https://www.podomatic.com/podcasts/jstolz2112/episodes/2017-06-08T02_10_03-07_00

So, this is very much related to my experience on Niagara and how I now evaluate mates.

Mates

What can I say, mates are an unfortunate

Fact of boat life.

I’ve worked with many

And in large part,

They are absolute shit.

Imagine the worst boss you

Have ever had.

Now imagine that at the end of the

Workday he drives your car home

And sleeps in your house.

You see the problem here.

You are never quite free of the mate on a boat.

Mates divide neatly into

Two categories of incompetence

And poor leadership.

One.) Academy Brats, mostly recipients of

Small vessel operations degrees from a plethora

Of maritime academies.

They know how to steer a boat (mostly)

But have no grasp of what is entailed in

Working on the deck of a boat (entirely)

Academy brats are the more innocuous

Variety as their inability to properly tie

A square knot is amusing (here’s looking at

You Maine Maritime) and they are slightly

More personable than hawse pipers.

Last hitch I discovered that one of our

Academy brats thought you could store jugs

Of orange juice in the pantry unrefrigerated.

You can’t make this shit up folks.

Two.) Hawse Pipers, I.E. Mates who worked their way up

From deckhand positions.

They know how to steer a boat (mostly)

And have a solid grasp of what is entailed

In working on deck (Mostly)

Hawse Pipers can be, and often are, as illiterate and

Ignorant as deckhands, meaning that they have all the

Personality and charm of a wet fart fired into my morning

Coffee, another turd elevated to a position of power.

What could go wrong? How are these people in charge of me?

They spend the majority of their time telling deckhands

How much better they were on deck in their day

And how much worse they had it.

The nautical equivalent of your dads “I walked uphill

Both ways to school, and it was always winter, and I had

Only bread bags for shoes.” And, Just like dad’s story,

It’s all bullshit.

One of our hawse pipe mates in particular loves to talk

About how we deckhands these days don’t have any

Pride in anything we do anymore.

He must weigh three hundred pounds, I find that ironic.

The man turned what could have been a perfectly tuned

Ferrari into the smoking aftermath of a demolition derby.

And still you comment on how we don’t have pride in anything.

You destroyed the physical vessel in which your worthless

Spirit must reside for all of your days on this earth.

Don’t you dare presume to speak to me on pride.

My name literally means it, and compared to you my body

Shows it.

In six years working on boats

I’ve known only two good mates.

Authoritative, fair, personable, kind,

Reasonable, compassionate, competent, and professional.

Through these traits and their refusal to project their bad treatment

As deckhands onto to their crew they showed me what to be when

I become a mate.

Someday we will break the cycle.

P.S. It's not that hard to become one of you.

What I Know

The other day you told me

That I knew everything and

That you loved it.

I think it was because I knew

That Iranians speak Farsi and are

Not considered an Arab People.

I think this came up because

We were discussing the nationality

Of Khalil Gibran. (He was Lebanese in case

You didn’t know. I didn’t.)

Yes I know a lot of things,

But foremost amongst these things

That I know is that despite all of them

I don’t know that much.

Largely I’ve absorbed things

That much cleverer people than I

Have figured out originally, before

The age of google.

Not particularly flattering to myself

I know, but it’s a huge timesaver.

Regardless of my semi smart status

In this simian society I’m glad that you

Like that I know things. I’m glad you

Know things too.

Right now, paddling languidly about

On this freighter off the coast of Milwaukee

Here is what I know.

I know that I like the way your hair smells

And the way your lips taste.

I know that despite this I don’t

Know you that well.

I know that I want to get

To know you better.

I know that this job makes

Having a ground presence with the

People and things that are important

To you harder than it should be.

I know that this sucks.

I know I can take it.

I know I will be home again soon.

I know that no matter how distant,

My friends and family will be

There when I get back.

I know that I will always come back.

So, I'm using my mobile hotspot to upload this from Lake Michigan.

It's rough but I had fun with it.

 After 32 days on the lakes

Im gonna come off this motherfucker

Like a wild eyed whirlwind.

I’ve got 32 days worth of

Living to do and only 14

Days to do it in.

My ships come in so

You better get on board

Or get out of the way.

I want to run through these woods

Feeling the soft green brown things

Under my boot soles and feet.

No more steel or concrete.

