Sunday, December 31, 2023

No Closure, a true police story

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Nico, Captain, and Christopher. December 11, 2023 Miami Gardens, Florida. Hard Rock Stadium! 


December 31, 2023
 


The crowd hissed and chastised me for not intervening in their domestic problem.  They called the police to help mediate and resolve their issue but when they did not get what they ordered the family threw a temper tantrum towards me.  As a family man myself, and fellow human being, I understand why they were upset.  Here is this loving family trying to get their loving daughter, sister, cousin, niece, and friend into a rehab and since she won’t go with them willingly they want the police to seize her.  But without a court order she has free will to go about her business.  I reiterated that to the spokesperson of the group who demanded that I take her “immediately.” 

“She does not want to go with you,” I begrudgingly said.  “I can’t snatch her up. And if you grab her against her will then it is battery and kidnapping.  There is nothing more that I can do.”

The family member lasered into me with his eyes.  It gave me chills.  A reminder of the feeling I would get when my father would get mad at me and only spoke to me with his eyes.  The family member didn’t understand my predicament, the laws of the State, or he simply did not care; the man wanted me to take action and take his cousin into custody.  Funny how he understood when I told him that that he couldn’t touch her because he knew he would go to jail, so he wasn't that ignorant of the law, or had deaf ears to my explanation, and yet, he wanted me to do it under the color of law anyhow, which I was refusing to do because she still has rights. 

“Well, Baker Act her!” (a involuntarily act of committing someone into a mental hospital)

“She does not meet the State requirement of a Baker Act,” I said. “Have you gone to the courts and requested a judge sign Ex Parte Petition for Involuntary Assessment and Stabilization?”

“No we did not. We just want an intervention.  We want you to intervene,” he said.

This is frustrating.  I want to help this family out but there is nothing I can do.  Especially here in this open parking lot in the backdrop of a Subway sandwich restaurant and discount shoe store.  This is a free society where she is free to move about and do what she wants in privacy.  This group of people stopped listening to anything I had to say anyhow 5 minutes ago.  Their shouts of anger and disdain hurled at me like knives due to my inaction.  Their pleas were not falling on deaf ears, I hear them, but the girl has rights too.  

“Okay, I’ll talk to her again,” I told them while I turned and walked towards her.

She was a tiny thing.  Five foot nothing, one – hundred pounds, if not less.  She was wearing a college football hat, the bill of the hat shading her pretty face and light eyes from the sun bearing down on her weary soul.  She was cute to say the least.  Her blue jeans were tight fitting.  Her top tucked in nicely and a belt to match her shoes.  But don’t let that deceive you.  She was tough, and was standing her ground in this Sunday afternoon parking lot of black top asphalt and freshly painted lines that marked parking spot.  There was no activity in the plaza but even if it was a busy day, I do believe she wasn’t going to move for anyone not even a car.  

“Well, here we are again.”

“Yup,” she said with a smile.

“You know, the kind of support behind me in favor of your wellness is overwhelming.  I can see how maybe you don’t want to go with them.  How about I ask them to leave and I can ask the one person you trust to stay behind and you can leave with them.”

I could see that I triggered a thought process.  She relaxed a little.  I was happy that she saw that I was looking to help her as well.  Not lecture her.

“That sounds good, but I’m not ready to get out,” she said.

“That FSU logo on your hat.  Is that just for looks or did you go there?”

“I graduated from there.” 

“So you’re an educated person who understand what you want and don’t want.” I said as a statement. 

“I can tell you that I am not going with them.  I just want to do my thing.”

“I’m told you’re running with the gangs down south.  That they are using you for sex?”

“Who is using who?  I am getting free drugs.  So, I think of it the other way around.”

“Well, I suppose that makes a little sense. But you do not feel used?”

“I’m a grown woman who is capable of making my own decisions.  I fully understand who I am and what I want.  That’s not being used.  I can stop when I want.”

“That is what all addicts say.  But you know, I am only in your life for 20 minutes or so.  I can offer you anything you need.  In that short time you have known me I can understand why you probably won’t go with me.  The people who have known you the longest and know you the best are standing behind me.  They can offer you love, support, rehab, anything.  And you turn this down, why?”

“You don’t judge me.  You go about your day.  If I turn down your help you move on to the next call.  They are always there.  They do not understand that I am not ready.  When I am ready, I will get out.  But right now, I am in. They can’t understand that, won’t understand that, and refuse to understand that.”

“Their support may not last though.  Then you will truly be on your own.”

