Illuminations of a Hangover

Awaken the innocence.
We are all born guilty.
Heaven is a myth.
Hell is what we're born into.

Keep your fucking mouth shut.
Nobody cares to hear it.
Everyones too busy talking:
"Wars and Rumors About Wars."

Opinions are like assholes.
Everybodys got one.
Wisdom's like a phantom.
It's hardly ever to be seen.

For those that look at ghosts.
They are locked up in asylums.
For those who speak the truth.
They are locked up in prisons.

Which direction will we take?
How much more bullshit shall we endure?
I see so many serpents that I can't see thru to saints.
I hear so many philistines that prophets speak in vanquished tones.

Happy dwellings.
Peace to all.
Death is silence.
Life is shit.

THE END

i dunno

Lessons were there. I'm just not sure I ever learned them. They seemed to hang in the air,
allusive. I must've looked past them. Somehow they haunted me in their happening.
I suppose I'm just a fool, wandering. Days mean little. Night mean even less.
     I'm a ghost & I see all of us. It's only because I don't see myself. I've lost sight.
My life seems lost to desolate days. Nothing ever takes places along these wayward streets.
Your vision is beyond me. I was in search of something simple. Somehow that grew complicated.
Yet somehow, now, it's just me. Taking one step in front of the other. No salvation, just stepping stones. Stoned to the bone. Alone. Suffering.
       I can handle that. Can't handle anything. Nothing yet, at least. Not since she left me. 
A gun to the head would almost be too easy. I'd be too good for that. I was born worth anything & everything.
         Now I'm nothing. What gives? I suppose I did. I gave too much. Too much away. Now there's nothing left of me. I'm left empty.
Stabbing away at hollow words, in hopes that they can save me. They cadn't. Nothing can. Not a damn thing in the end. Smile bag of bones. Empty soul.
The ENd.   
 

Who knows?

If there's this much madness in every human being, it's a wonder the whole world doesn't burst apart. Wait a second. Maybe that's precisely what it's doing. Who knows?!! 

Morning Buzz

Pull from the flask 'till you drown in it's flood.




The End

to be there and not be

i love you, but i wish i didn't have to.
i'll be there when you call, but i'll wish i hadn't gone.
this hollow is a better place, & HELL.
it's holier to cherish this aching cavity alone- w/ you.

you're the feast that didn't fill me.
the nourishment that doesn't sustain.
the fulfillment that leaves me wanting.
the cage that doesn't keep.
..................the joy that brings me pain.

i built us a home, but these 4 walls don't shelter us from the storming winds inside.
we clothed one another in companionship, but we stand & stare at our nakedness.

you are the void & its essence. 
EXISTENCE & EXTINCTION
you are life as you are death.
you are one in the same. 
yet you are separation & the divide.
I love YOU, for you are all there is in life.
& yet, you are nothing, as i am- your everything:
your love & loss

Ron Burgundy: "I make fart noises with my mouth. PPPRRRBBBTTT!!! And I like it cause...." Machete as bartender: "Hey nut-job, quit tha singin! Creepin out all the regulars." Burgundy: "I'M EXPRESSING MY INNER ANGUISH THRU THE MAJESTY OF SONG!!!!!" Machete bartender: "Look punky, you been comin in here every day, stinkin up the joint with your craziness. Now, what the hell is wrong with you?!!!" Burgundy: "I'VE GAWT NO HEART!!!!! Because a SHE-DEVIL stole it!!!... And you wanna know what the worst part is? SHE'S BETTER THAN ME!!! (huff) she's better than me. (sigh)" Machete: "You know, timez are changing. Ladiez can DO STUFF now. You're gonna hafta learn howta deal with that." Burgandy: "What? Were you saying something? Look, I don't speak Spanish."

i knew a girl who killed me.
stole my heart right out of my chest.
handed it back bruised & bleeding.
now there's nothing left.
                                      .... of me

A Course in Direction- ERECTION!!!! hahaha

Some statements we make mean nothing at all. Others mean a great deal. The trick is in learning the difference. And learning NOT to trick ourselves.

Idle moments spent in a bar in Pattaya

Stab that red wine in the chest, as it pulls a gun to my head.  Moments pass..... Then there I am, all alone: save for my empty glass.
                                      The END 

Betrayal of Truth

Somewhere between Florida and Florence my subconscious made the decision for me, that this would all end in flames. No negotiations would be considered, no treaties would be tendered. Most importantly, logic and truth would not triumph, not this time. Failing to have the courage for the burden of the responsibility eventually made the destruction and the decay inevitable. A self-initiated sabotage of sorts. What should have ended that distant Summer, inevitably persisted. But the linger soured and spoiled. And now my closest lover lies in the arms of someone I considered to be a brother. The ultimate betrayal is what became of a decade of loyalty. Where once there was the promise of a ring, now resides the most horrible of possibilities. Friendships torn to tadders. Relationships ruined in a span of less than an hour. Now there's a bottle beneath my breath and a shiver in my shake. Can't sleep, can't eat and can't think. Funny how the most surprising tragedies are the ones you expect the most. So for him, sloppy seconds it shall be. And for her, my best bud's cock is the key. As for me.. I'm left holding my dick, feeling ever so lonely. After this, how am I supposed to trust anyone? How can anyone face this sort of situation and still live a life of love? Past memories pose as poison. Souvenirs from the years serve as salt in the wounds. All the red flags have been burned to the ground. All that remains is a single white flag, torn and frayed, alone in a blood-drenched battlefield. This is how a bitter grudge is born, where faith fails, where damage is done. Now a broken boy binges his way to better days. It always pours when it finally does rain, so he digs deep and prepares for the floods, although he already wades through the rising waters.