I’m just a straight shooting

Coyote chasing

Fish getttin, ill rhyme spitting

Cracker ass son of bitch and I am here to

Show you that none of this is synonymous

With bigot, or racist, but how to say it?

Let me consult the sky.

I follow the movement waiting for the

Crack, the split, the aperture, the opening.

Yes! Show me, bathe me in the immaculate

Light that I might share your beauty and might.

As I wait I think about how tired I have

Grown of being portrayed as a beast.

I am not a savage force to be controlled

I am love to be unleashed.

WAIT! The light! The light!

There it is!

 We are universally applicable,

Transmutable,

Evolvable,

Immortal,

Integratable

Optimizable,

Fully upgradable,

Totally limitless beings whose true nature is love.

Difference and alienation are only created

Innovated by those wishing us to remain divided

Separated from the whole, the love, the peace

That is our birthright.

Thank You.

On the way out of the woods

I decided to go home and lose my mind

And by mind I mean something that

Is not mine.

Seeking stillness to

Rid myself of the film,

The filth, the sediment

Obscuring the third eye lense.

Not mine but theirs,

Impure, unnecessary, malignant,

Obfuscating my perspective

Of this wholly subjective.

The stiller I become

The closer to the achievement

Of the objective.

Peace.

Give me peace in stillness

Lift me from the illusion

Unleash me from the bullshit

Bring me to conclusion.

So it's been a while. Don't know what to call this yet.
As usual, this has been edited very little if any.
The reading tempo should be quick.

She reminded me that there are

Beautiful women out there and

Finding them is as simple as saying

Would like to meet me for drinks

At molly’s at seven thirty?

She also reminded me that

You have to piss with the peeter

God gave you and sometimes that

Is not a peeter at all.

Have I introduced you to my St. Peter?

He watches over my pearly gates.

I’ve pushed more peeter more sweeter

More completer than any peeter pusher

You ever met, fuck all those other guys,

Andrew

Bartholomew

James the Elder

James the Younger

John

Jude

Judas

Matthew

Phillip

Simon and

Thomas

I met you for the new Bond flick

At 6:15, I was late on account of the state

Of my hair, intransigent.

It said Fuck you Jeremy and your

Plans for making me look nice.

I am tired of remaining smashed

Under a hard hat unseen.

Unseen I wish I could have remained

As I said hello to that red bearded spectre

From my past while he stood in the movie

Theatre mens room peeter in hand.

I’ve got to hand it to you red beard,

You’ve improved, I talked a lot of shit

But I always thought you had the potential

To be the third good mate, sounds like

You’re close.

Close, get close, don’t the blue eyes

Scare you off, logically you know she wants the

Lip to lip, hence all the exploratory arm touch

Awkward close posture rigamorol.

When lips hit lips I let the thought quit.

Feels good, feels nice, do it again,

Once, twice, thrice until the credits roll

Then get it back under control

Out of the darkness, into the light.

Let the door slam on Hope

Then talk awkwardly for a second

Re-inviting her presence into your life

With Sydnee as bystander to the social samba.

After the drive back you awkwardly

Debated what should happen next and

Bravely decided to invite me in.

I’m glad because that means I got to

Watch that thing wiggle up the steps.

What a monument to the skill of the immortal

Architect, heart shaped, plump, ivory, pliable

Marble masterpiece.

(yes this line is about your ass.)

At the top you remarked on how hard I was to reach,

Too tall for easy access, don’t worry, I’ll come to

I want this too.

On the couch you remark on how it makes

You slouch, but no matter I just want to lean in

And get close.

The ladies at work say no no no this

Can’t work, watch out for sailors, they’re

Trouble and he might be gay. But you checked

With my St. Peter and he is totally buying

The gospel you be preaching.

Thus instigated my hands get motivated

But you stopped me and stated, I’m not

Going to fuck you. I don’t miss a beat

Saying I’m not going to fuck you either

And it takes two to tango.

Those that fuck on the second date

Are either heart breakers or get heart broken

And there is something wrong with both

Until now unspoken.

Lack of love for self or love for others

And we have neither.

And now despite that ass too much time

Has passed and I must leave you in the

Grace and mercy of our lord.

Please excuse the popcorn that fell on the floor.

Some would say this poem is over

But I think there is always more.

Fortress

Cultivate a strong mental attitude.

The framework of a citadel,
A keep, a fortress.

Make your inner serenity
So imperturbable as to
Silence the white noise
Empty drone of this world.

