but i used to want that tatted on me, only i was going to replace the skater Matt Hensley's name with "fuct, again" because fuct was a dope skate board clothing company that made pants and shirts and shit, and it seemed suiting.
although any caption or phrase would be good there.
"i hate life"
"my ear is cold"
anyways, we all know im not getting the tattoo in the end. maybe i'll make a shirt instead. yeah, im a sissy.
and then i was flung onto my sofa racked with sore-ness from being all man-handled and such. vicoden? darvacet? whatchu got, i'll eat anything.
i'm awash in menthol smelling cremes and ointments.
i picked up a job for the weekend after all. so my hermosa weekend sprawl is gonna have to be kept to ONE day. monday. which is smarter in the end, because im one of those people is either earning $$ or spending $$. i never flatline on that one, baby.
all these fucking magic spices, witches spells and voo-doo doctors who have tried every trick in the book to make my neck and shoulders stop from giving me pain. and do you want to know how many of these alleged proffesionals ever gave me A BACK MASSAGE?! yes you guessed it, 0. none. not a SIGNLE fucking one of them. they'd rather rub a tic-tac on my forehead and dance around a sombrero while chanting some high pitch scream thing.
"fuckin a, Doc. just pull my fucking finger so i can fucking fart in your damn Dr.'s office already... so... um, do i get a lollypop or what, doc?"
i have a hot tub here where i live, and thank fucking god, because my bath tub is nasty as all fuck. and *I* dont wanna hunch over and scrub that shit now (or ever, really).
ok, back to laying on my couch and watching dr. phil. (i really should change the chanel one of these days, eh? FUCK NBC!)
along the side streets of the freeway are sky scraping palm trees, reaching and swaying infinitely into the pale blue atmosphere. The tops of the trees are nice to look at, giving a false insight to what lies at ground level. gang wars, strip malls, litter, and homeless are strewn about as if they were fodder in a ticker-tate parade. some streets are so violent and unwelcoming, that i wouldn't walk the street in daylight, wearing a bullet proof vest, and with a police escort. it's true. but if you mind your own business, and go about your errands. it's not likely you will be bothered, not unless you stare too much.
whenever i see another white person, they notice me as well. our eyes lock for a moment as if asking ourselves, "hey, is that dude lost or WHAT?" it's a known fact that the white man prefers the safety of out laying towns and suburbs, where the police where trained to pull over any shitty car with rims. racial profiling.
for example, if you are a black dude headed to manhattan beach, and you are driving a 1985 Buik Riviera... you better hope you dont make it west of the 405 freeway. and SHIT, if you get as close as highland avenue, you're REALLY in trouble. i think that's when they smash out your tail lights with a club and pop you for every bullshit ticket in the book.
as i rolled east bound on florence avenue, with my car windows down, and my music loud, i leaned back in my ride... keeping one straight arm on the steering wheel, and one bent arm holding my cigarette.
welcome to cali.
first of all. i like you man. what's your real name again? ray, right? that's cool, it reminds me of ghost busters.
i read that post of yours that i linked to... and it sounds like you're bummed out, buddy. jeeze-us-h can i ever relate sometimes. that whole forcing fake happy hoping that your mind will slowly believe it (which it never does)
the thing about being happy is, it's HARD work sometimes. i work at it non stop. like today? i bought myself a chris rock DVD, and watched it all evening, laughing at him dis the white man. or last week i shelled out some $$ to buy dave attell's album on itunes.
i spend forever in my shower doing what i don't want god to watch me doing.
i write "stream of conscence" posts on my blog that i "save as draft" to kill the time, and spill the junk out of my mind.
they say writing things down as you think of them is healthy because it releases the distraction from your mind, and you can focus on things better. you "let go" of the thoughts you put into text.
you're a nice dude, though. i mean, i remember when you would leeave comments on strangers blogs religiously... just because you knew they would be stoked. or how you gave me a link to my pay pal button on your group blog (12 steps the other way) when i was broke and internet-begging. and all my internet friends agree that you're aces all around. so it really is a heart break to know that you aren't as stoked as you could be, or as you want to be.