“When I am in a strange bed with a dude from the gang who just f#$ked me and I get my fix you don’t think I am truly alone?  Knowing that at any moment I could be killed by a rival gang or overdose with no help. Believe me, no one understands what’s at stake more than me.  It’s my life.  That is reality.  You being a police officer and dealing with this daily should relate.”

“I can relate with understanding wanting freedom to do what you want.  I can’t relate shunning family. But I do not live your life or share your experiences.  That being said you seem like you’re set in your way and that I can relate to that.  I will let them know.”

“So I can go now?”

“Hang out for one second though before you go, please.”

I turned from her.  Deep down I wanted her to go but she wasn’t.  I did not want to face this family of about 20 and tell them that I failed to mediate the situation.  

“She’s not going with you, me, or anyone for that matter.”

The group began yelling at me,sneering, calling out names and wailing.  

“I will just snatch her,” the cousin said.”

“Then you will go to jail. As I warned you before” I replied.

“Can I go now,” I heard her ask out loud.

I turned back and shouted, “see ya!”

“Drugs! She has drugs in her purse!  Search her purse!” someone in the crowd yelled out in a last ditch effort. 

“She won’t allow me to search her purse, but I will ask.

Can I search your purse?” I shouted.

“Nope,” she said and walked away.

I often think of her and wonder if she ever got out.  I hope she did but in police work the only time you get closure from a situation like that is on an overdose call and you find them dead, or near death.  

That was over ten years ago.  Till this day I have no idea if she ever decided to get out.  There is no closure for me or the family.

HAPPY NEW YEAR 2024

As we enter a new year remember, that family and love is all you have in the end.  I love you all. May the new year bring good health and fortune. 


Max and Blake chilling window side enjoying the cool crisp air of the season. December 31, 2023






© Copyright 2023 Captain Imperfecto, LLC. All rights reserved. This material may not be republished, rewritten or redistributed without permission.  Please contact if you would like to re-publish in film, television or print. 




Wednesday, October 11, 2023

The Pit and the Haunted Trail, a Halloween Story Part I

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You can't make everyone happy! Christopher and Nico September 3, 2023.


October 11, 2023

I'm caught in the netherworld surrounded by chaos and destruction.  I was escorted into my situation while seeking shelter to escape from a bunch of stone cold killers.  This is a horrible situation I got myself into. Sadly I don't think anyone would miss me.  Why would anyone even bother searching for me? I'm not a good dude.  But that's a story for another time.  For now, I need to figure out how to get out of my current predicament.  Truthfully, you aren't going to pity me when you find out I'm a paid killer.  But there are way more awful people out there in the world than me.  I’m paid to exterminate the existence of people worse than me.  Yet here I am, in the pit of the underworld when I should have been up there, enjoying the cool air and admiring the foliage change.  There is something about crisp cool air that screams fall around Halloween time.

Before all this mess happened, I was waiting to receive the 2nd payment of my last kill in this motel near Big Valley Pines. I like motels like this one, or cabins, because I am far enough away from the heat and close enough to meet the person who held the remaining cash for my hit job.  I still take cash.  You aren't going to CashApp me fifty thousand dollars.  The problem with collecting the other half of money owed is that you are depending on the payer to come through.  I guess that is one of the drawbacks to the job.  Well, that, and killing someone.  

I was bored, so I left my room and wandered about.  I don't use a smart phone that can be pinged; I don't have a Netflix account so I'm not streaming movies.  I'm just sitting there in my room, bored trying to occupy my time.  I'm staying in an area they call the bible belt of America.  I'll search for the bible and thumb through it.  Read the local ad paper left on the bedside table and review all the restaurants in the area.  No, I don’t order food either.  I'll do some pared down crossfit.  And for some odd reason I will remove the artwork off the room walls and inspect it. Then maybe take a shower and peer through the window.  Man, will I peer through the window in an obsessive, paranoid style.  

During my journey outside, I will sit near the pool from time to time.  This isn't a resort but strangely the pool is heated.  I watch normal people go about their life.  Families in the pool, lovers in the jacuzzi, other psychopaths overseeing it all.  Yes, there are others out there like me.  They just haven't had the courage to do what I do, or they hide it pretty well.  Deviant behavior can be easily hidden.  I can't explain to you why I even do what I do.  But you clearly have to be a psychopath to kill a fellow human being.  Which would explain my current predicament, I suppose.  I wish I could point to a certain event that morphed me into a killer.  There just isn't a good back-story to my murderous ways.  I lived a normal life; raised by both parents.  I have several siblings that have really good jobs.  My sister is a doctor of medicine.  She has a clue that I do bad things because I go to her when I need wound care due to a hit gone wrong.  She never asks, therefore I never tell.  However, if she decided to turn her intuition into curiosity and dug into my life and found out I was a hit man. I wouldn't be mad if she turned me in.  I love her too much to hurt her.    

