Angel’s Fall

My Angel, did your fall weaken your will

To glorify the Earth as your sacred home?

With Saint Peter’s resignation forcing still

Your tormented soul to forever roam

Amid desperation and depravity

Of your condemned mate and his dark demons

Whose heart has been laced with insanity

Coupled together beyond clear reason

Fear not the loss of Heaven’s pearly gate

Unconditional love shall be your fate.


Motivational Monday Another Notch

I am sitting here now in an Atlanta area hotel alone except for the reflections of my recent past.

Last June, I was in the process of getting fit when I ran my first 5k race a few miles south of my hometown.  I thought it was a fluke that I even finished and felt pretty darn good about myself for it.

Six months later I ran my first half marathon and entered the hallowed halls of endurance running.  Again, my ego got boosted and again I found this accomplishment atypical.

This morning I am twenty hours removed from my third half marathon and sitting on a new personal record set during the Atlanta Publix Half Marathon.  I have finally concluded that long runs around strange cities with ten thousand of my closest friends are my new norm.

I have surpassed “fit” and have maintained “amateur athlete” status for nearly six months now despite less than perfect training and often substandard equipment.  I have allowed myself to indulge in sinful foods and gluttony for  the week surrounding my races because I cannot lose any more weight without losing performance.

I really have an awesome support network for this journey including my ever stoic father and an amazing girlfriend who calls me her “amazing man”.  Without either I could not have traveled so far so quickly.

When it comes to endurance running, no coaching nor any cheering from outsiders will surpass the decision “I will not be beat”.  The beauty there is that after the first long race, the journey becomes routine as does the thrill of success.

To date I have raced over 45 miles and am booked for another 9 miles.  I am entering my first run-swim-run this June which will bring the total racing miles on my sore feet to 64.  I am actively looking for an easy full marathon and good training regime for later this year.

I really love running as a hobby.  It’s not the muscle pain or absolute physical exhaustion that I enjoy nor the accolades from my friends although my girlfriend’s sweet smile is a very strong motivator.  What I love about endurance running is that I know I will not be defeated even though I am fighting once believed insurmountable odds.

And that new found self assuredness will carry me further than I could have dreamed.

One Hundred Days!

My Beloved,

It is absolutely amazing to believe that it has been one hundred days since you reentered my life.  Your twenty-one year of absence has been far too miserable.

Since then we have lived dozens of lifetimes as individuals and as a couple.  We have cried million of painful tears for the years lost and the miles separating us.  We have experienced previously unknown happiness at every chat, call, and date.

I know I am a weak and foolish man.  I can believe I will one day be stronger and smarter.  I am certain that together we can overcome all the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune life throws at us.

My Heart, there is nothing I will not do to demonstrate my appreciation for these last one hundred days.

On your whim, I shall sound the horn summoning Roman legions, Spartan phalanxes, Persian Immortals, Mongol Hordes, and Christian Crusaders to battle for your honor and glory!

When you request it, I shall travel to Saturn and bring home one of his rings so you may wear upon it your lovely finger.


If you ever desire a mountain home, I shall carry every last pebble from Mount Everest and rebuild it in Georgia so you will always have the choicest view of the Atlantic.

As we kiss in this Summer’s solstice, I shall lasso the Moon so you may always have the mariner’s beacon on your horizon.

You are a part of every last thought and sentence.  You are my first “hello” and last “good night”.  You are my alpha through omega.  You are my sunrise and sunset.  You were once, are now, and will always be my all.

Nothing existed before you, nor will anything exist after you.  My soul winked into this world after two decades of dormancy when you found me.  Now I breath fresh air due to the life you restored upon me!

You freed me from my icy entombment like a carbonite frozen Han Solo was thawed by his Princess.  I do confess that my eyes have were blurry at first with hibernation sickness, but with the approaching Summer sun my vision of you, us, and the future are clearer than ever!