i wish i could tell you what TO DO, or give you answers that you didn't even ask for... but really all i can say is, that sucks you feel all robotic and and that you HOPE your foot hurts as a distraction from other hurts, ect. it's just shitty, man.
i guess in a perfect world you would be living life as i picture you living life: wearing a black and red adidas jump suit, dark black sunglasses, and break dancing on some cardboard, with a crowd around you bouncing to the beat and chanting, "SIMPO! SIMPO!!!"
hey dude, if you figure outa way to save up some scratch, you should visit LA. you have at least access to sleeping on my sofa, and who knows... i might be able to score you an even doper place to stay.
can i request that you change your banner tho? im not gonna request what i want to the new one to be... surprise me... but im sorta tired of that cinco de mayo leftover. nahmean? not that im mr. banner-tastic. but whatevs.
skateboarding makes me happy too. can you borrow a homie's board and see if you like that?
in the end, it's like i always say... it's shame all the things that icey-hot DOESN'T fix.
taker easy on ole anti, p's out.
when someone asks me a stupid ass fucking pointless retarded question, usually i stay less than calm. i lose what people refer to as, "their cool" and really, am i all that crazy? why dont stupid people learn to be less dumb?
Oh. Mah. Gawd. the president is giving his presidential address to the nation and let me tell you, he is getting a fucking "F" from anti. this fucking prick is talking crazy talk about liberty, and freedom. how free is iraq, or anyone for that matter, when you refuse to take your fat worthless cock out of their collective asses? eh?
conservative nut jobs are masters of word-smithing. it's like goerge carlin's comedy routine about euphamisms.
when exactly did "a cop murdered someone" become "a peace officer used lethal force" ??? he didn't use lethal force, he is a killer. protect and serve DEEZE NUTS.
when did "puppet regime" become "coalition forces" ?? FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!!! clever wording? is that really how you pull the wool over the eyes of a nation?
have we all gone mad?! (the answer being an obvious YES)
we want OUT of that damn country, or perhaps a WITHDRAWL PLAN, not blathering euphamisms and stutterting pep talks. what happened to mission acclomplished?
just hurry up with your fucking multi national pipeline thingy you're building, because lets not pretend that we went to iraq for any other reason.
my words of advice, "hey syria, watch your backs"
it means skateboards, sunburns, and drunk in public infractions this upcoming weekend. 4th of july in hermosa beach is like a city wide beer garden laced with bikini-girls and boardshort-boys. whatch out for the cops tho... they be player hating.
i would go elsewhere for july 4th weekend, such as huntington beach, laguna nigel, ocean beach, susnset beach, newport beach, santa monica, venice beach, ect... BUT HERMOSA IS CLOSA.
that pic is from last july 4th in hermosa...
today i spent most of my time on the 605 freeway, going up and down it dealing with banks and checks. all that is over now, tho... as i sit here and puff like a smoke stack on it's last day before retirement. "choo-fucking-choo, yall"
i still want to see the new batman movie
i have to throw away my beloved computer chair. this pained task has to happen because it's one of the MAJOR reasons i have such major back dificulties these days. it's a nice chair, sure.... but the SEAT part, where my butt goes, needs to be smaller. or at least short enough, so that my back can reach the back of the chair easier, which would ease my slouching, and straighten me out a touch.
AS is it now, i sorta sit on the front half of the seat, and i end up hunching my shoudlers over, and welp... my chiropractor says that makes this "chair" more like a "stool". maybe someone will want to buy my shitty, back pain causing chair. i'm sure martin will want it, if i decide to simply throw it away.
you know that little voice of reason in the back of your head that gives you insight into the future... the little voice that says, "don't do that, it might cause trouble"
i think we all have impulses. they exist in all human being's minds. DO that, SAY this, BUY that, Grab a piar of those... ect.