Pack It Up

Crazy times.. It is a season for change. A single catalyst meets determination. And his friend hope. Together they conspire. Together they toil. Working for a new you. A new future. So I pack it up. Everything. Down into little boxes and overstretched bags. To be moved far away. Into some dark corner somewhere. Not to be disturbed by the frenzy. Family has their concerns. Why wouldn't they? They are family. That's what they do. "It isn't safe out there!" What do they know? Can't be any worse than Hell Paso. Or Southeast Austin. But where they are blind, we can see. Where they doubt, we trust. Where they fold, we press on. So we pack it up. Into cold compartments. Into another strange territory. Unfamiliar and unknowing. But by dismissing local lore, we accept the challenge of life. Texas will always remain. It is Texas. Go onward and explore. Give yourself room to breath the fresh air. Allow your head some space to think for once. Set forth on an adventure. One for the record books. One for yourself. Is it really such a big leap? Or is it a tiny hop in a series of successive jumps, each bringing you closer to yourself? The fish can only be as big as its bowl. The plant can only grow to the size of its pot. So put down your bowl of pot and jump. Sure it will be hard. It will be tough. It will be humbling. But isn't that the point? To look out past the horizon and know that you can and you did. Pure self-reliance. Unadulterated self-assurance. Unfettered focus on the ideals of the self. Your normal self will be waiting here like you never left. In our hearts. And our minds. We will hold you dearly in memory and in prayer. We love you and always will. So go be whoever you want to be. Take everything out of yourself. So you can reassess, and know what to put back in. Release the fear, the anger, the doubt, the anxiety, the insecurity, the negativity. Tell the little voice in your mind to fuck off. Well, at least for a little while. Train your instincts and sharpen your Spidey-senses. And above all, be don't walk through the airport sideways.. For you will be going to Bang-kok. Time is of the essence and time is fleeting. So go and pack it up. All your excuses. All your worries. Everything. Put it away and go enjoy. Use the camera as your eyes and the blog as your voice. And everything will be fine.

Best of luck, Bukowski style.

Isn't life so strange?!

The events of the past 72-or-so hours have been a severe reminder of Newton's law of motion. "Every action has an equal and opposite reaction," has never rang so true, so clear, and so abrupt. I recant the story for you here with minimal frivolity, well, as much as I can anyhow. 


It all started on Friday afternoon. 


I am at work in the final few agonizing hours of the day's shift, just taking care of business as usual. A gentlemen came to me for assistance, which I provided to an extent. Upon his asking for a favor that I felt was a little suspect, I peacefully insisted that he take care of it himself because there were aspects involved that I could not know or help. He walked away and took charge to his task. I turned back to my colleagues and uttered a simple but firm statement in passing: "...I'm not going to do his fucking job." At the time, we laughed, shrugged and went back to work. 


The day at the office finally wrapped up and I headed to my new place. Just signed a fresh lease with Whitney in an amazing apt complex right next door to my work, and needed to pick up our keys.. Friday was Jessica's birthday, and plans were set to go out drinking later on the East side of town. So I took care of business and headed out. Cool bar with good company made for a great time. Many strange, yet very engaging conversations with many a stranger took place. After last call we headed out to a friend's house to continue the party. For my money, the after party was the better shindig. A lot of wild things were happening that night. Finally sobered up and called it around 5:30am. Headed home in the cool night air after a long night with good people.


Woke up to the cell phone screaming Bloody Mary in my ear. It was my closest cousin, Dusty. He was fillin' in on bass for a small group out of Oklahoma for a few nights on the road, while his other group remains on hiatus. My cousin was finally playing Gruene Hall. I threw on the closest, cleanest shirt, some questionable jeans and my boots, and I was out the door again. Cruised 85~90mph the whole way and made it in damn near record time. Ran the sound for the show and goofed off all afternoon, while pounding Shiner beers like water. He had no plans for the night or next day so I had Mike order a ticket for the concert we were going to later that night. Manchester Orchestra, White Denim, The Dear Hunter, and Little Hurricane were all playing Stubb's BBQ. We already had some tickets, being Rocktober and all. So I told him I would do whatever it would take for him to stay the night and have a good time, which eventually convinced him. 


There was something electric in the air. It was palpable. Wrecks lines the access roads of the highway, one even shut down all of 35-South. 8 festivals were going on simultaneously in the city on this single weekend. An excitement was brewing. After a long battle with an automated parking lot toll box from Hell, we made it to Stubb's. Dusty's eyes were huge since the ribs under 35, and he hadn't seen nothin' yet. That night, each band killed it. Each better than the last. Each more engaging, more precise, more entertaining. The crescendo of the night came as the headliners were just beginning to really warm up their chops. I drifted over to the merch tables, as advised by Leah who apparently got the lead singer all moist and wanting for an opportunity.. to hire a sound guy. Pull your mind out of the gutter. He introduced himself and the familiar small talk was underway. One thing led to another, and sure enough, he offered me to come out to some of their rehearsals after this tour ends, to run some sound. If things work out well, then they will let me run a few shows for them, here in Austin in December. If those work out, then I could have an opportunity to go on a West coast (maybe even more) tour with them and Wilco, starting in January. It took every bit of my strength not to burst from the seams as I handed him my business card. Well, to be honest, it wasn't even my business card. It was the Floyd Audio card with my name and number scribbled on the back. But he was cool with it. Said to follow up in a month or so. I bought a shirt and a record from him, shook his hand and then floated back into the crowd. As I walked up to the group, the look on Leah's face told me that she already knew. We roared into the open air with everything we had when I told them the news. 