The empty products.
The empty jobs.
The empty people.

With enough dedication
And proper decisions
At the hard places.
At the broken places.
At the poignant places of
Great sadness and loneliness
Only the good,
The noble,
The uplifting,
The loyal,
The long suffering,
And the righteous,
Will ever be permitted to enter

Not A Bluebird      4/20/2015

There is not a blue bird
but a dragon in my heart.
And no matter how I try
he comes out when he likes,
unbidden.

He shows others his
blackness and rage
and drives them away.

No matter my effort
I cannot keep him within
and the cost is more than I
can bear.

It costs in loss the dragon.
Loss of all the people and things
I love.
Slowly,
inexorably,
he takes it all.

Though not a Bluebird,
he weeps like one.

But I dont weep.

Do you?

Untitled

Most of all I will remember
the GIANT stinking shit you dropped,
Which clogged the toilet.

You left if there for me to clean up.

Freedom

So I suppose that freedom
Unbidden or not,
Is always a blessing.

Also,

My body cannot be slain by wheat...

heart upon firing line

What do I feel?
Can even the wordsmith
ply his craft cleverly
enough to describe this?

I imagine this is what
it feels like to be shot
center mass, point blank,
emotional ten ring.

Savage, penetrating trauma,
liquefying the innermost reaches
of all that was once so bright,
and full of hope, love, tenderness.

The remnant expelled
with brutal disregard
upon the walls of this home
which was once ours.

All that remains in your wake,
effluvial portrait of heartbreak
on cold white.

So it has been a while, time for a new post.

Introduction

Throughout my employment in the maritime industry I have encountered frequent usage of the term “common sense.” I currently work on towboats on the Ohio river and have had the term leveled at me much less frequently here than while still decking on tall ships. It seems that work boats are much less prone to elitism and swaggering egos than anything made of wood with some canvas, sticks, and string attached. These components foster, at least in my experience, the need for people who are otherwise unremarkable to bludgeon those less knowledgeable over the head with their arcane skill set and nautical background. While this is being done, the term common sense is frequently invoked. I have often heard it said that decking on tall ships, and the skills requisite to do so, are “common sense.”  This is a problem much less frequently on work boats, but it does still happen.

Over the course of my last hitch I worked with one of the captains  who  has used the “all of this work is common sense”  accusation to imply that I, or other deckhands, were lacking in some inate ability common in the entire human populace because I did not understand something he was instructing me to do.  That being said, this particular captain has been working on tow boats for thirty eight years. This prompted a few thoughts about both the explicit, and nuanced cultural definition and usage of the term common sense. I believe that individuals in maritime culture misappropriate the term for the purpose of self aggrandizement.  Let’s start with some definitions.

Definitions

Common: (adj) 1.) Belonging to, or shared by two or more people. 2.) done by many people. 3.) Occuring or appearing frequently. 4.) not rare.

Sense: (Noun) most applicable definitions being, 1.) Capacity for effective application of the powers of the mind as a basis for action or response. 2.) Sound mental capacity and understanding typically marked by shrewdness or practicality.

These definitions are taken from the Merriam Webster Dictionary which also contains a discussion of the term common sense. In this section it is stated that the term common sense, “suggests an average degree of such ability without sophistication or special knowledge.” Note my emphasis on without, and special knowledge. Maritime culture takes at face value a definition of common sense that simply smashes two words together, making no allowance for a nuanced standpoint that stipulates that common sense does not include “sophistication or special knowledge,” whether derived from a degree from a maritime academy, ten years working on tall ships, or thirty eight years working on tow boats. This simplistic rendering of the definition of common sense conflates all tasks involved in working on boats to common sense. I think in part this is due to the seeming simplicity of many tasks performed aboard boats. Stopping a nine barge cut while double locking looks simple. But, the first time you try it and realize that you are attempting to kill the inertia of 13,500 tons of coal and steel with what is essentially a big ass string, makes the complexity and challenge of the task apparent. Aside from face value simplicity, I think maritime workers use the “no common sense” attack to make themselves feel superior, probably due to a wide range of personal and social insecurities. This behavior sadly, propagates insecurity in the victim and is a really vicious cycle which needs to be broken.  Given commensurate training and experience I could perform the job of any of my superiors, past or present, as well or better than they do. A fun supporting side note here, Malcolm Gladwell’s book, Outliers discusses something he calls the 10,000 hour rule. The basic tenet of this being that any task or skill set has to be honed for about 10,000 hours for an individual to be considered an expert at it. I still do not have 10,000 hours accrued decking on tow boats. I would wager that Mr. thirty eight year captain does many times over.