I died more seven thousand deaths during our separation.  Now I am reborn stronger and greater than ever before with an unbridled purpose and unstoppable passion to be the man you need, want me to be, and should have always been during our missed time.

Baby, I never stopped loving you nor will I ever.  I have done so little to earn this second chance with you.  I be damned if I shall faltered this time around.  I would rather return home upon my shield than without it.

It is you, Sweetheart, that I am been meant to spend eternity with!  We have always been soul mates!  I pray that we are never again cell  mates.

The only thing worse than drifting alone in Life’s Ocean is to be paired with an anchor.  I know you always see me as your billowing stunsails, royals, and topgallants  that propel you forward at breath taking speeds!

Thank you for these first magnificent one hundred days.  If the Creator gives us only one hundred thousand more, I will still feel at a loss.

Like the balanced weights of Libra’s scales, we are paired eternally in the Autumn sky.  Our love will live on passed this epoch as some future astrologer contemplates his future upon our romance.
Constellation Libra

As always your humble servant,


Nowruz Mobarak! – Happy Persian New Years!


Nowruz – Persian New Year: March 20, 2014 at 12:57 EDT


The references to “Persian” and “Iranian” have been historically interchangeable. Legalistically, “Persia” refers to the the nation known since 1935 as “Iran”. Farsi, the Persian or Iranian language, word “Iran” translates to English as “Land of the Aryans” references ancient nomadic tribes that passed through the Persian millennia ago. “Persian” in current usage refers to a culture, a pride, a race, a heritage that traces itself back to Cyrus the Great. “Iranian”, beyond as a nationality, refers to a lineage from Mohammed and Ali the decisively Shia Islamic Republic.

What is important to remember, whether or not the individual is “Iranian” or “Persian”, Nowruz UNITES all in the celebration of the New Year and is a very distinctive Persian/Iranian tradition!

Celebrates the first day of spring a.k.a. vernal equinox and the New Year since pre-Islamic, pre-Roman, pre-Christian, pre-Judaism, pre-Hellenistic, pre-Achaemenian, pre-Zoroastrian Persia to the present day Islamic Republic Iran.

The United Nation’s General Assembly recognizes Nowruz to have been celebrated by the Persian people for over 3,000 years! This is approximately the same time period the Book of Genesis is believed to be written by historians.


Typically a Khouneh Tekouni, literally means ‘shaking the house’, is performed, new clothes are purchased, flowers like tulips and hyacinths are bought during days prior to Nowruz.

The new clothes are worn on New Year’s Days and twelve days of visiting elders begins with the conclusion on the thirteen day with a family picnic called Sizdah Bedar.

Haft Sin:

At the Nowruz celebration, the Haft Sin table is set out with the seven major elements starting with “S” in the Persian alphabet.

The items symbolically correspond to seven creations and holy immortals called Amesha Spanta protecting them.

The seven elements of Life, namely Fire, Earth, Water, Air, Plants, Animals, and Human, are represented.

They also have Astrological correlations to five planets Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, and Sun and Moon.

Traditionally, families attempt to set as beautiful a Haft Sin table as they can, as it is not only of traditional and spiritual value, but also noticed by visitors during Nowruz visitations and is a reflection of their good taste.

The original 7 items of haft-sin symbolized seven of the Zoroastrian yazatas such as ātar and asmān. The term was originally called haft-chin, to place seven. These items are Mirror symbolizing Sky, Apple symbolizing Earth, Candles symbolizing Fire, Golab rose water symbolizing Water, Sabzeh wheat, or barley sprouts symbolizing Plants, Goldfish symbolizing Animals, Painted Eggs symbolizing Humans and Fertility.

The Avesta which is the Zoroastrian holy book or Koran and/or a poetry book almost always either the Shahnameh. is placed as well. Shahnameh is the great ancient Persian epic by Ferdowsi written at the end of pre-Islamic Persia.

So when are we celebrating in Iran anyway?