After the show, Mike and Leah went home while Dusty and I stayed. I had an obligation to this virgin of the 6th Street experience, to break him in. We went to Flamingo Cantina and ended up staying until last call. A few jam bands were playing, along with Dia de los Muertos burlesque dancers in-between sets. We rode on white horses and stiff drinks through the night. Eventually, as it always happens to go at this location, we got offered to smoke on the balcony. We hung out with them the rest of the night, and ended up making really good friends out of the group. One of the girls was a dancer in the show that evening, along with her b/f and their roommates and a few other friends. They have a house near the ghetto-tastic apartments we once occupied. At the end of the night they gave us a ride so we wouldn't have to mess with a cab. We were much obliged. The party continued at their artsy house, playing farckle until the wee hours of the morning. Another 6am night.  Took a taxi home just a few blocks cause we were so far gone. We pulled up to my apt, the meter rang $6, and we hurried to bed before the sunlight lifted from the horizon. 


Sunday morning comes all too early. Hell, it was already there by the time I was going to bed initially. We get around and I take him to the airport on his request. I volunteered to drive him to Oklahoma City, stay with him and his wife Sunday night, call into work Monday and just drive back in after a good night's sleep. He felt bad, like he was putting me out or something. But I did volunteer, so I stuck to my guns. After a typically busy airport experience, we discovered that he could not get a flight anywhere under $2,000. [INSERT BUZZER NOISE HERE] So we thought about it and turns out he could rent a car in Austin, drive himself up to OKC, and just drop off the rental there in his city, all for less than it would take for me to do it. So he opted for the rental, and I heaved a heavy sigh of relief to myself, thankful for not having to drive all those hours and all those miles after two hard nights, nearly on a bender status of sobriety. We said goodbyes and my cousin began his journey home, having successfully having one of the best times anyone could have in the Hill Country. 


Monday morning felt worse than the rest. But I scooped myself up, got showered and was parking at work less then 15 minuets later. Record setting pace, done unintentionally. I was just in go mode, I guess. Started my day with a stiff cup of coffee and some breakfast, then proceeded to get to work. After being there for a little over 2 hours, my boss asks to speak with me privately about something. He wanted me to know that this would be my last day and that I should go ahead and pack up my things. Needless to say, I was a little bit more than shocked. No advance warning, no written notices, no two week notice, hell, not even two minute notice. No explanation, no courtesy, no dignity, no due process. Just, "thanks for your time, but your contract has been fulfilled and we no longer need you." I pleaded with my manager for at least a reason, a cause, anything. But he would not say anything real, anything true. Just an endless stream of bullshit that some asshole wrote with about 35 other scenarios that managers-in-training are forced to memorize and regurgitate to ensure that the giant corporate machine keeps on a rollin' along. I made a scene at the smoker's table outside before I left. I was so angry I was shaking. After I recollected myself a little more, I called my recruiter to let him know. He already knew. Got an email earlier in the morning. He told me the reason for my dismissal from that job is because of "unprofessional behavior and comments" and that I dropped the F word. It all stems back to that one single comment uttered late on a Friday afternoon, in a joking manner to his fellow coworkers in the privacy of their isolated room. I followed up with my manager. He told me nothing over the phone, other than one key piece of information: he heard the comment. So now I am out of a job because of a joke gone awry and a rat for a manager. They waited for me to make one mistake and swept me out. I think a big reason is because he and I never worked well together. That was because I never respected him. We worked hard for Steve because he worked hard for us. He defended us. Had our backs, no matter what. This guy was a pompous pushover. A "Yes-Man" with the distinctive smudge of brown across his nose. Thoroughly trained on how to delegate all tasks and responsibilities to others, and if anyone becomes too independent, or strong willed, they take them out. Basically the perfect corporate manager. Invincible ignorance used to gain power and job security. He repeatedly tried telling me what to do when I already knew. I didn't care to listen much considering I had to teach him how to burn a CD.. The only thing he should be managing is a dustpan and a broom. 


So now I'm tied to a brand new 14 month lease, a wedding where I am a groomsman, another wedding where I am the Best Man, a Vegas bachelor party that I am financially obligated to, and no job. Well, no steady job. Still got the gigs, but $900 a month is hard to live on when the majority of that sum goes straight to rent, bills and food almost immediately as I earn it. And honestly, if it weren't for the new place and the weddings, I'd be right beside you on the flight to Bangkok, laughing the whole way. 


Isn't life so strange?!

Thoughts spin like a ferris wheel

it is the season for nostalgia
a time for remembrance
a time for reverence
a time for reveille
thoughts spin like a ferris wheel
memories glow as they turn
but eventually will flicker and fade

while I stroll through the aisles of my mind

and browse the bookmarks left behind

I feel like a kid skipping through the fair

the ground is cold and hard

and so is the frigid night air 

the full moon baths the shadows with radiant beams

illuminating the world even when the sun can't be seen

like the light that I see at the top of the staircase

to the attic of my imagination

the lonely light bulb shining so strong

even a closed door cannot prevent it's cause

so as the nights grow longer 

and we turn farther away from the heat

we activate internally

a preparation for the inevitable 

as Winter approaches
we stock our shelves with what we were
only to emerge again in the Spring
to what we have become from the body's hibernation
we feed off memories as much 
as our organs feed off fuel 
leaving us lean of fat and searching for a new self
this season is sanctuary to my soul
out of the suppression of the Summer's suffocation
while not yet having froze the life out of the soil 
it charges my chakras 
igniting so effortlessly 
like neon filling the florescent tubes of mind's No Vacancy sign
of course longing for the lore of old still looms
but a shred falls along with each dying leaf
leaving nothing but acceptance for what is 
and what could be
so it is time to wake up
as the warmth begins its slumber
and Autumn licks its lips
JC

The Human Axiom

The Golden Rule: "Do unto others as you would want done unto you."