How “Common” is boat Knowledge?

If my exploration of definitions and word usage in the Maritime industry didn’t convince you I will also explore just how common boat knowledge is, in order to attempt to justify a simplistic word smash definition of the term common sense. I could not find a nationwide study addressing percentage of the population employed in the maritime field. I did find a study like this for the population of San Diego California, which I will use as a sample. The 2012 population of San Diego was 1,322,553. Out of this total only 46,000 individuals worked in the maritime industry, which in this study also included jobs related to, but not performed on boats. This number is approximately 3.48% of the population of San Diego. Tall ships were not even included in this study. If applied to be representative of the whole nation (a model which is in no way statistically sound, sorry Dr. Williams.) this 3.48% population size shows that nothing about boats, or working on them is common.  Even working in commercial sectors of the maritime profession is a fringe occupation. Working on tall ships places one in a miniscule sliver of an already infinitesimal population of human beings.  Nothing about boats or working on them, especially tall ships, is common to the human experience in relation to work or mental acumen. There are probably more people in San Diego that think they are wizards than who work on boats.

Toward a more functional definition

Though I am in no way qualified to define words or phrases I am going to do so. I think someone must. More important than the definition is the pathology of behavior that underlies it. Redefine all I might, nothing can really be fixed unless people stand up to the perpetrators of elitism and swaggering ego that are so well served by the old definition, and misuse of “common sense.” Sadly I have seen few if any people stand up to this sort of behavior on boats. Anyway, enough of that, my definition is as follows

Common Sense: The ability to effectively understand concepts or perform tasks parsed frequently enough, and by a large enough portion of the human population as to be accurately described as common. Said ability can be created over time, is not necessarily innate, and cannot take into account special knowledge or training as granting one individual more “common sense” than another.

Okay, I feel better. Gotta run, I’m late for wizard practice.

I wasn't going to post this. I thought it would be too controversial and would cost me friends. I have realized now that I am ok with that potential outcome. I doubt that this can top anything else I have written so I am saying fuck it. Time to saddle up. I cant stand this world. The rules are irrelevant, and created by a few that know not our troubles. This isn't truly directed at any specific person but if you feel you are being called out then that might be the case. I am tired of a world that tells us that violence is unacceptable as bombs rain down on the innocent in pursuit of the maintenance of power and control. This country is, at best, nothing more than the long continued result of what Great Britain may have been well within their rights to deem a violent terrorist insurrection yet our leaders confidently set us out as the sole propeitors of moral sanction of violence of any sort. Fuck that. We are living on borrowed time and the rest of the world will pay us back in kind shortly. East Timor in 1972, look it up. We owe great debts that cannot be forborn forever. I am lost. This used to disturb me but I have realized now that if I felt I belonged to this I would be failing both myself and others many times over. I do not belong. I will not submit. We are not flawless or the voices of right.

Free Verse, Untitled, 08/30/2013

More than anything I am gripped by the feeling that I am lost and cannot overcome this sense of placelessness, both of body and mind. Nothing ever feels to be truly mine in this world and the continual drive to seize even the most infinitesimal hand or foot hold is sucking me dry. Through it all the days slip by ever faster and the feeling lingers, unabated, ever present.

I was not around when the rules were made, and hence, un-consulted and disillusioned, I reject the parts I find incongruous and substitute my own. Others, many others, have done this before me and were called radicals, troublemakers, muck rakers, and live wires. I wear the brand of all of these with pride. It is the only proof I have for myself that I am doing something right. This is something I suppose, but still cold comfort most days, and especially nights.