Gregorian Calendar, a. k. a. Western: March 20, 2014 A.D.

Islamic Lunar Calendar, a. k. a. Mainstream Islamic Calendar: Rabi al-Akhir 25,1435

Islamic Solar Calendar, a. k. a. Islamic Republic of Iran Calendar: Farvardin 1, 1393

Shahanshahi Imperial Calendar: a. k. a. Persian Imperial Calendar – This coincides with the coronation of the first Achaemenid Emperor Cyrus the Great and was used by the Pahlavi Dynasty, a. k. a. the last Shahs or Kings of Iran, in 1976.  This year is 2573

Nowruz Mobarak – Happy Persian New Years!

In the Wake of the Hurricane


In the wake of the hurricane,

She is here.

The howling gales have diminished,

The mighty storm surge has subsided,

And the clouds have broken,

So she is here.

She is here amid the uprooted trees,

Inside the unroofed houses,

And among the shattered cosmopolitan flotsam

As fallacies collapse in maelstrom’s path.

She is arrives with the warm, moist, salty tang of tropical air

And life starts afresh with the receding tides.

She is Rebirth and the Restoration

Who is ushered in by the outrageous torment

Of poor choices and neglect.

She holds me and consoles me

And reminds me that I am free to breath again.

To My Endurance Runner Lover

My Beloved:

I do know you have a life beyond us. I am eternally grateful to be apart of it; however, I must apologize for leaving you on that cold, hard park bench alone for over two hours as I cheated with Madame Road.

I do know it must have been very  sad and lonely to have our great weekend together interrupted for a dalliance with my mistress.  The fact is that you and Madame Road share more in common than just me.

Madame Road expects absolute determination.  She is  forgiving for my sins of sloth and gluttony, but she also enacts severe repercussions every time I commit those sins.  Like you know when my heart gets weak, she knows how to to bolsters it with the tough love only you and Madame Road can provide.

You love me because of my love for Madame Road, as I am only capable of being the man you want and need because I love Madame Road.

Please do not fret my Heart.  With every daming footstep and hellish mile with Madame Road, I get only closer to you.  Her torment is worth every moment because at the finish line your loving arms are waiting for me.

Please accept my sorrows for abandoning you yesterday as genuine, but also understand that the isolation will be a frequent part of our lives together.  Every hour I spent with Madame Road adds years and immeasurable quality to the life I spend worshipping you.

Always your humble servant,



The Roses

My girlfriend is an exceptionally talented and passionate writer in her own right with an English BA; however, due to the realities of career and motherhood, her dreams have been sidetracked.  Last week, she shared this story with me that she wrote sixteen years ago in undergraduate school.

I pray that you enjoy this story as much as I do.  Please be forewarned that all but the most hardened souls will be in tears at the end.

The Roses

A joyful whistling could be heard echoing through the otherwise silent hall of Bayside apartment building 310.

The jubilant individual responsible for the noise stopped before a door emblazoned with brass lettering declaring what lay beyond the door to be apartment 8F. The once-working peephole was painted over in the same dull brown as the rest of the door.

The door opened with a click as the woman stepped inside the apartment. Keys and a small black purse were dropped on a convenient table. Black pumps size 8 were kicked off in the general vicinity of a bedroom.

Jayne headed into the small kitchen. She gingerly placed the package she had been cradling in her arms on the green tile counter. She then perched on her black stocking-clad toes and reached high above into the top cabinet. She withdrew a large crystal cut vase.


(image courtesy

The vase sparkled in the little moonlight that was able to filter in through the small kitchen window. She could see the small rainbows that were cascading off the surface as she set the vase in the sink. Jayne filled the vase with a few inches of lukewarm tap water.

Turning her attention to her precious package, she slowly untied the red velvet bow around the brown butcher paper. She spread the paper open to reveal the twelve long-stemmed red roses that lay nestled inside. Taking a sharp knife from a drawer, she deftly chopped of the dead bottom ends of the roses and then placed the remaining part in the vase. They stood up proud, interspersed with baby’s breath.