Where was I? Oh, my murderous way.  I'm a gamer.  A damn good gamer.  I don't need cheat codes, or practice, I have the dexterity of Michael Jordan but in the gaming world.  So, here I was, playing Call of Duty, talking crap on my headset, enjoying my Legendary status leveled up 850 but only because I am capped.  This dude befriended me.  So our crap talking went from gaming headsets, to messenger, to text, then phone calls and finally meet ups.  She sensed something in me.  Yes, I said dude earlier, but she used a voice manipulator when she played and spoke with her on the phone.  Gamer girls catch so much hell when they play, so I get why she lied.  She constructed this world outside the game and made a network for mercenaries.  She sold a good bill of goods. What can I say?  She was like 2011 Bitcoin, and I wanted to get involved before her stock went sky high.  

After getting bored by the pool, I went to check out the vending machine and grab a few snacks before I went back to my room.  After choosing Sun Chips, Muscle Milk, and a Snickers bar, I decided to check with the man up front for any messages.  This front desk guy has to know something is up with me.  I have been asking him for messages the last 3 days.  He most likely thinks, "Who doesn't have a cell phone nowadays?"  As I approached the desk I could see he was busy, so I turned toward the rows of tourist pamphlets near the entrance.  All this tourist trap nonsense makes me laugh that people don’t  pre-plan nowadays?  

The last of the guest check-in is complete so I walk over to see if there are any messages.  "No messages, but hey, if you're bored there is a ghost trail behind the motel you can check out."  "What business is it of yours if I'm bored or not buddy?" The kid got nervous, flustered.  That doesn't seem normal for a dude that deals with people all day.  “Well, you were umm,( he was stammering) looking at those pamphlets. I assumed you wanted something to do being alone and all.  I could send you a girl too."  

"Just messages friend.  Only messages," I told him sternly.  "By the way, focus on your job," I muttered as I walked back toward my room. 

The thing is in this game there is no one I can trust.  How can I depend on the person paying me the rest of my money after I do the job?  I got a good cut of the cash up front, but I want the rest of my money.  Planning and then executing my game plan isn't easy.  And also the risk is bigger.  Today there are cameras everywhere, people and their cell phones recording all the darn time.  What is the point in taking out the person who shafted my money?  Then I really won't get paid.  However, an assassin has to have his standards I suppose.  I need a new profession. 

Sitting in this room is driving me crazy and I'm over thinking.  That front desk kid is making me curious.  He certainly was inquisitive about my goings on here. In the future, I need to stop being cheap and buy a throw down phone because really, being cheap is the only reason why I don't have one.  It’s classic me.  But, if I was smart, I wouldn't trust him.  If only there was a sign to tell me I was in danger.  

The motel room phone rings>

"Hello? Yes, okay. But I don't remember telling you to call me if a message was left. Hello?"  He hung up.

I know, that was probably my sign but I'm getting stir crazy and I want to go.  But I promised myself to be extra careful.  I need to check things out before I head over.  But first I will call him back and see if he will deliver the message.  

<pause, phone rings, and rings, and rings> 


SEE PART II


Christopher and his brother Blake. September 9, 2023.


© Copyright 2023 Captain Imperfecto, LLC. All rights reserved. This material may not be republished, rewritten or redistributed without permission.  Please contact if you would like to re-publish.


The Pit and the Haunted Trail, a Halloween Story Part II

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The 4 boys at a trampoline park. July 17, 2023



October 11, 2023


I know, that was probably my sign but I'm getting stir crazy and I want to go.  But I promised myself to be extra careful.  I need to check things out before I head over.  But first I will call him back and see if he will deliver the message.  

<pause, phone rings, and rings, and rings> 

September 11, 2023


Well, this sucks he didn't answer.  I slightly pull back the right corner of the drapes where I have a clear line of sight of the front office.  I do not move the curtains. I do not disturb the air conditioner. I'm frozen like a wax figure at Madame Tussauds Wax Museum.  It must have been a straight hour before I decided to go over to the office. Honestly, it did appear to be business as usual.  But I need the right timing.  And the timing for now was perfect because the family of 6 right next to my room decided to leave.  They are really noisy and every time they went out they carried so many bags I thought they were checking out each time.  The mom and kids are standing in front of my door while waiting for their dad to come out.  I seize the moment and open my door, step outside, close my door and stand behind them like a human shield.  