What we live by instead: Do unto others as was done unto you.

This can be a vicious world, but it gets even worse once we forget what power we have to influence it.

Tiny Frogs Bounce in My Dreams

(A WORK IN PROGRESS- May not make sense just yet, but it will soon.)

Tiny frogs bounce in my dreams.

            They're slimy skin, their diminutive shapes.

                             How truly disgusting they seem to be.

            Yet nothing else is bouncing...

Everything else is stuck in place, stagnant & clingy.

            So are the frogs as terrible as they seem?

Tiny frogs bounce in my dreams.

            They hoppity- hop-hop ever closer to me.

                        I repeal so quickly so much farther away.

            My face struck in horror of what things may be.

Why the hell am I so scared of these tiny things?

            What kind of man am I to be so afraid?

No man at all it would seem, I'd say.

            Just a coward afraid of what things may be.  

Tiny frogs bounce in my dreams.

            They bounce here & there; everywhere in between.

                                    They bounce in potential, in hope, & belief.

            They demand I be what I'm afraid to be:

a tiny bouncing frog.

            So free to bounce all over the place.

                          

Graveyard

garlic naan
so strong
I go stiff

gotta shake it
gotta keep movin'
gotta stay swift

pot after pot
drop after drop
absolutely non stop

k-k-kick back another cup
t-t-tick of my jaw, and a
c-c-click of my lighter

what's another smoke?
since I'm already down here
among the walking dead

take a moment to enjoy the breeze
though hot as it may be
coffins hardly allow room to breath

but it's back to the hole
back on the grind
slowly but surely loosing my mind

delusion clocks in for his shift
always nice to have a friend around
during these twilight hours, time drowns

singing Redemption Songs
aching for someone to respond
but by now, I'm too far gone

a few long lonely nights In-hell
might eventually do me well
cause I hardly ever have time to kill

it is such an abstract absurdity; time
but the question still saturates my mind
was it bought and bribed or raped and robbed?
or worse of all, was it all of above that happened to mine?


JC

Placing One Foot In Front of the Other...

My purpose in Thailand is to find my Zen. Connect what things make me feel most passionate, assemble their purposes, & puruse them devoutly. W/ an open heart full of gladness, I'll awaken to hear the sounds of life bursting in bloom all around me.
                    the climate here is stifling. each of us in search of a godhead to have it all make sense for our weary minds in conflict w/ chaos. Acting like a bunch of children, tho only worse. The emotional depths of a flattened road, a dead-end. Fucking toddlers if you ask me. No one's finding meaning in themselves. & it's downright killing me that this is what they want for me as well. Tho I know I was born for something better, & I wasn't taught to compromise upon my integrity. Altho that's all I've ever seen, all I've ever known. That is no matter. I'm the one I need to know & no one else, yet I'd still love to learn. One day, I suppose. When that day is right. 
           So I'm breaking away, owning up to it all, & jetting because that's what makes sense to me- to lose all hope then regain it anew, in a way that will stand firm in conviction.
          Therefore, finding myself breathing life. Aflame. Glorifying what I was sent here to praise openly. Life & the joyful abundance of contended living. For my own sake, not for other's, at least not until I grow to that special point where all I am is able to give lovingly w/out holding back.   
                Then I will know that I have acheived. And that will be all I've ever wanted. All I've ever hoped for.

Life's Lamenting Song

         The end of the best beginnings always feels like death to me.

Now here I am, all alone, in search of a reason to breathe. The bitter taste of the lack of love or                                                                                                                             hope or decency.

                Yet decency is a gift from God, & I am a wicked being.

                                                 The air is now a vacuous cloud, choking me w/ it’s void.

                           And here I am:

                                                all alone.           

                                                        W/out anyone left to give a fuck.

               It’s not that I blame them in the least. I wouldn’t have hope for me either.

            I don’t.    

                        & I’m clinging onto desperation- because it’s all I’ve ever known.

She left me on an Autumn Eve, claiming she had to go.

                                That there was no other choice for her.

                                                        That defeat was all she’d known.

I told her she was never there: SO WHAT THE HELL DOES IT FUCKING MATTER?!!! GO!!!!!!

            She played the role of a victim in her heart & in the end it crushed us both.

                         It was all based upon her fear. The fear I couldn’t save her from.

             And I never felt more abandoned;

                                                  my words rang on a dead tone.

When I screamed at her, I exposed my pain, repulsive in it’s truth.
                   I said to her: “If there’s anything worse than being alone, it’s being alone while being w/ someone else!”

            I laid down my life for the 2 of them. Bashed in my skull w/ a daggered stone.
                    Stretched out desolately among shifting sands, my eyes gushing out a river of blood.
                                  On the beach where I wish I’d been dead-n’-gone. Yet I’m left here to suffer more & more. Each moment grows less bearable as each second surely flows onward into nowhere. 

                                               And still I sit here, asking myself: How could Hell be any worse?

      Oh the godawful torment of life! Does it EVER fucking stop?!!!