(image courtesy

Jayne took the vase and headed into the bedroom, stepping over her shoes, left forgotten in the doorway.

She placed the roses reverently on a dresser top crowded with jewelry, scarves, makeup, and perfume.

As she began undressing for bed, she glanced often at the roses. They were a perfect ruby red, thornless stems that ended with soft, unblemished petals that curled tightly into a bud.

Every time she looked at the flowers, she thought of the wonderful man who had proudly presented them to her earlier that very evening. She had met Gregory through a mutual friend and they were set up on a blind date. Normally, she avoided blind dates like the plague. She was usually afraid that the blind date would show her how much her friends thought of her. However, this particular man had sounded so intriguing that she broke her rigid rules for one night.

That one night had proved to be heaven on earth. They had hit if off immediately, laughing most of the evening. They had similar interests and past histories that made an instant bond between them.

At the end of the evening, when Greg asked to see her again, she did not hesitate in giving her positive answer. That was a few weeks ago. Since that time, they had seen one another every other night and most all weekends.

This evening, he had surprised her with the flowers. Since that moment, about three hours earlier, she’d had a little bubble of joy welling up inside her.

As Jayne slipped her sensible cotton pajamas on over her head and climbed into her over-sized Queen Anne bed, she realized how much she loved this man and she wanted to be with him for life. He was a nice stable guy and seemed just like one of the heroes from that best-selling romance novel on her nightstand. She reached over to one side and turned off the bedside lamp. Her last sight before darkness enveloped the silent room was the red roses set elegantly in the vase.

Every morning from then on, she made sure to look at her beautiful red roses first thing. They brought a smile to her face and made the day more tolerable.

Every evening as she laid down to sleep, the last view her eyes beheld before she clicked off the lamp was the roses. Their image seemed etched on her eyelids even when she closed her eyes.

The following days after she received her roses, Jayne went about her daily business.

From the hours of nine to five, Jayne was a bookkeeper for a large company. She had a small cubicle with a phone, computer and stained coffee cup emblazoned with the words, “Wake me when it’s Friday.” More times than not, her work hours extended past five, curtailing her limited social life. She caught up with friends over quick lunches and even quicker phone calls.

She had few friends at work. She spent her break time reading some steamy bodice-ripper romance novel, keeping to herself most of the time. She was not a snob, just shy almost to a fault. Before she’d met Gregory, she’d spent time daydreaming about her perfect guy. Since she’d met Greg, her image of the perfect guy seemed to mirror all of Gregory’s best traits.

As if was, Jayne spent more and more evenings with Greg. She saw him almost every night, except for those nights when she left the office in enough time to head home, shower and sleep for a bit before heading back to the office.

During this time, the roses opened to a full bloom. The petals uncurled, displaying their wondrous beauty as they opened into a burst of deepest red.

She never let a day go by without sitting down and gazing at the roses her love had given her. By this time, she just knew he was her one true love. She was more certain of this than anything else in her life.

The day after he’d given her the roses, Jayne professed her love to Greg. Nothing elaborate, just a simple declaration. They were kissing their good-byes when she pulled him close and whispered into his ear those three magic words. When she pulled back, he smiled at her and gave her a passionate kiss.

From then on, she told him often that she loved him. Sometimes it was included in her goodbye to him at the end of the night. Sometimes, it was a whisper during a poignant part of a romantic movie. Once, she mailed him a Hallmark card with a silly romantic message of love. She signed the bottom with love always.

Still, every night, she would check on her roses. Sometimes, she re-cut the stems or poured in fresh water. Every so often she would change the water or add a little cut-plant food. The roses flourished under her diligent attention.

The night she invited him to stay over, the roses were at the deepest bloom. They looked artificial, so perfect was their positioning and image.