They pay no mind to me standing here. All the children are oblivious to what's happening around them. Mom is staring at her phone.  I take a tactical pause before I move.  But then I suddenly see 2 men locked on me.  They are standing at the door of the front office.  I do not move.  One of the men walks out and the other one is behind him.  They do not run, their walk is smooth and deliberate.  My mind is racing with many thoughts of what to do.  I am strapped but if I take out my gun we are all going to die.  I am not that cruel.  They are getting closer, just several doors down.  I began to retreat back inside my room but then dad walked out of his room.  I turned and pulled him out of the way.  His body, acting as a bowling ball, knocking all his kids to the ground.  His wife fell backwards over the parking stop.  I slammed the door as bullets struck the wood frame and wood shrapnel exploded everywhere.  I never choose a motel without an egress so I run towards the back of the room while grabbing a table chair.  I whip it over my shoulder and chuck it as hard as I can at the rear window.  The chair shatters the glass but it's not tempered.  Jagged pieces still surround the opening, but I don't have time to be picky and I dive through the opening.  The curtains entangle me and I summersault to the ground, down the embankment, until coming to rest by a tree.  More gunshots ring out and the bullets strike the tree trunk above my head.  I am in a bad spot.  

Through the panic I remember the motel clerk telling me about the ghost trail back here.  I scamper around the tree, away from the bullets at the same time reaching for my gun.  I turn back and return fire trying to hold them at bay.  They attack back.  I scan the forest looking for the haunted trail.  There was something, it was about 25 yards away.  A woman!  A woman waved me over to her for safety.  I can't believe my luck that a stranger would help me through this chaos.  I scanned my area and grabbed a bunch of rocks and piled them onto the curtain.  Then I quickly tied a knot.  The end of the curtain looked like a big ball. I then lassoed it and threw it as far as I could in the opposite direction.  Momentarily the gunfire was redirected.  It was my chance to run, and I took it.  I ran towards the girl as fast as I could.  The gunmen realize my ploy and began to shoot back towards my direction but it was too late, I made to the girl and she directed me down the trail.  It was a haunted trail.

"Where did he disappear to you buffoons," the angry boss demanded.  

"He ran down there," one of the buffoons said.  

"Then why didn't you follow him?'  

"We tried boss but something prevented us from going down that trail.  I don't know what it was."  

"Incompetence," he said.  "I know my no good sister in law paid to kill my brother.  He was a lowlife but he was still my brother grab her from the car and bring her down here, now!"

I thanked my savior for providing me safety.  I didn’t know what else to do.  I had no money on me, no identification to show who I was, and nothing of value to hand her.  

“I’m sure there is something we can find you can sacrifice for the greater good.” She said.

I stopped in my tracks.  I didn’t like how she said that and frankly I think I could find me own way out. 

“Wait,” I said.  “I can find my way down this trail.  I promise you I can come back ad pay you.  I am indebted to you. But those guys are coming after me and I do not want to place you, or anyone else, in danger.”

She turned to me.  Her outfit was clean. But we were in the mud.  I was wet from the dew and sweat. She was dry and pristine. I had obvious injuries.  She looked pure. “You need not worry about them or anything else ever again.  There is a higher purpose for you to serve.  We cannot waste anymore time.  And you cannot leave.”

I took my gun at from my waistband and pointed it at her. “Look, you saved me.  I’m grateful but I’m not asking if I can leave.  I am telling you that I am going.  It is as simple as that.”

She stated at me perplexed.  Her brown skin was pure and smooth.  She reached out her hand and placed her palm over the opening of the barrel.  

“This is a gun? You are primitive in my world. You are lower than the dung that a dung beetle rolls.  You cannot control me with this weapon.  There is no control here. Pull your trigger and find out.  But you only have one attempt.”

I have been around.  She wants me to shoot. I obliged.  I fired the remaining rounds but she did not waver.  I took a step back, reloaded, and shot again. 1 round, 2 round, 3 rounds, 4 rounds, 5 rounds and so on.  I screamed and shouted over the loud bangs.  She did not move!  I reloaded and shot again over and over.  She did not move! I went to reload again but there was nothing else to load.

“haha,” she laughed.  “Are you done? Is it my turn now?”