              I’ve lived thru my death, a ghost in the flesh. Still he got away a blessed man w/ those he loves.                                                                                                                                                         

                                                         And I’m the one left alone?!!   

            The law of club & fang was cast down upon me.

                                                               I was judged the guilty one.

 So alone here I sit, all alone, pretending I’ll be OK.

                                             Even tho I know that’s a goddamn lie.

               There are no happy endings.

                                                        Simply life’s lamenting song.

THE END

Sink or Swim

a boy and a girl

stand on the beach of shared imagining

their gazes far and distant

staring at the horizon 

off into the future

the great beyond

blissfully unaware of their proximity

to the tangible truth

they are closer than they could have understood

physically

mentally

spiritually

sensually

yet they were really farther than ever before

their eyes unable to focus on anything that close

trained only to look ahead

what if

what could be

what the fuck

sending love letters in the mail

to someone standing beside you

accomplishes nothing but torment

he wanted to turn around 

and reach out

drawing her near

to his lips

to his heart

all to himself

but a shadow looms

an unknown figure approaching

from a distance, the boy is crushed

a better version of himself

casting such towering and trite contemplations to the wind

allowing the howl to carry for any to hear

the figure arrives

her other half

the boy observes closely 

his eyes finally focus

he can see the truth

no such thing as a better version of himself

no such thing

how absurd such a thought

so he fortifies his mind

before he knew so little 

and treaded so lightly

waiting for the decision to be made for him

now he understands

and will dive in with tenacity

if he only could get a shot

it deserves the opportunity

he deserves the chance

to sink or swim

JC

Boldy Skateboarding Beneath the Banner of Jay Adams

Boldly Skateboarding Beneath the Banner of Jay Adams

(The Skateboarding Memoirs: Installment #1)

            It was a funny thing the way skateboarding chose to come back into my life. I was 26 years old & hadn't stood on one for quite some time- 8 years or more. My balance was certainly not what it used to be. But as soon as the rubber-souls on my shoes struck the grip-tape, I was hooked. I began to work daily on the basics. I was unemployed at the time, & the US was experiencing severe economic drought. And there I was- w/out a job & void of prospects, working by the hour to perfect my free-riding, flat-ground skills w/out a single hope of ever going pro, or making any money. There was certainly no future in it for me, except for a future promising passion in its purest form.

             I'd been viewing religiously video-clips of the Dogtown days, the Zephyr team. The original surf-style, old-school technique was much more moving, in my opinion, than the current trend of intangible, high-flying, 1000-flips-per-second, circus-act, vert-style made so popular by skaters like Tony Hawk, Bob Burnquist, Buckey Lasek , & my least-favorite of all- that butt-spelunking, soul-sucking, snow-boarding, carrot-topped, cash-machine: Shaun White. It was my opinion that the masses had taken the art right out of skateboarding. Their reaction to the pastime had spawned immense commercial-success, & in order to properly capitalize upon what money could be made, the act of skateboarding had to be envisioned as an item more concrete in definition. An item that could ultimately be sold in stores. Therefore, they had turned it into a sport. It was only their misunderstanding that skateboarding was most definitely NOT a sport. It was an art-form of the highest order. And there was no one better than the originals, the gods-of-street-dissension, the skaters of the 70's & early 80's who knew this best.

            My favorite skater above all was, w/out a doubt, Jay Adams. Adams was like an animal let loose upon the street, a gorilla-beast devouring the pavement. At least that was how I saw him. In my mind, Adams represented the polar-opposite-end-of-the-spectrum across from his peer, the graceful, elegant "golden-boy"- Stacy Peralta. Peralta was a man whom, in my opinion, could be considered the father of figure-skating on a skateboard. And altho, I held many elements of Peralta's style in high regard, I could also tell by his way on a board that he was a big-time softy, much like many of the fame-fashioned skateboarders today. As Peralta soared across the barren, poverty-stricken cement-playground of 1973 Mono County, California, the boy might as well have been floating in the sky like a bird (or a Hawk, haha). He dawned the ethereal visage of an angel in the heavens. He danced high above, detached from the world below, impervious to the painful, toiling anguish of the street & it's people.

            Adams, however, existed as one w/ the street. Between his body & the asphalt, there seemed to lie no clear distinction. They were one in the same. As the cement-swallowed soil surely does crush down upon its people, ensnaring them to lives of hardship & unforgiving quicksand-esque struggles- Adam's delivered the same back unto it w/ unrelenting, dominant fury. His body formed the posture of a primitive barbarian striking down upon the jungle-floor w/ battering fists. As he dug his arms, legs, & feet deep into the pavement, executing hard-boiled spins & muscled carves- it was obvious, by the sheer dignity of his tricks, especially his failed tricks, that Jay Adams was no stranger to falling or learning how to push himself back up, once he fell, & onward towards the victory of his goals. It seemed he did not care if he hurt himself, that the dedication, the commitment to the trick, even at the expense of enduring immense physical pain- harbored enough pay-off for the young-man in the end. It could also be stated that, as the single-most-profound-member of the Z-boys, Adams was the one to unfortunately get his ass bitten by the inevitable commercialization of the "sport" of skateboarding. As Peralta went on to have success w/ Powell-Peralta Boards, & at the same time, Tony Alva began to blow up w/ his own skating-line, Alva Boards- w/ his ego blazing brightly in each of his advertisements, the cocky, self-assure, curly-headed, financially-successful: "World Champion"- Adams set back in dismay & disagreement as money was made for those who had no problem making bank under the guidelines of American Free-Market Capitalism.

