready my camera and look back to Eins when something catchs my eye.



GOD DAMN.



The summit view was nice, but jesus christ the sawtooths are beautiful.

Off to sun valley for the night, only to get pissed that every single slope in the area closes at 4. What a friggin jip.

More to come, no worries chittlin.