Having a father of mixed German/Irish descent (standard white-american) and Puerto Rican mother (white) has it’s benefits. I’d like to think that being a sort of mutt has many, many more benefits than downsides.

It’s hard to go into detail about the perks of being straight/white/male simply because it’s already so damn obvious here in the USA. It’s not arrogance, it’s a fact: I’m more likely to be treated with greater kindness by any branch of the government, I’ll make more money, I’ll have a greater chance of being promoted to positions of power, etc. If I was black, or more obviously Hispanic, or any sort of middle-eastern or Asian, I could be shunned from many communities. Hell, you could scream nigger in the streets here and no one would hesitate to stop. The few Indian men in this town are looked at as “creeps” simply because the townsfolk think they speak funny. All Hispanics are...

People are hopeless.

About three hours ago I get a call on the radio about a woman who crashed her car in the southern reaches of the county. She suffered a few cuts and bruises, a broken left arm and a fractured right leg, whiplash as well.

Southbound on a one lane road, she smashed past a telephone pole, through cattle fence, and then into a small pond. Her hood had wrapped around the tree and shifted the entire back end of the car at a 90-degree angle to the right. No airbag deployment, severed a few lines which had leaked into the water. She wasn’t too banged up, and sad as it is to say, if she didn’t weigh three hundred or so pounds she would’ve been killed.

We go through the phases of extrication when we arrive on scene: limbs stabilized, windows broken out, clipped the door off, and then pulled her out. Took a little longer than it should’ve, but things went as smoothly as...

Or maybe I try to keep myself awake. It seems like I’m tired every single day. It’s been like this for a long time, being so drained. I’d like to think of myself as strong, like most young men would, but I feel worn.

I have moments of clarity in bursts, the day otherwise piddles along in a sort of carousal scene with everything smearing into one big stain. Sometimes I wonder at what age it is that my body will begin to decay, because it seems like it’s started. My fingers ache, my knees grow weak, my eyes always in a state of crusted over pain, like waking up from a night of drinking. Conversations reach my ears, but they can’t pick up on what’s being said. I don’t know if this is normal.

People ask me if I’m angry since I’m always scowling with furrowed brows, so I give them a weak excuse. Really, I strain to focus my eyes, my mind occasionally slipping into a state of blankness. They...

I’ve been wandering up and down the creek by the trailer lately to see what’s out there. I’ve found a few squirrels and even managed to find a few deer tracks as well, though the rifle I have now is too low a caliber for something bigger than a duck. I had told my mother that I’d like to shoot for her a few squirrels so she could skin them for a dinner one night.

Earlier today I’d said to myself I’d stumble upon a squirrel out in the open. Moments after I start my little hike up the creek bed and I’d spotted not a squirrel, but a good sized groundhog. He was posted right beneath the neighbor’s deer stand, with a nest carved out into the clay, hidden only by fallen tree limbs. He dove into his burrow quick though so I let him be. I’ll have to get him another day.

Imagine going to a place that would be a paradise for an eternity. Everything would be perfect: food, music, the people. A place that someone could change through will to suit their personal needs, where time is nonexistent and the lifespan of an individual spans forever.

Now imagine someone telling you that would be a terrible place to be. I’m speaking of course of heaven, and the idea that an infinitely perfect paradise would suck. In a world with no bad, no risks, nothing to gauge goodness, how can one be happy? Infinite goodness is only truly good when infinite evil is present. How can one enjoy a sport if your team never loses? How can one enjoy a hobby if you can never make a mistake? How can one feel lucky if everything around you has been predisposed to your every whim?

Those would all be traits of a personal heaven though. That is a realm specifically for the individual. A...

I’m am entirely exhausted. The day has been one big scripted scene, where I move on autopilot.

After work I’d like to have mowed the lawn since it’s started to sprout big flower patches, but I can’t find the key to the shed. I don’t like looking out at acres of wildflowers and dandelions.

The air unit is broken as well, and although it’s under a warranty, the mechanic has yet to have come out to fix it. It’s broiling here.

My feet have imprints all over them from the little pills in my work socks. I love the feeling of peeling off a sock and letting the skin air out.

I think I might shoot the rifle by the creek a little bit. Or maybe nap since I haven’t slept very well.

I have plans to go to my step-cousin’s highschool graduation celebration later. He’s a good guy, but I hope they don’t pray.

Punks can be gentle too. Here’s proof:

I’m here writing before sleeping. Just putting down some random thoughts.

Got another job today; working two while working at the local fire dept. should be difficult, but I need the money. I feel a little bad about how other people struggle with money and job hunting, while I’ve got two that are five minutes from the trailer. I BS’d my way through both interviews knowing that there could be fifty other people shooting for the same position. It’s just working at a gas station, so it doesn’t really require any higher level thinking. Still, money is money. Till payday from either job (the other is a convenience store), I’ll have to buckle down and not spend a single dime. I am almost completely broke.

However! I watched a few videos online about how to make rings from coins. That next paycheck is gonna be important for me because I’m needing a few more tools in order to begin shaping...

It’s weird how some smells can flip a switch in the brain and elicit certain reactions from people. Typically it’s food, or maybe spices, or perfumes. Everyone has favorites unique to them, myself included.

One of my favorites is the smell of denim after cutting a few acres of grass on a riding mower. It’s a weird feeling that I think only a few people truly enjoy, but even my mother thinks the same way as I do. On a hot day, full speed, looking back to see how well you’ve positioned your rows… I don’t think I can fully describe how good it feels to look out at a big stretch of land and appreciate how perfectly trim it is. To get a whiff of your own clothes afterwards is kinda like a justification of a job done good. As if the mix of grass juice, gasoline, and sweat wafts into your nose and reminds you that you did good.

This one I find to be less strange, but the smell of people gets...