And so it begins… again. Another try, another gas, another gamble to reach out and set the world on fire. Each year that comes and goes is another wasted opportunity to spark, to unfurl, burn, and explode. If time was a short fuse itching closer towards a miserable end in a deadening haste- and it is- then the worth of my existence is the ashes that fall unto the dirt only to be swept up by the cruel winds to scatter and drift off into the ether. In other words, I have wasted my time. Not necessarily my whole life, for there are several experiences that have sustained me for the past 39 years. But in terms of reaching some sort of potential, some sort of legacy, I have floundered (“thrashing in the water, thrashing in the water”). And so I curl into a fetal position, consolidate, reach deep inside to awaken the LEVIATHAN that slumbers beneath the dark waters of my fears fostered by venal social norms, make a deal with my devils, shift the tectonic plates to spur the seismic timber of my voice, push out, unfold, and howl.  So, this is my umpteenth time to ramble on irrationally in an online journal, to add even more wasted space to the world wide web, otherwise, and from here on out, called the internet, to…, and I must admit here that I despise the word- blog. The word sounds so simple, so imprudent, so trivialized by society, and now that I think about it, in the grand scheme of life, it is, for who really cares what one has to say. Another’s words don’t pay the bills, doesn’t put food on the table, doesn’t sustain. No indeed, but words are loaded weapons that has the capacity to change the world, and, if so inclined, the Trojan horses that will dismantle the injustices fostered by a world mired in social evils. Not that I have anything important to say, or maybe I do, but such matters are better left to the beholders. From here on out, I will refer to the exercise as howling, for what does one do when one needs to get something of one’s chest- HOWL. And yes, Allen Ginsberg is a luminaire that keeps the eternal darkness out of my existence, so there’s that. “I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked.”

And why HOWL? Because I love to write! Ever since high school when Mr. Godoy sparked my love of literature with the likes of Herman Hesse, Aldous Huxley, George Orwell, Frank Kafka, and Ann Rand, I have wanted to be a writer with all the mettle of a rebellious spirit, to write something of substance, to write something that howled through the darkness like a “ghost train,” violently crashing into the “cities of dust” and tearing down the “pretty hate machine” that is society. Well, not society as a whole, per se, only the social evils that are indicative of a group of people coming together to build a social order to protect (empower) itself. And what are social evils you might ask- to name a few: corrupt governments and its leaders, corrupt organized religions and its leaders, corrupt doctrines and its authors, prejudices and its followers, elitisms and its disciples, nepotism and its despots, the caste system and its disease, and so forth, and so forth, and so forth. Humanity begets social evils, and the well is, well, infinite.

Still, I don’t write enough. I should, but I don’t.  I blame it on all the distractions that monopolize my time: a fulfilling career, a loving and supporting husband with whom the little moments are each eternities of bliss, a miniature dachshund and rescue dog whose googly eyes and wagging tails melt metal into molten mercury, the opportunities to vicariously tempt life and death in video games, books, films, and television, modulating the savaged soul to sweet, sweet, music, reveling and getting drunk on beer, whiskey, lovemaking, sex, punk rock shows, dinner parties, celebrations, bars, discotheques, parades, decadence, expanding my horizons in literature, art, food, different cultures, experiences, etc, etc, etc.  Who, in this bustling and hustling, crazy world, has time for everything? Who doesn’t suffer from whiplash only to realize that time is lost forever with only regret left to console one in the glooming? With so many choices to tune and get lost in, who has time for one’s passion?  Well, in my defense, all my distractions tend to be passions. So where does that leave my desire to write? Often times, I narrate stories and thoughts in my head, but rarely, if ever, commit these ramblings on to paper or computer screen. Such sweet poetry swiftly drifts into the thin air back to the space Imagination resides in, to disappear forever or to be reborn altered. I have several novels in me, all still and waiting to be born. Truth be told, I am rather undisciplined, uncommitted, and to be honest, afraid to fail. I am, after all, human with all the weaknesses that haunt humanity/civilization. Howling will be my way to expel these demons of base sentiments out of me.

Beholders, I begin my journey. Walk with me as I walk into the horizons, to embrace the unknown, to howl my soul out. “[I’m] off to Great Places! Today is [my] day! [My] mountain is waiting, so… [I’m] on [my] way!”