            Adam's rejected skateboarding on a professional level. For him, the very act of competition began to rob the meaning out of what had been created freely, out of passion alone, by him & his friends beneath God's golden-sun in 1970's "SoCal". And he became steeped in internal protest against the powers at be, who only cared to rob the art of its freedom, in order to make it into a household name that would, in turn, make them millions. Skateboarding, for Adam's, embodied a message much purer than a rich white-man's pastime. For him, it was the actions, the raw-impressions, the crunching, clawing, teething-spirit of the street that was made sacred. I believe the man saw skateboarding as a way to make comprehensible the madness of the urban wasteland, the slow decay of soul & substance, the demoralization & heartbreak of broken-homes, false-ideals, & cruel abstractions. A rationalization of a world exhausted by the industrialized smudge of 20th-century-blind-ambition. A refuge away from the callous boot-print stamped upon the souls of collective humanity.

             It may also be said, that whereas the "art" of skateboarding will never forget the undeniable influence of Jay Adams, the so-called "sport" of skateboarding washed over him like an inhuman force, a cold wave of indifference. One that was certainly not deserved of a legend who stood for a message much clearer than others at the time. An action which serves only to give reason as to why it is so important the "common-man" continue to pump his heart out via the means of a skateboard, trucks, bearings, & wheels. In order to regain faith in humanity & instill hope in place of destitute perceptions & shallow points-of-view. 

            And it is under such an example of unfortunate circumstance that I boldly choose to ride. Had it not been for folks like Jay Adams, a man like me would stand no chance at recognizing the unfiltered beauty w/in the ART of skateboarding. If I remember back correctly, the reason why I had stopped enjoying the process years ago was that I had become trapped w/in a mind-set cultivated by media, infiltrated into the American home via means of Tony Hawk videogames, one which stated that if a person was unable to execute all the moves on the board w/ ease, on a moment's whim w/out having ever been on a board before; if a very particular &- in my opinion- sterile style, if kick-flips, heel-flips, etc., couldn't be performed w/ immediacy, then that person should quickly step away from the board completely (& continue instead to sit on their dead-ass & watch the X-Games & decompose into a mound of rotting-flesh & learn absolute nothing from life; just play videogames & eat fast-food garbage; & unavoidably die a wasted-cause). A message that stated that skateboarding was a sport belonging to either children or elite professionals- no one else. Those days when to step onto a skateboard, as a beginner, felt much akin to visiting a professional-gym filled w/ bitter-hearted, loud-mouthed, meat-heads, when pushing 450lbs of bubbly flab & rolls. You simply wouldn't want to do it. It could be a humiliating practice. In those days, I had been dying to ollie at the very 1st moment I bought a deck & some hardware. And when I'd failed repeatedly to land one, I'd become discouraged. I'd refused to practice or even enjoy what things I could do well while my skills could be allowed the proper time & space to improve. Instead, I had walked away from it entirely. I had felt there was no chance for me in the world of skateboarding. That I was a failure. That I had failed to become a person of talent. That I was forced to stop because, if not, I would only hurt & humiliate myself further. Such was my misconception of the art-form.

            But now I see that there is a chance for me, for all of us to enjoy an activity so pure in its natural design. And now, as a result, my skills are growing on a daily basis. Of course, I'm not making money at it, but I am creating art; valuable, sensuous art for which there is no better thing in the universe, no higher compensation. I am persisting w/in a burning passion to skateboard like a bat-out-of-hell. My days are now filled w/ gratitude for the opportunity to be alive & breathing. And I can feel my body beginning to develop a style all its own, based upon my own immediate geography, as well as what maneuvers I have the ability to execute w/ proficiency right-now, in this moment, on the board.

            When I skateboard, there is a freedom- both tangible & complete. A freedom to set my worries aside & think only of my next move: Shall I kick-turn into a small pop-shovit? Shall I carve this hill like I'm surfing a wave? Shall I scoop down low & twist my body into a forward-slide, a backward-slide? Shall I map out & explore my neighborhood? How far shall I journey into the unknown?  All components of reality become as a kaleidoscope, casting images of magnificence towards my animal eyes, my newborn eyes free to explore the world w/out casting down judgment upon it but only absorbing it for what it truly is: my canvas, my notebook, the soaking clay between my fingers, the living wave on which I ride, the Big-Kahuna, the journey towards enlightenment.

             Now when I think about the state of our nation, the sadness we all endure, the hardship, the failure, the disappointment- I try not to think in such solid, artificial terms. I try not to measure the world only for what it's worth. Instead, I envision it for its infinite possibility & potential. And as a man w/out a steady job, w/out a salary, w/out a contract, w/out benefits, w/out health-insurance, but only as a laborer of the earth itself: of carpentry, gardening, writing, skateboarding, art, & thought- I witness my endless ability w/in a world confined to plastic rules & regulations. I begin to realize that such a world seems to pass me by only because I, like many others ahead of their time, am a man in the spirit of Jay Adams. I am a person who cares deeply for the art of living. One who is willing to go thru extreme measures just to realize how to become most fulfilled w/ my life. And as many of my neighbors, my family members, my friends, my detractors, the members of the community of my life sit ill-pleased w/ the quality of their own experience, spared upon us all by people who envision only cash-value as a commodity; those who are so willing to judge me as a 26-year-old-man who chooses to use his time skateboarding w/out cease, working only every-other-week as a handy-man, instead of hunting down the best job opportunity, the most lucrative career possible- I get to proudly declare the last laugh as my own. For as opposed to possessing such a demeaning, inhuman impression upon God's free gift of life, I am choosing to live boldly under the banner of Jay Adams. The man who taught me that the best in skateboarding is the best in life, that which comes to us freely. That which appeals heroically to our passions. That which, once unearthed, can never be silenced so long as you live. And then long after you die, that which takes shape in the form of immortal legacy.  