When he walked into her bedroom, he never noticed the flowers in their place of honor atop her dresser. She knew he had other things on his mind at that time. Herself, she could not believe what she was doing. She’d known the guy for a little over a week and already she felt comfortable to share the most intimate parts of her life with him. But, he was her perfect guy, her mind would remind her every time she doubted her senses.

The next morning, as he swung his legs out from under the sheets, his eyes never fell on the roses on the dresser across the room, staring at him in silent beauty.

From that night on, he spent most of his nights at her apartment. She made rooms in the closet for his clothes and even bought him a toothbrush for him to keep in the bathroom next to hers. He started leaving more and more of his personal his personal items at her apartment, until it made more sense for him to spend most of his time there.

Every morning, she greeted him with a kiss and a profession of her undying love. Each night, before she succumbed to sleep, she wrapped her arms around his torso and kissed his ear, whispering how much she loved him.

She did small things, like leaving love notes in his briefcase. He thought it was cute, until one fell out of his day planner during a meeting with his boss. He was hard-put to explain it to his boss, later telling Jayne to quit the cutesy stuff.

She quit, but continued to show her devotion in other ways. She would massage his shoulders after a hard day or bring home a bottle of his favorite brandy.

Her days progressed in much the same routine. Any friends she may have had once had stopped calling to ask her to join them at a bar or club. She spent less time at work.

Her life became intertwined with his. She tailored her work schedule to be home when he got there. Greg had his own key, but Jayne liked to greet him as he arrived.

Her shortened work schedule sometimes meant going in to work earlier, but she made the sacrifices willingly. She often left the apartment while he as still sound asleep, one hand curled around the pillow.

Her roses did not receive the same attention they once had. If he had ever seen them, he never gave any notice of such. She herself barely gave them a glance, her time was so wrapped up in him. The water in the vase grew stale, but she never noticed.

When they had their first argument, dead brown spots had begun to appear on the neglected roses. The once brilliant petals were dotted with small ugly brown spots, marring their perfect beauty.
She never noticed. She was too busy weeping from the heated exchange that had taken place. The argument had started over nothing, really.


She’d been too tired to cook and wanted to eat out. He’d had a rough day as well and just wanted to stay in. Things had quickly escalated from there, until the finale when he’d grabbed his jacket and stomped out the door. She sat on her bed, letting the tears roll down her face. She went to bed silently that night, her back turned to the drooping roses.

Greg slipped in around midnight and they made up, both apologizing for the hateful things that they had said and both promising to never let such a silly thing happen again.

These midnight promises made in the heat of the moment were broken as most promises are. Jayne would become upset over something trivial or Greg would sulk moodily over a slip of the tongue. Sometimes the fights were small, sometimes not. But, the make-ups covered all the fallacies they were facing, or so Jayne thought. After, all he was the perfect guy for her.

Along with the rocky waters of the relationship, the flowers suffered. The larger outside petals were becoming brittle from the dry air in the apartment. There was some slimy type of scum forming on the top of the water, which was now a light brownish color. However, the inside petals of the roses were just as picture perfect as the day she placed the precious bouquet in the vase.

Their fights became more frequent. The only thing that was more intense then the times the two headstrong individuals clashed was when they had a passionate make-up session. These rituals of forgiveness were as intense as any barrage of words with which they pounded each other.

After one particularly grueling fight, he stormed out of the apartment, the door vibrating from his force. From the living room window, she could see him getting into his car. She heard the squeals as he peeled from the parking lot. She then slowly sank to the floor by the window. Placing her face in her hands, she sobbed. She cried for herself She cried for becoming so angry over something she could not even recall now. She cried because this was not supposed to happen to those in love as much as she was with him. She cried so much that she was sure her eyelashes would bleach from the salty tears. As she sat, crying over ugly words and lost chances, a single petal detached itself and floated to the floor. When she went to sleep that night, she never even noticed.