She walked over and wrapped her fingers around both wrists bending my hands towards me chest. I dropped the gun in pain. There was a loud snap.  Both my wrists crumpled into a heap. I feel to my knees. She lifted me up by my hair until my feet left the ground with her left arm.  She used her right fist to punch my face in.  I could feel the grit of my porcelain. I bit my tongue.  Blood was steaming from my nose.  She smacked my face and the crack of my jaw send chills down my spine.  

“I will see you in hell,” she said.  

By broken body was lifted about her head and she violently threw my down the hole.  My body banged the left and right sides of the well like walls.  My bones broke with every crushing blow until I hit the bottom.  But I didn’t lose conscience.  I want to lose consciousness.  Why am I still alert?  Put me out of my misery! 

Slowly my bones began to mend.  Breaking them was easy but now they are being stretched and put back in place. My rolled up muscles were pulled back over the bone.  My flesh stretched and tightened.  It was eructating pain. Until, I wasn’t.  I was back to normal.  Standing in a pit of chaos and destruction. 

I felt hands on my shoulders. I looked to my left shoulder and then my right.  I could see it was that beautiful brown skin again.  

“Are you ready for round 2,” she asked.  

She then proceeded to crush my clavicles.  

I hope there isn’t a round 3. 

Max and Blake with Mia. September 10, 2023. 


© Copyright 2023 Captain Imperfecto, LLC. All rights reserved. This material may not be republished, rewritten or redistributed without permission.  Please contact if you would like to re-publish.


Tuesday, September 26, 2023

I'm Born, Raised, Schooled, Live, and Die

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The 4 boys crossing the bridge to the railroad track southbound side.  September 16, 2023. 



September 26, 2023


I'm wading in the intercoastal waterway just off the stern of the boat in water about 5 feet deep while enjoying the scenery of a popular boating island somewhere off the coast of where I live. If I were to wade a little further out, the shelf of sand I'm standing on would probably dive 20 feet or more further down. This island our boat is anchored off is situated in the middle of the barrier islands that separates the ocean from the mainland. The water from the Atlantic Ocean pours in through the mouth of the inlet and it constantly purges out the old water and rejuvenates the souls and wildlife of those who are bathing in this paradise.

Summertime is teetering on the brink of the fall season, so the water temperature at this moment is just right. I enjoy moments in the water because the relaxation allows me to think about these special times of life and I can contemplate my existence.  Why is it that when us humans are confronted by a large body of water, or a mountain range that makes us feel small, we attempt to understand life?   It has to be that the sheer magnificence of that moment frees the endorphins throughout one's body, which allows our creativity to flow. I think to myself in these personal moments:  I'm born, raised, schooled, live, die.  And not necessarily in that order!  This cannot be the only thing that life has to offer?

I observe the other people in the water around me.  Are they thinking about life or just busy living it?  I scan the people around me and they are talking, laughing, drinking and having a good time.  I realize that everyone with a boat around me is listening to their favorite music, which makes a mangled mess of everyone else's favorite music.  They must be too buzzed to realize that all their music is combining to create the perfect melody for a metaphoric culture clash.  But, they are all happy.  The people on the shores of this island and not on their boats, sit in their chairs, under their canopies, next to their coolers and BBQ grills enjoying their down time in what is otherwise a busy American life.  In America, weekends are made for us.  For some, ocean life is America's favorite pastime.  

Most of us get up everyday and earn an honest living.  Some people put in 30 hours, others 40, most put in 48 to 60 hours of work in a week.  There are people with multiple jobs just to put bread on their table.  Then we get to choose whom we give our money to so that we may enjoy some of the fruits of our labor.  But sometimes our labor isn't enough.  Everyone wants a piece of our paycheck.  If the product is amazing, we gladly hand it over, other times we give our money reluctantly.  But there are always the unforeseen circumstances like hospital visits, car problems, school purchases, kid extra curricular activities, fuel for our vehicles, or a loved one needing a few extra bucks.  All of this can be overwhelming.  Is this what life is all about?