but we over come ourselves, and let "reason" and "logic" and the constraints of an orderly society modify our natural reactions and impulses into what is "acceptable"
i don't care if i live pay check to pay check until the day i die. it's just more incentive to get fatter pay checks, and blow through MORE money each week. yess indeedily doodily.
one of the best lessons i learned in life is to never look at a price tag to determine how much you value something, because sometimes good taste has nothing to do with expensive. you literally have to decide how much an item is worth to YOU-YOURSELF and then look at the price tag afterwards. if the pricetag is lower than what you would be willing to pay for such a thing... then fucking GET IT, its a bargain... but if the retail price is MORE than you would ever pay, then fuck that over priced shit-bag, and keep on truckin.
thanks for the surprise in the mail, mandawg. i LOVE IT!!!! i am going ot get it framed before i mess with it any further. you and angela are homies for life, its like that. and thats the way it is, BAM!
i've already been on too many freeways, and it's not even noon yet. i got kush breath tho.
i feel like doing more driving so i think imma pull outta my cousin's house here any minute. i like it behind the wheel some days.
days off, really.
maybe i can think of something i want to take a picture of, and i will think of it on the road.
my cousin's working, his sister is about to take a shower, and im really just twiddling my thumbds and hogging a computer.
would be nice if i could somehow convince the la puente client to release the check to me sooner than 4pm. but oh well. whats the difference?
its not like i had anything i would have been doing anyways, other than taking bong hits in my underwear while i occationally peak thru my blinds at the "real world"
i might try calling 281 330 8004, or 867-5309
i shoudl go treat myself to a fancy lunch at a fancy hollywood bistro. like denny's, or ihop. that would kill some time.
i forgot my sunglasses at home, that's the only kicker for today, because it's bright as all holy hell in Los Angeles today.
i want to see the new batman movie bad as fuck. Mr. Nunez had the batmobile at his work. or had it there... i got the email/invite too late. (thanks bro)
the car bong needs fresh water, it's getting that piss yellow color, and it smells like a swamp. i guess i had better tend to that pronto, considering im looking at plenty more hours spent in the car today.
i just over heard someone's conversation and it was: "arizona is the capital meth, because it's 1am, the bars are closed and only the circle k is open, what else they got?" i sorta saw that to be true whenever *I* was there.
and on that note im hitting publish, going pee before i hit the road, and peace-ing out.
dj shadow is on the boombox, and im ghetto blasting my brains into good vibrations. good good good, good vibrations.
everyone has issues. i myself go through a major identity crisi at least 4 or 5 times a year. it's only natural, innit? i mean sure some of you are die hard "longest dreds" mohterfuckers, and props to you., waty to be true to your fucking scene you never changing wonderful person. a flip-flipper you are NOT. yay you.
im drunk, and this is MY blog, so typose migjt happent. deal.
and so yea, as i sit here and pick my nose... and let my eyes wander my litte cave that i call home... i just wonder how long will it all last.
are these the salad days? were the salad days long ago?!?!
all i know for serious is that i can make $$. give me a way, and i will show you that im good at it. i take to everything. perhaps there's truth to astrology, and im a die-hard gemeni, with a shit-ton of personalities. o rmebbe im just a psychopath.
god only knows what i'd be with outt youuuuuuuu
so yeah, and thats how it is, and this is how it goes. eat me, or die. your either with me, or you're with the terrorsts. so what izzit, eh?!
i fucking bought a 12-er of budweisser selct, and believe me, there ain't nothing select about it, although it was worth the purchase to have a new stle can with my same old tasting bud innit.
and to the fucking askers... ask DEEZE NUTZ, because who are you anyways? if i wanted to talk about your petty little questions, i'd have talkt-it. you follow?
this is my time to shine. i'm taking a retirement prior to my work-to-death carreerr in someting retarded happens. for all i know im gonna be hit by a bus or a drunk driver, and do i want to be a little angel i the sky, floating there with my harp and my halo thinking... "damn you fool, you should not have saved all that $$, and pincjed every penny, and wussed out on every risk, and taken life for granted.... NOW whatchu got, EH??? EHH BUDDY?!?!?!"