He didn’t return for a couple of days. She called in sick to work- they wouldn’t miss her, she was one of twenty bookkeepers who all did such similar mindless work it seemed. Jayne dragged about her small apartment, hoping and praying he’d call. At the same time, she was hoping and praying he was gone for good. But, that was a small hope. She didn’t really want him to be gone. Just the hurt.

When Greg appeared on the doorstep, any ideas about banishing him disappeared from her mind. Things returned to how they were at first- all sweetness and lightness. She told him daily she loved him and rejoiced being in his presence.

These loving and carefree days continued on happily until the next big fight. This was the first since that time he was gone for a couple days. All small hurts had been building for another large blowout. This time, instead of running away as he usually did, he stayed for a discussion after the tempers had cooled.
They both talked about how maybe things were meant to be. Inside, Jayne felt as if she was being torn apart, bit by bit.

The next morning saw empty space in the closet as well as a damp spot near the sink, where Greg had once rested his blue toothbrush.

Jayne panicked at first, unsure of what had happened. Then, the foggy details of the talk the previous evening were recalled. She imagined that they had a reasonable discourse. But, she honestly could not recall a single thing she had said. All she remembered was when he said they should maybe separate-after that, even his words were a mystery to her.

After hearing those words issue out of his mouth, all rationality within her broke down. All she could think of was it was over. Her happiness, her joy, her future was breaking down before her very eyes and there was little she could do to stop it.

In the sane, logical world, she was able to agree diplomatically that perhaps it would be best for them to spend some time apart. Possibly a short hiatus, more likely a permanent separation.

In her own world, a hysterical voice demanded to be heard. She could make things work, she could be more pleasant, loving, forgiving, etc. She could change for him. He was her perfect guy, after all. Her hero that she had read and dreamed about.

Mere feet away, in her bedroom, on her dusty dresser sat a vase full of mostly dead roses. While random chaotic thoughts chased one another through her mind, a cascade of petals began to fall from where they once displayed their glory. These dead petals were a dark red, like dried blood. They were contorted from their former soft curve shape. The petals caused the dust on the dresser to stir momentarily, then settle back down.

She was not sure when he had left. Her mind was still functioning in two states. On one side, she was civil and polite and probably walked him to the door, although she could not remember doing such a thing. On the inside, she was a raging, crying, maddening woman about to crack.

She wasn’t even sure when he took his belongings. She might have been in the bedroom for all she knew. She might have helped him pack. Her rational mind was fuzzy on the details.

Still, when she woke up to face the emptiness echoing in her apartment, she was of one mind. She had silenced that hysterical voice inside. A calm, not unlike that which befalls the ocean before a storm, was upon her. She had tightened her control on her emotions.

It was nobody’s business but hers. So, she kept it bottled inside. All that escaped her lips now was an occasional silent sob or hiccup.

She never noticed the vase of dead blooms on her dresser. The slimy scum on to of the water had turned to moldy sludge. A few petals were stubbornly clinging to the top of the stems, but more and more littered the dresser and the wooden floor beneath.

These things ‘she never noticed, not even when the petals on the floor crunched beneath her bare feet as she mechanically carried on with her life.

Life goes on and hurts hurt less, or so she’d been told by numerous co-workers and the few friends she had left. They tried to comfort her, but it was of little use. She was too busy pitying herself to allow others to do the same;

Jayne buried herself in her work, trying to forget the pain. She would arrive home at night exhausted, sometimes never removing her shoes before she hit the bed.

Jayne pushed the thought of him further and further into the back of her mind. At first, even a whiff of a familiar cologne would cause her to well up with tears of hurt. With time, she forgot the exact color of his eyes, the timbre of his voice as he laughed.

It was one bright afternoon that the empty halls of building 310 heard her jaunty whistling once again.

Stopping outside of her apartment, Jayne unlocked the door with a click and stepped inside.

