Young man’s mind, old man’s heart, …but a restless soul.

Letting things go can seem impossible. It isn’t. We all have pain. We all have been hurt by another, just as most of us have hurt others.

Leave it here.

In my travels I’ve come full circle and inside out. Pain is real, so is life. We struggle. We try, and succeed. We try and fail.

Leave it here. Right here.

No more INTENTIONAL re-feeling. No morbid reflection.

If we can do that, we can see the sun again…

“And you ask me why pain’s the only way to happiness…”

…from “I” to “we.”

The Cowboy in Me…

Ballistics. Absolutely not what you would think.

And no, you’re not allowed to ask about breech-loading 16 inch (406 mm)/50-caliber Mark 7 naval guns, on Iowa Class Battleships.

In futuristic depictions, the laser is seen as a beam of energy, fired from a “ray gun” or some such crap, and for ammunition there’s some facsimile of a battery. Yeah, my hunting rifle doesn’t have a “stun” setting. But…what if?

It goes like this. Take the .243 Winchester, for example. Introduced in 1955, (I think?) a wildcat cartridge, derived from the .308 Winchester. A .308 will throw a 150 grain, .308 diameter bullet around 2700 – 2800 feet per second.(fps) Replace the 150 grain, .308 diameter bullet with a 100 grain, .243 diameter bullet and it will accurately throw it at 2900 – 3000+ range. Replace that bullet with an 80 grain .243 bullet and now it will move at 3300 – 3350 fps.

So, it would seem that if F=MA, then simply reduce the weight of the projectile to increase the velocity of said projectile and we are moving one step closer in the direction of the laser…but I have a different inclination.

Here is my nedreck logic. I’m always going to err on the side of caution, except when i can’t. I prefer heavier bullets that move slower. Less, but adequate tissue damage. Speed does, in fact, defeat armor…but the only mammals I know who wear armor are humans. I’m not a cannibal.

Heavy, slower moving bullets are proven to be better penetrators, and organ failure is the goal. True, the central nervous system is relatively shallow, especially by comparison, but I like the old ways. I also like acting like a dick, just as all the old men seem to get away with.

Fuck off, I’ve got grey hair in my beard.

SO! …what if, we went the other way? What if we increased the bullet weight? AND we increase the velocity? What if we simply aren’t thinking ballistically? Air is a medium. So is water. Because water is more dense than air, we can hear further underwater. Sonar?


What if the “laser beam” you’re seeing is simply the removal of gilded metal as it flies through the medium of air?

The see-saw. Chamber pressure is the largest constraint. As bullet weight increases, more work must be done, therefore the pressure climbs, and one must back down the powder charge…therefore velocity decreases. Lighter bullet? Less work, so more powder may be used and remain under max chamber pressure. So, why not overbuild the chamber on small caliber firearms to experiment? The engineers at Nosler have. 22 Nosler, 24 Nosler, 26 Nosler…lol.

But I suppose, as long as we have the current propellant technology, coupled with our lack of lower earth orbit technology, it just isn’t enough yet. I do look forward to seeing that continued evolution. You know, where gravity is just a negligible mathematical constraint? …like the ballistic coefficient is for us today?

Always thinking, always pushing the boundaries of what I know, and what I don’t know. I guess that’s just the cowboy in me.


6:12 …A.M. …and I’ve been up for an hour.

The clock ticks. It ticks in a particularly cloying and annoying fashion. It ticks like an immigrant porn star…which is to say, cheaply paid, and under engineered.

Oh…that’s Right. Refrigerators DO “run.” Therefore they stop and start. That noise you’re hearing? No, it’s not the Mothership.

I’d seriously forgotten about refrigerators. …fuck me.

The moon is still bright enough to see through the occlusion of window panes and electric street lights. I DID at least HEAR the wind last night. So…there’s that.

My hair won’t lay down.

Four years, perhaps even to the day.

My mountains seem so far away. Last visit though! Teeming with life! Turkeys? ..How many you want? Deer. White tail, and good size! No CWD in that part of the canyon! Blue jays! Chikamunkas! (Boss, lol) Coyotes…GRRRRRR….

I was at the lake the other day, and I was able to call a duck over to my paddle board, so close I ALMOST could touch him.


Wherever I go in these mountains, my connection to all things wild seems to grow. I miss Ouray. Both the Chief, and the view.

There are no stars, per se, in this ceiling de Blanco. Though, in a cute, and rudimentary fashion, they HAVE tried.

…and the clock ticks.

Good morning “Chyna,” with a “y.” You, petulant twat.

No Sir, I don’t like it.

M & B.

Howdy. How are ya?

Have we met?

I’m Moody and Broody.

I don’t think, I have…Oh yes. But I thought you’d been handled, ages ago?

Ah, yes. That. Well, just as unused skills fade, unused areas grow, however subtly.

…and your cousin, Sulky?

Still in, I’m afraid.

Thank goodness for small miracles.


I’m sure it’s just the Irish writer in me, but there’s two ex wives, I wish would move on from County Cork!

…I really do. I feckin kill me…

Stay in school, kids. Don’t do drugs. 😎