Here I am, my head bobbing like a buoy, my feet dangling on the bottom of the intercostal, thinking about what more life can offer me.  It sounds kind of selfish considering that I am contemplating life while relaxing in the water.  Could I be experiencing entitlement for having better things in life?  A few years ago, we went on a family reunion trip to the Dominican Republic.  My job offers vacation time so here I was on a paid leave time excursion with my kids.  My boys were complaining and giving the rest of us a difficult time because they were tired.  I looked at them and told them, "You are on a catamaran off the coast of the DR.  What on earth could possibly be upset about?'"  It was disheartening to say the least.  But they are outstanding kids however; at this moment they were misguided on their displeasure.  I was very frustrated that they couldn't fathom how lucky they were.  Now that is entitlement but they are children and can't fully grasp how big this moment is. I know exactly how lucky we are to be here and how hard I work to make moments like this trip happen. I suppose I answered one of my questions.  It isn't an entitlement when you work for it.  

Back to my current reality, in the sea, near an island, boating my cares away.  The scenery is so beautiful here.  Everything has its perfect place.  The water, the sand, fish, birds, people.  Everything at this precise moment is having the perfect synergy.   Where evolution has placed everything in such a perfect spot , guided by the hand of God. I'm happy that I was born and raised to know such a place exists.  And I'm happy to be living.


Max, Blake and Mia. September 10, 2023. 







© Copyright 2023 Captain Imperfecto, LLC. All rights reserved. This material may not be republished, rewritten or redistributed without permission.  Please contact if you would like to re-publish. 



Friday, July 21, 2023

A Heap of Trouble, a true police story

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Nico and Christopher clowning around. July 17, 2023.

July 21, 2023 

I'm dragging my heavy boots through this trash-ridden floor of newspapers; old used fast food bags, and other ungodly filth.  Thankfully, it's daylight and I can see what is around me.  Give me sunlight any day over a Streamlight flashlight in the middle of the night.  No matter how long I do this job, I'm always amazed at how some people live.  Bugs and feces around this dwelling are as common as houseplants for some.  These walks are never the same though.  One never knows what to expect from a hoarder.  It is worse than what you have seen on television.  It’s like standing in Satan's pit.  I have to turn my body sideways and weave like a snake around these towering heaps of clutter.  This is when my gun belt is truly unnecessary.  My gun holster and weapons are like giant hooks the trash can cling to.  There are many carved out walkways that I could have taken.  But I am traveling the path towards my partner.  When I got to the end of my path, I met with an officer who I almost missed due to all the rubbish.  He looked exasperated.  His white flesh was even whiter, like paste.  He was perspiring.  I saw that he was leaning against a wall that had no pile of trash. It was odd, really, to see this space.  The officer's baseball cap was tilted upwards.  His left leg bent, shoe flat against the wall and his left hand resting on his bent knee while his right hand wiped the sweat off his forehead.   

"What's up," I asked.  He removed his baseball cap and used the sleeve of his uniform shirt to wipe the rest of the sweat off of his face.  

"I don't know how to explain it," he began, "you have to look for yourself."  

"Look where, " I said incredulously.    

He put his baseball cap back on his head.  He pulled the brim down below his nose, his hand blocking his face.  He slowly lifted the hat back up and even the hat headband just above his eyebrows. 

 "There," he pointed, “above that trash pile and below the top of the doorway." 

 "You want me to climb this mountain of filth like it's some sort of peak?"  

"You don't have a choice, you gotta see for yourself, sarge" he stated.  

"Alright, well, have the flag ready for me to plant when I reach the summit."

I squared my shoulders toward the heaping pile of trash, and clutter, looking for a solid place that would offer me some stabilization of any kind. My left foot sank into the rubbish until only my heel and ankle was visible. I leaned into the trash and searched for an area I could grab.  I settled for the doorjamb molding.  I lunged with my right foot slightly above my left knee but my weight only compressed the trash and my right leg began to sink further down.  As a small amount surrounding trash cascaded down on top of me.  After the tiny avalanche of trash settled, I could hear a muffled sound.  I didn't move further. I turned my head slightly.  The tip of my nose touching some old newspaper, my right ear pointed to the direction of the noise.  I went silent, as I attempted to make out the noise.  On the other side of the trash I could hear the muffled sound of a clapping audience from an indistinct game show.  Then there was a muffled voice and some grunting,  "What's that sound? Is there a person over there?  I inquired.  "You gotta see for yourself.  You just gotta."  The officer said in disbelief. 

Feeling defeated, I looked upward at the top of the trash hill.  Just charge up that hill, I said to myself.  

Left, right, left, right, I pumped my legs.  

Driving upwards, crushing and compacting the trash with each step I was making my climb sturdier.  Almost there, to the peak before I slide back to the base, I lunged forward, and like a swimming breast stroke, plunged my hands at the top and grabbed both sides of the doorway.  I pumped my legs, as trash was shot out from beneath the soles of my boots, until I got enough of my body over the top and leaned over into the room.  There it was.  I saw what he was talking about.  