Those I find closest to myself are still so far from me. The gap is startlingly wide despite our many similarities. They seek social justice by talking about it, or clinging desperately to an electoral system that even a half wit destroyed by ether can clearly and easily see to be a farce. All of their seemingly infinite potential wasted on the trivial. GAY MARRIAGE! GAY MARRIAGE!  They all love to talk endlessly about the deep and meaningful nature of sanctioned gay marriage. I do not oppose sanctioned gay marriage. BUT…there are countless people in this country WITHOUT JOBS, who can’t PAY THEIR BILLS, OR WHO EVEN WITH MEDICAL INSURANCE CANNOT AFFORD THE CARE THEY NEED TO LIVE. Surely this profiteering and lack of compassion in the financial and social structure takes priority? GAY MARRIAGE! GAY MARRIAGE! Oh the infinite bliss of SANCTIONED COCK, in SANCTIONED ASS. But what about an almost total dearth in respectable jobs with a living wage attached? “Jesus Jeremy, be more homophobic.” I sigh, sigh, sigh. RATIONAL PRIORITIZATION is NOT DESCRIMINATION against your preferred method of EJACULATION. Let’s work out the food air deal. Basic necessities for the masses supersede the desires of a tiny minority in importance. I shudder not in the least to say it.

You busy yourself with the occupy movement while mocking me for educating myself and quietly waiting for the right moment to strike. Congregating, chanting, practicing poor hygiene, and making a pathetic nuisance of yourselves does not advance any meaningful agenda. Yet as you mock me those I love will adore your snarky little quips because you are so funny, so special, you are all the most special of all the poo flinging monkeys riding your canvas powered contraptions hither and yon with neither point nor purpose. Sometimes I am truly grateful for how poorly this community treated me, as it showed me the waste and futility of time spent within it. Were it not for her the waste and futility would have been complete.

EQUAL RIGHTS! EQUAL RIGHTS! FREEDOM FROM INJUSTICE FOR THE GAYS! Yet so many of you watched injustice occur before your very eyes, on the same decks we trod together and could summon not even a protest, neither then, nor now. Only one of you lived up to your supposed ideals of fairness in your everyday life. Thank you dear lady for the courage you showed as the rest smiled, nodded, agreed with me and did nothing. Loud thunder, bright lightning, no rain. NOTHING. EQUAL RIGHTS! EQUAL RIGHTS! FREEDOM FROM INJUSTICE FOR THOSE WE LIVE OUR LIVES BESIDE! You need not look far to find something worth fighting for. Be honest with yourselves, despite all your gay marriage armchair advocacy, has anyone you ever saw being really, truly, abused publicly been a gay person? Are they being pelted with rocks in the streets? I think I may have been called a “fagget” by an employer more times than any gay person I have ever met. One of you was particularly proud of standing against nasty dialogue, praising yourself extensively for removing improper use of the terms “gay” and “retarded” from your lexicon. Yet somehow you still managed to behave like a pompous, sarcastic, and verbally abusive ass to those around you. Was there really a point to your ever so commendable self improvement? You might say you never saw me do the same. I retort that I never made it a priority because I don’t give a shit. I might still say “gay” and “retard” but I treated those we worked with respectfully and never took joy in their suffering. Also if I treated someone poorly I always apologized and made it right.

FREEDOM FROM INJUSTICE! Cry you all, but have you the metal to see it through? Can you come to grips with the stark reality of what justice requires? Your polite entreaties to a hardened system with a mind only for profit and the maintenance of a very well camouflaged tyranny count for less than nothing. True change, true justice, must mature within a populace very gradually and eventually will require boot heel, bayonet, and rifle butt. Scoff till your heart’s content but this society will continue upon same course until this manifests. You find this thought repugnant, appalling, radical. This is simply because you bought the lie early. I cannot be the only one who finds it suspicious that a morally bankrupt society teaches children from their entrance into the schools that it is unequivocally wrong to raise your hand in violence against another human being while all the while slaughtering indigenous populations the world over in pursuit of profit and control. “Those with no moral conscience fear only physical correction” said Hemingway. Hence this system, by its very nature, requires the complicity of a passive populace, such as results from brainwashing aimed at making violence socially unacceptable from the earliest possible moment. This never stuck in me. I am not sure why. You are weak in mind and body. Change is not within you. You are willing only to judge me for my acceptance of violent words and actions that I deem justifiable. I will never change myself to make you more comfortable. If you have come to fear me, you have done something to deserve my ill will and hence I have no regrets. 

On the Spirituality of streams and fish.

So today i put my line in the water for Erie steelhead for the first time in a year. I only caught one fish, decent sized, but not amazing and this was still one of the best days of my life. I had forgotten, or at least allowed to fade in my mind, the joy of a trout that one cannot fit ones hand around. At the end of any succesful battle of man versus fish comes the inevitable decision of consumption versus conservation. I prefer to think of it as consumption versus fairness. The fish gives me only its best effort no matter how cruelly I may have deceived it. There is nothing more beautiful to me than holding an exhausted fish, just slightly submerged in the recovery position, nose pointed upstream to run water over its gills and provide it with oxygen, thrust it upstream in the water two or three times, then release it and feel its muscles twitch driving it out into the stream again, essentially no different than when I found it. I love fish better than most people. My best for their best, simplicity, honor, honesty. No lies, no bullshit. Man, fish, stream.