            So now I feel that I must say to all of you: passion is of the most sincere commodity, as is an endlessly hopeful perception of our natural world. Forsake all material suggestion. Find meaning in yourself. Allow your mind to open up the gateways that now stand between you & eternal bliss. And I swear you will find it. The world will lay beckoning at your feet, perhaps in the shape of a board w/ wheels, begging you to take a ride towards moments that make you feel truly alive. All misery & agony will subside &, in turn, give way to something of a purer fashion. Happiness & fulfillment will envelope you as a kindly womb. Life will overwhelm you w/ it's limitless wonder. And you will become a being-of-light for which to share w/ the rest of us. Lord knows that then, & only then will we get to a better place as a collective. Once we are each realizing our place under the sun, our purpose in life, our reason for giving. Once we are able to give to our fullest extent. Only then will we be at our best. And only then will we soar like the eagles high above this tainted world forever.    

                                                              

                                                                     THE END

                                                                   (of Part One)

PS- In order to attain the full intention of these memoirs, it may be useful for one to conduct minor research (or YouTube videos) many of the people I am discussing. It will provide further insight as to what was fully intended by my words & references to people. Thanks for reading.

Rank-Hard biotchezz

Funny-little-fact: In the movie: Lords of Dogtown, Emile Hersh (actor famous for playing Christopher Johnson McCandless/ Alexander Supertramp in the kickass film: Into the Wild; McCandless being one of my largest influences) also plays a young Jay Adams in the movie: Lords of Dogtown. In fact, it was his role in Lords of Dogtown that helped him grab the attention of screenwriter/director/actor: Sean Penn (maker of the film: Into the Wild). Furthermore, Penn also narrates Stacy Peralta's documentary over the Z-boy's/Dogtown, as well as plays a major contributing part to the stellar documentary-film: Born Into This (a documentary over the life of my all-time favorite writer: Charles Bukowski.)

Sounds to me like Emile, Penn, & myself ought to get together sometime to grab a stiff-drink. Seems like the 3 of us would have one hell of a time, haha.

An Ode to My Darling “Lilly-Board”

I am in love w/ the one I call, “Lilly-Board”. Lilly is the ferocious tigress on the prowl in the jungle-brush full of darkness, terror, & fear. She is the illustrious aesthetic adorning the bottom of my (8” wide- 31” long), purple-wheeled, BIG-trucked, monster-of-a-skateboard. Lilly’s heart is that of an iron-willed predator unwilling to submit to concrete guidelines. Dissention is set deeply w/in her striped black-n'-yellow fuzzy strands of beast-hair, a revenge-of-the-soul echoing from both animal & man alike. She guides my limbs, struggling to balance- relying on her always- along anchored streets in dire need of passing. She is the growth w/in my spirit in my day-to-day existence. Her bright-hotpink, 80’s-pimpt-out background full of leaves & grass reflect days long ago when everything seemed a bit more dazzling in it's display, times when the sun seemed to shine on much clearer than it does now, elucidated in it’s proclamation of life bursting forth like flower-bulbs smoldering in their unprotected need for identification in a world full of frosty winter. Now that winter has returned in the shape of large industrialized cement-blocks, steel-buildings, ditches, gutters,automobiles, subway-systems,& brutal legislations- my lonely girl fights back by hugging turns naked, curving bravely across the pavement, shifting between rushing cars, surfing smoothly as I chill down low like a snake slithering in the grass- my serpentine-scaled-belly grinding friction into kinetically-explosive inertia in forceful protest against a disfigured soil; God'z tainted creation. As Lilly whisks me away like a magic-carpet flowing, I brush a healing-hand across the concrete, steel-toed, black-chained-terrain beneath my feet. Lilly soflty purrrzzzzz. Then her voice escalates into a violent ROAR!!!!!!!!! of indignation. Thunderous, echoing screeches from scraping animal claws sinking deep into rock & tar. Trucks, bearings, rubber-wheels, & hardware ablaze in firey procession. I float along. Collecting dirt in my teeth. The air flashing past like a steaming freight train in the night air. Animalistic pleas to make paths free from regulation, & much more full of meaning for all us desperate wanderers. At gist: Lilly-Board is reason enough for me to survive the unjust ugliness left w/in the iron-heeled boot-print of greedhearted-soulstarved-masters of madness, chaos, & death-by-egomanical-awestruck-blindness decked colorfully across our city skylines. So I will outline my route according to Lilly’s commands. And on her back I will boldly stride forth, standing firm in my convictions, both unaltered & everlasting. My beliefs, my words, my purest of intentions will transcend invincibly above all urban blight. Lilly will help me carve a path-of-light for others who come after me to tread. And she will stalk her prey on 65mm-claws, like a rolling Thunder-Cat, growling madly. The tigress shall be my predatory bad-bitch, my rough-love, my addiction; the cure for my itching insanity. The slash-marks, bruises, & lacerations she produces along my fragile surface will bleed-out as she digz trenches into my skin. But really, who would care to go thru life w/out scars?: Certainly nawt me!!!!, I'd say. And each of mine shall be well worth it, for her punishments carry lessons of wisdom w/in their pain. And atavistically I will ride her into the future, past; present- & on into a blessed infinity. The 2 of us shall be as one. My darling-skateboard. My love. My "Lilly-of-the-Jungle-Brush", revolving ever swiftly ore' the cement. O How, I am forever committed to your flight. My goddess of angelic trickoligy. Thank you, sincerely, for each ride you give me. I’ll never forget it so long as I live.
....Amen.

