A World Apart

I guess there really is such a thing as a early Midlife Crisis.....except I'm determined to make it one that will be unselfish. Time to get off that horse and walk for a change. I may be right or just completely wrong, but morally I don't think that devoting the rest of my life to bringing joy and relinquishing pain to at least one person a day is ever going to be a bad decision. Male Nurses rock.

Magic Little Pill

So it comes down to this....My family, my girlfriend, my friends, and my life. Simple little things that make me happy on a daily basis. For the first time in a very long while have I finally felt like the planets have started to curiously align in my favor. Nothing special has happened yet. No special money, no double rainbows in my backyard, no winning lottery ticket, no hotels on Boardwalk, not even a "get out of Jail Free Card"! The only thing that I have managed to win this week is a little self awareness and a sense of urgency I haven't felt tingle down my spine in a long while. Mr. David Edward Canto begins another chapter that he himself hasn't even anticipated, yet he welcomes it just as much as he welcomes the fact he is writing in third person now. I have once again become the narrator in my book and the climax starts at the prologue.

The future is bright.

Alas my Hour

At what point and time do I have to remind you of the consequences that arrive due to the timely manner of your irresponsible and preposterous actions and lack thereof? To which conclusion I may arrive at this time is inconclusive, to what time I may arrive is finite. The books which align the many crevasses of a shelf are only periodically stable in correspondence to its reading hour. Every day has one blue, five to six soap operas and eighteen and a half chocolates. Nikola Tesla said it best, "The hardest part of the month are the last twenty nine days".

Camp Horno

Camp Horno in Camp Pendleton in California is a unity, a vileness, a loving mother, an abusive father, a refuge, a drunk, a diamond, a home. Camp Horno is a collection and balanced proportion of large neon green hills and valleys, poor drunkards, spell-bound warriors, a Post Exchange store, lovers with absence of feelings, run down buildings with bright red roofs and perfectly trimmed dead grass, a rifle range and a small but forgiving chapel. It is not a place where you go to rent or settle down rather it is a worn battleground that helps you cope with life. From the outside in, one would think this is where the poor unfortunate souls are sent to wither away. From the inside, she is what shelters us against nature,misguided mortar fire and civilians.

The sharp alarming sound of the bugle rolls through the valley cerimoniously every morning precisely at sunrise. That is when the cracked streets of Camp Horno come to life, as if it were proud to have platoons marching on them while it guides them to their new area of operation. From the distance, far up in the worn hills where pathways have been formed from hiking Marines, shouting and cadences of death, war and glory can be heard harmoneosly through the thick morning fog. The old cars are left alone to their abandoned parking lots which when artillery rounds go off, so does the car alarms and rattling windows. In the barracks

misguided Marines with too much time on their hands wander mistcheflsy around the broken down rusty red barracks with 85 rooms of impecable neatness. At sunset, when the air is crisp and the ocean breeze flows through the camp, the bugle begins to preach again letting everyone know Camp Horno needs her rest.

Most Marines who enter Camp Horno do not do so by choice. Although Camp Horno may be decieveing at times she will remind you of the pain during scorching hot days, bone chilling cold nights and the fact that it is located miles away from the nearest movie theater or Starbucks. Many Marines have checked into Camp Horno but many will never check out. Camp Horno does not believe in amnesty she only asks that you salute when you walk in and clean your boots on the way out.

Sgt. Canto, David E.

1st Marine Regiment

USMC

"The Answer to Everything"

The answer to everything, my friend,

is a question.

[Like] the pearls of sky and the blues of the moon.

[Like] the dark of day and light of night.

[Like] the unknown of the child and the familiarity of someone else's home.

[Like] the vastness of secrets and the language of a canyon.

The question to everything, my friend,

is your answer.

The Hero

Rise and rise again, until lambs become lions.

[chik-uh-n]

A boneless chicken! I feel like one! Back from gym, this time for real! lol Life is tough now at almost 28 in 2 months. Knees creek, elbows creek, everything creeks. If I stop taking care of myself now, it's really gonna be all downhill. What sucks about this is shopping, I just came back from publix and stayed about 20 min looking for the "right" cereal, when in reality you damn well know your gonna pick the same healthy one you always buy (But I can dream dammit! I can taste the Sugar right now). Funny thing about cereal is that when you were a kid, after having your 1st bowl, it wasn't enough, then the second was better, and by the third you had the biggest Saturday morning sugar rush your parent's money can buy (good times). Shopping isn't as fun anymore either. Before you would want to push the cart really fast and just place your feet on the rail and glide through the aisles (not looking at nutritional information). Cereal picking was a lot easier and funner too (hmm, frosted flakes? lucky charms? fruit loops?.. how about mix all 3? lol)

sigh... well I cant wait to have to kids now......
(because you know I'm gonna steal their food!)