At first, I could not believe what I was looking at.  Was the sweat in my eyes causing them to blur?  Was there toxicity in the air causing me to hallucinate?  I concentrated and focused really hard like looking through a microscope at a sample slide.  But sure as heck there it was.  A man's head sticking up through a layered trash pile that appeared to be decapitated from its body however, he was alive.  The rest of his body from the chest down was buried and tightly packed from years of old trash.  I was practically looking at a landfill.  There was no bed, dresser or furniture to be seen.  It was absorbed by this insurmountable amount of trash.  The man was also one with this trash.  He didn’t look human anymore.  He wasn’t talking, laughing.  He only shrieked like a wild animal in a zoo.  I knew it was definitely human though.  A very large human because with every bellow and rumble from his movement, there was a large circumference around him that was dethatched from the rest of the heap.  His arms were bent like a Tyrannosaurus Rex.  His little hands free to grab the wrapped up Burger King and McDonalds hamburgers. The man in the pits only friend would stop in and him the food from afar.  I looked around at everything going on in that one spot.  How did he live so long under these conditions?  He never moved: Not to shower, or shave, even to use the bathroom.  He melted into the permanent foundation of this home.  Where do we even begin to get him out? 

I turned around and slid down the trash.  I looked at my officer and said, “ let’s go, I need a water and fresh air.”  

As we made our way out, the man in the pit inside the room bellowed and made arching noises like a seal.  He thought we were leaving him behind, or maybe because we didn’t leave food.  I don’t know.  The only thing I truly knew was that we had to get fire rescue there and cut him out.  But that is a story for another time.   

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Max and Blake enjoying Key West, July 9, 2023. 




© Copyright 2023 Captain Imperfecto, LLC. All rights reserved. This material may not be republished, rewritten or redistributed without permission.  Please contact if you would like to re-publish. 



Saturday, June 10, 2023

Transitioning into a New Era in History

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Boating and salt life with the family. Christopher (left) and Nico (right).  May 29, 2023.


June 10, 2023


The reality of life right now is that things are hard for a lot of people.  This transition from the previous decades into the current time and space we occupy has not been an easy one as we usher in a new era.  When I began to learn more about history, I wondered what it was like to transform from one place in time into another.  Like the Wild West morphing into a sophisticated industrial age, where did all those gunslingers go?  Being in the beginning of a transition is almost like time travel swishing through Ancient History, Post Classical History, Modern History ect.  Now that I’m aware we are currently transitioning into another direction, I don’t think I like being here in this time to witness an era change as much as I thought I would. Like they say, be careful what you wish for. 


Life seems to be in an unhealthy environment right now. The unknown is greater now than any time I have been alive.  I just hope that there’s something tangible when my children become more self aware of their environment.  Every generation has its trials and errors. Horrors and nightmares. Life altering events and historical time stamps.  But something about society feels different now. Maybe it’s because social media drives and documents current events in real time. 

Imagine what history would say about 9/11 if media and CCTV cameras did not catch the events unfold? How about if camera phones weren’t around to document George Floyd, the riots that ensued, and the tsunami of anger that event created.  History is changing in real time and we can’t keep up because we are inundated with a barrage of information.  There are boots on the ground.  Regular individuals embedded into society capturing anything and everything as it happens.  There isn’t time to digest what’s occurring due to swiftly move on to the next great life-changing event.  This transition into a new dawn, era, generation, isn’t going smoothly. But is transition supposed to? 

When America wanted independence from England that created war.  When the slave trade was threatened there was a civil war. And as nations developed millions were slaughtered for world dominance in World Wars.  But there seemed to be an autocorrect that realigned once good prevailed and society returned to normal for the better.  But this time with upgraded norms and new traditions and hopefully a better understanding about why the incident happened so that we are not doomed to repeat it.   

The events today feel as if history is blazing into uncharted territory.  It’s too easy to blame social media since every decade seems to have influences on youth that older people like to blame for the changes they don’t like occurring today.  “Turn down that music!”  “Cut your hair hippie!”  “Video games making our youth unsociable.” “It’s that rap music creating a hostile environment.”  “Elvis Presley’s hips are corrupting our daughters.”  Smoking, integration, gay rights, vaping, war on drugs and so on.  Those were all events occurring on a history baseline that seemed to be righted as anger simmered and culture and acceptance righted the ship.  The current tilt is no fun and there’s no ballast to weigh it down. 