(This piece I am modelling after examples of 16th Century, Romantic, poetry. It is my love-song for my skateboard. She's really the best.)

SRH

Always at the becking call

"Your phone's ringing, Dude."
"Thanks, Donnie."*
I know I should answer the call
but there's so many messages I must catch up on
so much unfinished business
nature called
also got a call of the wild
always good to respond to those types first
but instead, always offering myself up first
might as well be handing out samples
at some grocery store deli aisle
most likely near the butcher
where you can get other meats by the pound
more convenient that way
just straight to the point
but they'd probably eat me out of house and home
rob me blind even
wait, my shirt?
already gave that away
now they actually want a piece of my back
never mind the shirt off it
give them scraps and they come back salivating
the vulture's circles are getting closer
half starved and slightly amused
curiosity with no regard or regret
the kind that killed the cat
by now, I'm in too deep
and the waters have already been chummed
at least if I swim with the sharks, I already know their intentions
they are fiends, junkies
their addiction: attention
I guess that makes me their unwilling pusher
enabling their dependency of greed and mistrust
cause it always takes two to tango, right?

*quote from the film The Big Lebowski 


JC

Father Time is a Slave Driver

tick. Simon says live in the moment. tock. I subscribe to such as much as procrastination will allow for. The ones who are best at it must surely be near stoic. Allowing no emotional barriers. Or fleeting fears. Or anxious energies. No place for the past or the future to take root. Memories become foreign, someone else's home movies. Plans become anchors, contesting other possible opportunities. Only the present moment exists at any moment. The past is a story while the future is a figment of the imagined expectations. Somewhere between the bondage of what's behind and the commitment of what's coming, yet far beyond limitations. This is life. No confines of time for every moment is now and now is an eternity, so long as you let it be. The key is concentration, although metacognition may not be for the novice. It's one thing to think while another thing entirely to understand. Careless creations. Most are sleepwalking while awake, squandering the gift of lucidity. Slaves to the clock and Father Time their master.

JC

Ebb and Flow

I am the bumbling brook, bouncing back and forth

my waters chilled, frosted from the winters up North

I grow stronger as season expires further, day by day

traveling from home ever farther, a ways away

I am the cautious creek, curiously trickling along
finally finding my rhythm, my flow begins its song
muster strength as I earn my path, turn by turn
new knowledge at every pass, learn and learn

I am the steady stream, so straight and so swift
even while so young, I bring bountiful gifts
cause I collect mama's tears, drip by drip
and wash away the sins of man, bit by bit

I am the rumbling river, my rampage roars
my rapids splinter rocks, be weary of my shores
I carve canyons out of flat landscapes, this for that
yet give back everything from which I take, tit for tat

JC

A jumbled up sense of flawless direction.

          And so I find myself here again, searching for direction in a world w/out a clue. Subjected to types of thinking that have led us only down a hell-hole. Each of us wondering why, never once looking in the mirror. It dawned on me sadly that 98% of folks lack both the strength & conviction to do the right thing during difficult times. Yet I am thankful of how much more it matters due to such bitter circumstance. Dog-tired of the systems of rationale that explain only how far one would go in order to convince oneself of the absence of one's misery. Life is not a cage, tho we'd love to decorate it w/ golden bars, hang up a swing to hang ourselves, speak only in tired repetition of what's already been said: "Polly want a cracker. Pretty bird. Pretty bird." Saltines sold down at the local food-chain, next to the aisle filled w/ souls in plastic packaging. Benefits come in many shapes & sizes, but it requires a mind of bold character to fully recognize potential. A daily challenge: Don't let bitter hearts guide your destiny. All things are truly possible. Greatness requires both dilengence & effort. You'll find no easy way out, so stop looking for one. We each have something valuable to give this world. Isn't it time we start giving only our best? Mistakes will be made, but redemption is more than an empty abstraction. So fly on all you pretty birds. Time to seize the carp!!! The waters may be deep, but I once heard of a man who was able to walk across them. Then the one who couldn't was wize enough to build a boat. So float, don't sink. See the rapids for what they are. The only things keeping you going. Celebrate difficulty for it's inherent gift of strength. And I promise that one day we'll each float high up in the air, just beyond the edge of the waterfall. Just when we thought we'd plummet to the depths. Heaven will grapple us to give us all a home. And there ain't no cage up in the sky, just love, life, laughter, joy, hope, faith, courage, & clouds in the shapes of fuzzy animals.

(Forgive my lack of craft & form in this one. I simply didn't have the time to perfect such a message. For such a message arrives only in imperfection. So I hope the point delivered is one of only encouragement. Take care. God bless. Good luck. And in the words of Samuel L. Jackson: "Hold on to your butts!")

RH              

I once knew a man who shared the same name

I once knew a man who shared the same name.
His fire was infectious and I'll be forever changed.
And as I gather in the hall with all his loved ones, my strangers,
I am reminded of life's infinite dangers.
So we mourn and celebrate the loss of one whose lust for life could never be quenched.
Overcome by emotion, tears flowed into my beard until it was doused and drenched.
My heart is heavy, though I know, his spirit flies on the wings of a dove.
With a room full of people there to pay our respects, I realized, life's greatest reward is love.

RIP
Jared Schlimgen

[JC]