Zen at one and a half barge lengths

            I had recently become enamored with the idea of “peace around the next bend.” Which implies that perhaps life, like a river, meanders, and that eventually one of these serpentine portions will gracefully unroll itself before me with a peaceful utopia waiting, laid beautifully at my feet on the other side. I believe I became enamored with this because I am tired. Tired of endlessly living out of duffle bags and sleeping on boats in hammocks and tiny bunks. Tired of feeling that I have no fixed place in this world that is mine. Tired of Mariah, and so many others that I love so dearly feeling so far away all too often. I became enamored with this idea because I am scared all the time, mostly of rejection, breach of trust, and an apparently almost total lack of human gratitude and decency. I am afraid of every woman in my life because if thirty seven years of selfless sacrifice and hard work does not merit absolute and unyielding loyalty what can I give to obtain it? My trust of others is a small green shoot shattered in seeming perpetuity only to rise up again still poignantly aware of how badly each past betrayal hurt. I’m tired of being tired, tired of being scared, and most of all tired of being angry. Despite my hatred of all these feelings they are part of the boat that is my life. No matter my relation to each new bend I’m still on this boat. This boat is my ride. This boat is my life.

            I have finally realized that peace will not come around the next bend. Peace must come from within. Though the fatigue, fear, and anger may never fade completely, peace exists in a mind empty enough to evaluate every interaction, moment, new face, and trial as it comes. The bends obfuscate no magical solution. I found an analogy on a boat. Something magical happens about one and a half barge lengths out on a five barge length tow. All of the noise pollution of two 1500 horse marine diesels fades into an oblivion so beautiful it elevates the state of the soul. All of the roiling, throbbing, discontent of this diesel fueled beast fades off , slides right out of the mind, out of existence, and standing there in the sun with a breeze on your face life becomes shockingly simple, quiet, and serene. You know just what to do and set about it as you and 22,500 tons of coal and steel slip effortlessly through the water as if only your sense of purpose and contentment propel it. This feeling is peace, zen one and a half barge lengths out. I believe the analogy fits. All that remains is to find this place, removed just enough from the negative energy of my boat for peace to prosper.

This was all I got out of a five week hitch on the rivers. oh well, better than nothing.

Seated upon a coil of line

On the head of a towboat

Shrouded in the fog

That rose, interminable from the

Brown serpentine line of

That ancient river was a man.

Thousands of miles from what he loved

What mattered.

What granted meaning.

Eleven months gone now

In a blur of displacement

And commuting, punctuated

Only by notable highlights

And the stubborn ghosts

Of the past, their corporal

Form sticking stubbornly

To the secret inner workings of his mind.

The sanctuary violated.

A consciousness marred, yet subtly

Improved by the vagaries of

The world, and the callous, wanton

Hate the people that walked through it so frequently

And tragically, displayed.

So few are good to one another.

So he will float perpetually

In escape amongst the brown water,

Industrial ratchets, steel cable,

Kevlar lines, cheater pipes, and sweat.

He will cleave these tows in half

And force them through locks one

Cut at a time until the process,

The barges, each lock, and every inch

Of river becomes part of his soul.

And someday, perhaps, he will find peace.

Just around that next bend.

