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This is Maynard James Keenan. This photo was taken somewhere between 1992 and 1994 I would guess.

Today is Monday, which is MY Sunday. And i got up early, had a wonderful morning with my lady, and had a very small breakfast. As she’s going out the door, Snar says “Hey you’re going to see TOOL tonight, right?” I had completely forgotten. How could I forget! I just spoke about it last night at around 2200 hours. I was anticipating waking up and that subject being the first thing on my mind. Instead all I could think about was what to mix with my protein powder. Water or fat free moo? Blueberries or strawberries? And then within 20 minutes, my attention shifted to a more important matter: What TOOL songs would I put on the playlist that was going to accommodate/fuel my AM weightlifting session. Here is how it went down. I put these songs on a playlist, and then burned it to CD. Sweat, Jambi, Jimmy, Hooker With A Penis (actual title of song), Vicarious, The Grudge, Right In Two, Bottom, Ticks & Leeches, Pushit (live).

I loaded up the little rascal in Mobile One and headed out for a quick round of errands. Vet’s office for records transfer-complete. Post office to mail MLK T-Shirt to friend in Indiana-complete, drop off newly burned TOOL CD at my boy’
s living quarters to get him fired up for the show-complete. And here is fun nugget for you: He and I have only been to one concert together, and that was NIN last summer. And what did we listen to on the way down there? TOOL’s “10,000 Days” (the title of my first ever blog post here in the ‘sphere). Ahhh, the circle of life. It goes round and round.

So I just hammered out a good lift, and I will post it over on the MLK Official Blog.
I will return tomorrow with tales of TOOL, and what emotional impact the show had on me.

>Come alive in the house that screams. I took a spell yesterday afternoon to get at least a thumbnail deep into “Black House” by Stephen King and Peter Straub. I read “The Talisman” about 6-8 years previous, and have wanted to shred “House” story for about the same length of time. So I get 10 pages in and pass out, cold, with the fan on high. It was a scorcher yesterday. I left sweat stains in the air, for the love of Pete. So enter this freaky little dream I had between 1345 and 1525 hours yesterday, 070710.

I’m totally third party watching a family grieve over what seems to be the discovery of a loved one’s grave, conspicuously placed in the end zone of a high school football field. “?” I say to myself now, but in the dream ’twas real. Visceral. I felt that family twist and churn as they realized it was their son, who’d been missing for some time.

In what the family would almost certainly describe as a miracle, there emerged a transformation from inanimate corpse to winged, and brilliant body. The body arose from the ground as flesh and breath, and flew to the top of the field house I shit you not. The family was awash with a voracious gratitude, and casting their eyes skyward they followed their son’s flight out of this plane in silence. I have no idea what all this means, but you have not heard shit yet.

Cut immediately to a small US/Mexico border town. In a nondescript state, or time, I am one to run across the border to get contraband and bring it to my fellow vagrants. Clad in filth ridden rags I called clothes and literally skulking around the hills of this pre-dawn Mexican village, I plan on exchanging something for something and getting back stateside unscathed. And it gets fuzzy. There was a kid involved and I was caught unaware that the law was within a breath and I had to move. So the kid, I think, helps me out and I happen to in turn escort him on my back away from, what I believe, was a duo of policemen looking for the head of one’s wife. Yeah, for real.
I think that was unknown to me until the END of the dream. So the dream becomes a time and place where the police from the US side were pulling all sorts of sneaky moves to off the criminals and kill the kids from Mexico, all because this cop’s wife was abducted, beaten to death and then decapitated. The body, I deduce from all the solid detective work I did in this dream, was buried under a football field at a stateside high school. He has been looking for the head for about 6 weeks now. This poor bastard’s life is a total wreck, his partner is doing the absolute best he can to keep this guy afloat, but eventually the cop snaps. We’ll cut to the end of the dream. I have located the home of the kid who knows what group beheaded the American policeman’s wife, and I am bout to extract the info from him when we hear someone else in the house. Mind you, we are on the second story of a shanty-like house in a little Hooverville somewhere over the border and into Mexico. This kid and myself creep down to a better vantage point and we see the partner of the unstable policeman deliberately placing 2 liter bottles filled with cloudy, colored liquids all over the house. AS he spots us and informs us both, he has done this to every house on this filthy little hill. And upon asking why, it’s so his partner will have peace, he says. And in a flash, the kid with the intel on the murderers goes running out of the first floor below and down through the hills. This is about the time I realize that the other cop’s wife had been killed and that was what the fued was over. Until this point the dream was unraveling like a good book or movie. We beg the officer not to detonate the homemade bombs, designed to incinerate everyone and everything on this hill to give his partner some peace. He is uncooperative, and the kid and I take off. And that was the end of my dream. Pardon my language but HOW FUCKING WEIRD was that? My laws, I cannot stop thinking about it. Anyway, I have a new blog, and I’m formally inviting you all to it. I have linked us up at the top left of our screens. The Main Line Kettlebells Official Training Blog has all the information that is important to our growth as humans and trainers. This blog will be reserved for my personal workouts and, obviously, psychoholic slag.

Come alive in the house that screams,
W2

>Too long have I neglected thee. What post through yonder monitor wanders? I’m an unfaithful prick. I went off and set up a stiff lipped blog to inform potential punters and here I am all forgetting the people who mean the most to me. You team!

I saw that my last post was two weeks ago, and I felt scummy. Stand by for debrief:

General Wayne Elementary School 1000 hours Sunday 8 July 2007. % bells, a TAPS unit, a Track, and some sweaty ball bag weather. I let ‘er rip.

Busted out the Camera and got some good stock footy for Tactical Kettlebell Manual exercises. Swing Press Get Up 2 handed HP 1 leg dead lift dip/pull up and lunge. I roasted my guts in front of my design guy and client John, as he followedd me all over the field for the second 45 minutes of my AM reconstitution. I pledged to the camera that I would run a TKM circuit and try and run 5 reps to 1, in every drill, in less than 20 minutes. When 20 min came, and I was burning inside out, I flagged my soft self and became less of a man. So when you see my trailer in the future and it looks like a I went hard for 20 mics, I DID, but my intent was to go a little longer. So it’s not total horsesh*t, but it still stinks. Tactical Kettlebell Drills/reps performed in a circuit.

Pull Up 5, Swing 5 each arm, Get Ups 3L 2R, Lunge 5 on each leg, Push Up (in place of Dip) 5, 2 handed Hot Potato x 30 reps, Double Press x 5, 1 leg dead lift x 5 each leg. Made it down to through 4 reps each drill and all the way to 3 for each one, modifying some numbers for time, and at +20.00 minutes I was not near done, but had cashed in the above chips. Felt good cause I baked my sh&t on display but crappy that I couldn’t find enough sack for rounds of two and one rep. Saddening. Do not hire me, I suck.

Drank mad water, protein powder and OJ in a blender with ice. YUM. NO joke. Talked to my boy Matt yesterday, who led me to Vegas, the promised land, so many years ago. All is well in his pocket of fitness, as is in mine. Gonna roll myself out.

Feel.