Sir Kalen

Yes. New wheels. Ah such thrills hail that open endless pavement. Sunset, here I come!!


Yes, I am more so jubilant than normal. But I've got a new set of wheels with which to terrorize the locality with.


Pictures to follow on saturday.

Banning is imminent. so for now... it was nice knowing you all. I had/have good memories their, and a few bad ones, but all were chalked into that vast category called experience.



Don't worry for me.

Hey Guys, Did you hear anything about me getting married?!?














Well neither have I, But I Just wanted to check and see if you'll knew something important that I would/should know.




P.S. don't worry I'm still a Bachelor till the Rapture.

being a fellow Floridian, Please pray for those in FL. I've got good friend down in the orlando area where the hurricane hit. Don't worry about me, I'll stay alive. I promise :)

This, that they deemed necessary


Let it be said, cursed be the man who strives for the golden mean. Who was it that named you so. What figure in your meager history influenced the solitary life of wandering? Name the sole man, pronounce his name, tell the growing mob of enthusiast of your curse. Tell them the cause, give the history of what spawned the figure they have enamored. Because you feared reality. Because you shirked the life we all must face. In fear of the struggle of a morally tainted, and proverbial battle for righteousness you ran and hid. Perhaps I have written of the unfinished solemn music. The life of an unfinished dirge. A soul who ran from life, who ran from himself. Who calculated the risks, and took the ‘safe’ route. To live the life of a hermit. A crab. Yet life still will ever taint reality with a spin. It was to harsh to be called a hermit, to glacier to be compared to an introvert So A Wandering One he became, the mantle of a questioneer was his garb. No, leave off garb, and insert disguise. Garn, contempt and spite where ink and pen for him. The unfinished Dirge. He fled life’s problem, cast off any responsibility. He said to himself, “I will become no drain on life. Life has its struggles I cannot face. The world has slung hurting souls, akin to mine, at my feet. Perhaps destiny has ruled me to aid in patching wounded hearts. That I cannot do. How can I when I hurt so?” So he ran in selfishness, leaving behind a shadow, that some, in jest, called insane. A form for others to put a band-aid on. Something to cling to. A delusion. Worse, a deception.


Then he realized from the heaven of his lone cabin, what was committed. Fool, only the wounded can empathize, only those who sought for, can help search for. Pride yourself on a life well planned. Sit back with priggish conceit on your intelligence on avoiding life’s struggles. Fool, you missed helping the wounded out of the ditch. You and your contemptible island of peace so-called. Look to the shores, those who drowned trying to reach you. You facade, helpless mortal. One can only stand back and observe with contempt, not knowing wether to strip you of your garb, revealing all, or banish you to be a troglodyte, to be haunted by your own mind.


Name the figure, the influence, the momentous decision. You genius, you. Well you planned the solitary life. Look upon the wayside those who fell climbing your hill for help. You had not the decency to bare yourself and become a human. You Machine! Such is an unfinished dirge. A life which society prolongs that final note, symbolizing the end. Gah...


Name the man. Tell the soul, who you were, was, or am. Strip that fabled garb of life’s arduous passage so called. Ye thy name is Kalen...


[Cloned in Part from Him, Originated in whole by These...]

...And so shall we see in due time.

It was a gentleman’s club. Not the vile, sordid and corrupt club of today’s average measure, but social gathering of friends, accountability, having an atmosphere of congeniality. It was an association for leisure, an outlet for moderate vices, a rationalization for a sociable round of cards. The sharing of drink in moderation and advocation. A small organization for the men of their day to bring their questions, conversation, understandings and wrong-doings before their fellow men. A place where a man may go and lightheartedly complain of the wife, the kids and the dog. Or in a more sedated manner, consult the elderly and experienced in various matters. It was a gentleman’s club, its overall purpose being to improve the morality and quality of life for fellow men.
And on this day of normality, consistency ran its course, unbroken. However, it went not unchallenged. One fellow sat at a table, denying the drink plied to him, he took a risk and shared from his heart. So he began to quote...


“To die: to sleep; No more!! And by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to. Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished! To die, to sleep! To sleep perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil.”


“Look! Did not Shakespeare recapitulate the greatest freedom? ...perchance to dream!m men! Is it not worth everything we bear? Why are we standing this day, enjoying all the modern conveniences? Because our founding fathers took that chance to dream! They were not afraid to die; to sleep. They saw that as the chance to dream. Dream for us, to give us the freedom of thought. They died to dream, so that one day we alike could dream, and pursue our dreams! What have we done with our dreams? What have we done with our fantasies? What happened do the days of youth, when we beheld the mirror and saw not just a reflection, but a refraction. We conceived with our imagination what we would and could become. Look at us now. No longer do we take those with gravity, no longer do we see them worth the death our fathers died. No longer have we taken that perchance to dream. Oh Fie on us and our generation. A cruel plague be upon us. You Malcom, what became of your ambition to “.......” The manumission we have in our present time is that chance to aspire, without the same magnitude of peril our forefathers faced.



It is what Christ died for. The chance to strive for sanctification. A freedom from death, an emancipation from the condemnation of the law. Perchance to dream, that we shall see him face to face. Yet what has become of our day and age? Here we draw an imaginary line, in the sands of time, yet it is washed and covered by the swell of society. What horrendous deeds come from the rationalization of modern culture. O what odious deeds we excuse, in the name the present culture. We will never fathom what we have lost, when we failed a perchance to dream...