Masculinity musings

So, I am still attempting to finish the epilogue of my thesis while the duties associated with tow boating do their damnedest to pound me into the dirt. Despite this, something approaching a meaningful final thought has shaken free from the cobwebs in my head.
So much of hemingway's life is a case study in threatened masculinity. This is simply a paradigm of what it is to be a man that has failed to develop in any meaningful way since the mid 19th century. In large part in hinges upon our ability as men to provide for a family, dominate a workplace environment, and reign supreme over all threatening groups and social changes. This paradigm is, hopefully obviously, a total joke in our modern society, yet persists in the face of the clear conclusion that it does we men a great disservice.
There are very few if any jobs readily available, nothing that will make we modern men feel like masters of anything. The world is diverse and the heterogeneity rapidly increasing. Try as you might dominating much of anything is a feat approaching the Herculean. Opportunity to feel confident and assertive in any aspect of life is correspondingly waning.
Their is quite simply little if any meaning to be derived from the code and it is in sore need of rejection and reformulation.
Of course my example is going to innvolve boats. My former field of employment was tall ships sailing. In my experience I know of no other field in which so many men, insecure and culturally adrift made more obvious show of demeaning others to alleviate their own feelings of insecurity. This I believe is demonstrated in three basic ways.
1. Clubbing those less experienced and knowledgeable over the head with their experience in a self aggrandizing and callous manner. Little is more problematic to developing self confidence and a healthy, balanced, sense of masculine self worth than to be cut down by someone who obviously should, in light of their background, know and be able to do, much more than you.
2. Attempting to make other men feel inferior due to women outperforming them. Whether or not they should indeed do so based on background and and experience. This also plays directly into  outdated masculine paradigms predication on the idea the women are somehow innately inferior to men and hence you as a man are somehow "failing" at being a man by ever allowing a woman to be better than you at something. I met my girlfriend on my last boat. In one instance I was mocked when  she an able seamen, was assigned to be my assistant cook while I served as an ordinary seamen. The officer who informed me of this laughed and informed me this was funny because she both outranked me and "could probably take you (me) in a fight." I wonder if that was part of his selection process for picking a significant other, must be able beat her in a fist fight. I have to say that had never crossed my mind. Way to be progressive.
3. Isolating the younger and more fit/ attractive to compensatefor the negative effects of aging, ie mocking the reincarnation of what they used to be before they came off deck and got fat, old, and out of touch. Sorry, can't help it you can't diet and do some sit-ups.
These are each male on male crimes of the first order. The biggest hindrance to a positive change in the standards of conduct for being a balanced, confident, healthy male in this world? Tragically other men.

Five week hitch

Normally I work two weeks at a time on a Towboat. Then I go home. Due to a confluence of factors I opted to stay out for a five week hitch this time. I am three weeks in and have some observations and thoughts.
This will be the longest I have stayed out on a vessel since last sailing season when one stretch lasted approximately six weeks. From what I can tell at the three week point this will not even come close to being as destructive as those six weeks were for me. Nothing matches the savagery of brute labor combined with verbal and psychological flagellation. Also, five consecutive weeks may be just what was needed to elevate my decking game. Repetition sustained over long periods of time has always been my recipe for excellence.
Despite all the baggage, bullshit, anger, and regret that still crops up from time to time I miss the hell out of wooden boats right now. That may, or may not be almost entirely linked to the deck crew I worked with. I miss all of you. I still contend that the officers should kiss my ass.
I, as well as captains and pilots here, appreciate the level of seamanship I bring to the world of Towboats. So despite the fact I feel like I got short sticked in what I was actually taught, thanks I guess.
Time for a nap, we've been double locking a goodly bit here on the Champion Coal so sleep is at a premium.
Two weeks to go.

Story tidbit

So this is likely going to become part of a larger story, or be converted into a poem.

Sitting on the head of the boat, shrouded in fog that rose interminable from the brown, meandering, serpent Monongahela, I was thousands of miles from what mattered to me with only my memories for company. The last eleven months have been a blur punctuated by notable highlights and the ghosts of the past, their corporal form refusing to fade permanently into the background of a consciousness marred, yet improved by the vagaries of the world and its calous disregard for the men and women that people it.
It is August 2013 and I have three weeks left on the river.

Thanks Hank

Sometimes I really have to thank Bukowski for existing.

Bluebird

By Charles Bukowski

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the ****s and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?

Blast from the Past

So I found these poems a couple days ago. Kind of forgot that they existed and I was pleasantly surprised at the quality. I think. I wrote them all at a much rougher time in my life and in the end I am glad they are going out there. I think poets tend to think their later worker is always better as it is more refined. In this case I feel like I have lost some of the visceral quality that makes me appealing. Also one piece contains a fun contradiction about whether I would ever be published or not. Haha, good times.
Poetry Bomb.

Bravado

Bravado

Perhaps in excess

For drink

The outdoors

Sporting

And in a misguided sense

Women as well

Determination to find

And write with

The perfect sentence

The strong efficient line

Clean

Neat

Passionate

Fierce.

You are sorely missed.