Her keys she placed on the inside table. She slung her purse off her shoulder onto the floor beside the table. She headed into the bedroom, pausing before the neatly made bed.

She gently laid down her package, arranging it just so. It was when she stepped back from the bed that she noticed the roses. The vase was a mess, filled with dirty water, slime and sludge. The petals were either crushed, unnoticed on the floor or laying in dusty heaps on the dresser top. All that was left was a bouquet of stems and yellowed, drooping baby’s breath.

She grabbed a broom and dustpan from the kitchen and swept up the mess on the floor. She drained the sludge from the vase into the toilet where she flushed it down. All the dead petals, stems and baby’s breath she deposited into the trash.

She took the vase into the kitchen. Using a soft sponge and bleach, she removed all the scum, mildew and general sludge from the vase until it sparkled once more. She dried the vase off and brought it back into the bedroom with her.

She opened the package on her bed and withdrew a sunny yellow bouquet of daisies. Daisies had always been her favorite flowers. And this guy who’d given them to her was the perfect guy. She’d met Paul through a friend. He was a fireman- the perfect manly job in her mind. He was just like that guy in the novel she was reading at night, “Flames of Passion.”

Paul had given her the daisies that very afternoon. She was certain that it was love she was feeling for him. What other emotion could make her feel as if her every step was fighter. He was her hero, her perfect guy. That she was certain of, more than anything else in the world.


(image courtesy

The Truest Measure of a Man

The truest measure of the a man is NOT his accomplishments be it material, emotional, mental, or physical, but rather it is the journey he took to get there.

Bless their hearts, there are the fortunate who have never taken a misstep or befallen disaster.  Amen.  I am very happy for them.

Then there are others who have fallen into deep pits via mistakes or circumstance.  Those that do recovery are the real heroes.

Usually their successes are lower compared to others when measured in absolute terms.  When measured relatively against where they were coming from, those accomplishment outrival the dreams of anyone who has not “been there”.

Likewise because they have seen the worst life offers, they appreciate what recovery means and the blessings of what they do have.

I am fortunate to be surrounded by like minded individuals who have fallen and chose to get up.  Almost all my closest friends have lived before in the deepest pits of Hell be it unplanned teenage pregnancies, near death injuries, suicide attempts, addiction, obesity, or other personal tragedy.

I can see that look in their eyes today of hunger and invincibility.  They have lived the worst and survived smelling like roses.

I am very proud to call them “friends” and even prouder still that they call me “one of them”.

Sweet Persephone

Life returns every morning with her first touch.

As the barren Earth renews in Spring,

And sweet Persephone escapes her tormenter Hades,

I too am reborn in the optimism of her eternal youth

And greening meadows ripe with vitality.

Together the birds song is sweeter, the air cleaner, and the water purer.

The Summer’s bounty passes with Autumn and Winter’s approach.

We then part for eternal moments, days, or weeks

Decaying my soul, dampening my spirit, and weakening my heart

As I ride the ferry across the River Styx.

Damned to reside amid the Underworld’s darkness and despair.

I mourn ever moment away from her

And cling tightly to the certainty that she will return

To comfort my weariness and remind me we are never truly apart.


Fat Math


Me Mother was a Mermaid

So I just ran this link to measure my fat percentage.  In a nutshell, it told me that I’m about 12% fat.  I am currently 20 pounds of fat and 140 pounds of other tissues.  So what does this mean in terms of my 21 month journey?

140 pounds “empty weight” is a good number and maybe a touch high since my muscle mass has increased. Let’s use that.

On April 1, 2012, I weighed 264 pounds.  So a bit of math:

Old Weight – Current Weight = 264 -160 = 104 pounds of fat lost as of today.

Old Weight – No Fat Weight = 264 – 140 = 124 pounds of fat total on April 1, 2012.

Calculate my old fat percent:

124 pounds of fat / 264 pounds old weight x 100% = 47% fat or  half fat!!!

Now for some fun.

Specific gravity is the density…

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