Maybe this uneasy feeling I have of a bad history transition is due to my age and that ageism is blinding me to the fact that it isn’t society changing but it’s my unwillingness to change.  My desire and longing to return to things use to by in my world.  And I am no referring to the unjust times of people or changes made today for the benefit of the masses. I mean for the times that seemed innocent, carefree.  When my mother and father were young.  My siblings and I fighting over the remote and video game controllers, and arguing with my parents because I did want to go back inside the house for the night. 

As if getting older had hardened me in my ways and making me unable to change with the times.  It could be that in my mind I’m angry because youth is king, young people are doing fine.  So really I’m too shortsighted to see I’m the blind one and it is due to me grappling with my fear of being left behind as society transitions and breaks through new barriers as it normally does. It isn’t fun thinking that soon I will be irrelevant to corporate America or in people’s day-to-day lives as progress redirects society into other paths.  One thing for sure though, is that my family still needs me, for now anyhow. 

My reality is, I have built up a world in my mind as I matured and become wiser.  However society is transitioning into a new era of history.  Computers, AI, social media, and all forms of digital will soon overtake the things we manually do now as humans.  I suppose some of it is good for Mankind.  But not all of it will be used for good.  Becoming a history buff is the only way I can hold on to the good old days of my little world but the reality is that we are transitioning into a new era and if I continue looking back. I will miss the changes of the events unfolding before my very eyes. We are indeed transitioning into a new time and place in history.




Superheros. Blake (left) and Max (right). 






© Copyright 2023 Captain Imperfecto, LLC. All rights reserved. This material may not be republished, rewritten or redistributed without permission.  Please contact if you would like to re-publish. 



Monday, May 22, 2023

The Way Forward, Inspiration

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Nico and Christopher at the fair. January 21, 2023.



There are times that seem my struggles are insurmountable and I push whatever it is out of my mind as if it is going to eventually go away.  We all know that is not the case.  Those issues are there lingering, waiting, willing to rear its ugly head.  Yet, somehow I make it through.  I realign myself to prepare for the next month.  And so it goes as the time moves forward from days to weeks into months.  As long as I know there is a way forward I cannot fail.


But the way forward is a constant battle and there will be failure.  It is how I respond to my failure that makes me who I am.  One can’t sit back and assume the ends will meet without any effort put forth. You have to forecast what is coming up in the near future.  Unfortunately there really isn’t any saving for a “rainy day fund when there is bills that need to be paid, kids to be fed, and a loved one to care for.  The hustle never stops.

When I feel overwhelmed, and there are times that I do, I choose to win my battles of self-defeat by reinforcing my good qualities and repeating to myself my accomplishments up to this point.  And that accomplishment can be anything really.  I just walked around my house.  The power is on, I have food in the fridge, and my pantry is brisling with dry goods and snacks.  There is running water, my cell phone is active, and the Internet is A-Okay.  I feel as if I am winning. 

But what is winning, really?  Is getting by in life good enough to win?  Of course I would love to have the comfort that constant money provides to fund my future winning.  Cash in an account to pay for emergencies or supplies for the mid-week.  Have money to meet my colleagues out for lunch.  Give my kids an extra allowance for doing great school.  Give my wife money to get her hair and nails done.  Little things like that are helpful.  But winning is also typing this blog on my desktop computer inside my home in air-conditioned.  Those other things are minimal goals and a way to continue on my path forward. 

I don’t have to be grateful for every little minuet detail of my life.  Do I really pat myself for the necessities of life?  There is the whole Maslow’s theory of the hierarchy of needs.  The sense of safety, love, belonging, self-esteem, are all parts of life.  Those are things that my parents instilled in me on forging a path forward to sustain my life and have a structure that can provide for my loved ones.  I’m grateful for my parents and school that provided this information of work ethic and responsibility for me so survive.  But I would love to do more than simply survive. 


Day in and day out, I hustle to survive in this world.  I am proud of my accomplishments and my survival skills to make it here to this moment.  But I realize there is so much more out there for me to do other than simply supplying myself with the basic needs of survival.   There is a whole life out there that beckons me to participate with it.  But month-to-month is not enough.  It is very important that I see what is on the horizon and find a way forward so that I too,can enjoy the finer things in life.   

 


Blake and Max. May 16, 2023. 



© Copyright 2023 Captain Imperfecto, LLC. All rights reserved. This material may not be republished, rewritten or redistributed without permission.  Please contact if you would like to publish.