I am not

I am not

Nor will I ever be

A published poet

I never drank like you did

As much

As fast

As reckless

Nor did I

Smoke

As much as you

I never indulged

In the company

Of as many

Much younger women

As you did

Nor were mine crazy.

But I do enjoy

From time to time.

A hard boiled egg

Or two.

I am,

A big fucking bastard sized slice

of big fucking bastard.

I am a formidable opponent

Whose chest hairs and opposable thumbs

Create a supreme advantage.

I can open a can,

To feed your asses and

At the same time

Knap a flint blade,

Affix it

To a stick

And instantly upset

The entire food chain.

If I so desire

I can put a worm

On bent metal

And deceive a fish

Into giving me its life

So that I can eat

If I should find myself in need of food,

And lacking any of the cellophane wrapped

Convenience nuggets

So readily available

Everywhere.

            I was not alive yet, 

but first they came for the communists, and union men. Many did nothing. During WWII they came for the Jews in Europe, and the Japanese in America and still many did nothing. Then McCarthy came for the “Communists” again but more loosely defined, if defined at all. McCarthy and his drunken bullshit crusade were also much too seldom questioned and by too few.  Then the “hippies” became the threat, with their pot smoking and other highly organized subversive behavior. When I was in high school I watched the towers come down, then they came for the “Muslims” and anyone who looked, spoke, or smelled like one. At first I did nothing, then I learned how all this works and still I did too little. Soon they may come for me, just for disagreeing. When I am taken who will be there for 

In life I have few things

Objects

Possessions

Treasures

I have two arms

Two legs

Two hands and feet

The boots on said feet

Two balls

And my swinging dick

And I am the richest man I know.

Untitled

People

Generally annoy me

Churches

Generally infuriate me

The world

Generally confuses me

Everything

Tends to leave me feeling

That perhaps something is missing.

Whiskey

Leaves no doubt

As to the goodness of being alive

The same

Can be said of cigarettes

And most emphatically so

The same can be said

Of her.

Philosophers might tell you

That life is a dream.

Fuck that.

This is, unfortunately

As real as it gets.

Untitled

This life

This world

These institutions

The currency of our wretched society

Devalued as it might be

Are as far as I

Or any living soul could tell you

(sorry I have yet to hear from anyone beyond)

The only thing

We will ever know

Some years from now

If I find myself
floating in some great bullshit beyond

I will come back and let you know

Keep a fifth and

A pack of smokes close at hand.

Tobacco

“You don’t always die from tobacco”

Says the singing propaganda cowboy.

Well no shit Einstein,

but you knew damn well

that you could, when you started.

Don’t, good sir use your

Laryngectomy for propaganda.

You knew what could happen, hell

you probably still light up

when no one is around.

To be privy to your addiction,

of its size and scope.

You probably are or were

much like me,

a person who simply loves

to smoke cigarettes.

Even now

Whilst attempting to quit

I am glad it is largely due

To not being able to afford it.

Not because

You make ads attempting to scare me.

Today I Laughed

I continue to find throughout my life, that very few things actually remain enjoyable. My collection of video games is quite large. When I was younger I could play them forever and never grow bored. Now, they only do the job sporadically at best. Movies no longer hold that certain sway. I find the news intolerable now. Fishing, formerly a favorite now just pisses me off because I can not afford tackle. I spend the majority of every day lying around reading and watching the cats take their shits. I cannot, for the life of me get a fucking job. The black sheep of a black sheep family, not deemed as worthy of a minimum wage job in a shit town. Do not go to fucking college, unless you plan on going all the way. (I.e. a PhD) I have tried for days to shake this feeling, to find THE JOY, which I used to feel, that doing shit used to bring me. Yesterday I was reading, and a line concerning Small versus mainstream poetry mags caught my attention. “The horses’ mouth has met the horses’ ass and is eating its own shit.” I read, and then re-read it. Something happened inside me and I began to laugh; deep, natural, genuine laughter, the kind that feels better than taking a magnificent shit. Better than the best shit you ever pinched off times a thousand. Having this happen reassured me that everything will be ok. My life will still bring me joy and still does, even now bring me joy. Even just the little things, like magnificent shits and humorous lines of literature still bring me joy. 

Yellow Ribbons

I see it everywhere,

That yellow ribbon

Car bumpers,

On homes,

Or signs in front of said homes.

Even on people’s clothes.

Maybe with a flag pin as well.

Why risk being seen as unpatriotic?

Which makes me wonder.

How similar was it with swastikas?