even tho im an atheist and i dont beleive in angels. except for the los angeles angels of anahiiem. (bite me you dodger lew-zers)
i have a glow in the dark buddha figurine, and a full bottle of off-brand icey-hot, and you know what that means... MORE BEER!!!
so with a bong hit in your face, and my hair all slicked back like the WOP that i am...
suck it, i'm out.
and i only leave it on NBC4 because it's the one that doesn't go into infomercials. at least not typically.
so Jay Leno... what a fucking dried up, sucked up, turd. right now he is doing a bit called, "some stuff we found on ebay" which is like... as funny as opera.
i don't understand why the network doesn't just run two hours of conan o'brien. because jay is such an annoying goombah piece of shit. his fat neck can barely squeeze into that neck tie, and its making me nauseated.
i hate how he pretends like he is such a "great guy" because he buddies up with his black band leader, kevin. i'll bet my $100 to your 1 penny that kevin hates the shit out of jay too. i can't blame the guy for being the band leader and feeding his family.
i can't even be mad at stuttering john malendez, who dissed the howard stern show (a show i love) with his treasonary act of becoming the announcer for the tonight show. he's got the easiest gig in show business now... go john. you tanned slimey, shiney lookin stuttering tool.
one of my favorite songs, is the one that they play when they run the credits at the end of the tonight show. it's over. at last.
i'm wearing a shirt my mom got at the swap meet, and some shorts i bought when i was in arizona... and i look like a total dipshit. it's great. hi laundry!!! BITE ME.
thank god for pantera in times like this. testosterone is audible format.
my neck and shoulders feel GREAT. maybe chiropractors aren't quacks and scam arteests afterall. i had my doubts all day yesterday after i had my appointment. but i guess it takes a day, or in my case it did.
i haven't taken off my shoes in fucking forever... leme get to that...
OH DAMN!!! my feet are RIPE as all holy hell right now, you fuckers. if that wasn't my own foot stench, i would leave the room. but... because it IS mine... i dont want to spread it around.
ok maybe i should reconsider this no-shower idea.
i'd write more... but i need to go light an inscent STAT!
my cousin got the KUSH!!! and he gave me a morsel to salivate over while i drove my route. my truck drinks gasoline faster than a prom date can guzzle champagne, and it's making me very upset. not mad, just upset. fossil fuels are just dead dinosaurs, so fuck lizards.
i want an engine that runs on captain morgan's spiced rum. me and my truck could literally do shots together.
i dont have signwalkers tomorrow. all i gotta do is set up the sale. build over 200 signs, and 15 signwalker signs. and hang a banner larger than anyone in my company has ever hung: 8' x 48', the entire side of a semi truck... oh sure, i'll be fine tho... the village idiot will be my helper... if he doesn't get his car repo'd again.
with any luck, the semi truck they want me to dress witha banner will spontaniously ignite or explode. please, please, please if there is a god.
oh well. it's my job, and we all hate our job sometimes... i will remind and prove to everyone why i get paid the BIG bucks.
and i can't wait until im laughing like a maniac into the wind while standing on top of that semi truck parked next to the 605 freeway. really i can't. i'll bring my camera fo-sho-sho.
time to rest my neck and shoulders, they are throbbing again. DEEP breaths, right? right.
skateboarding is still a crime.
a film, produced by Globe Shoes.
further details of what happened (as quoted from a Globe Shoes inter office memo):
Trying to support our local skatepark and community on June 21st for GO SKATEBOARDING DAY, the Dwindle and Globe staff headed off to the Hawthorne park for a fun day of skateboarding.
With the Dwindle Ice Cream truck full of product and popsicles for the local kids, we pulled in to the park and were immediately greeted or should we say confronted by the chairperson from the Hawthorne Parks and Recreation committee. Realize at this time there were about 150+ kids skating, mingling, and NICELY awaiting the free giveaways.
We were told that we couldn't be there and had to leave the premises. WAIT A SECOND.... aren't we talking about a FREE - CITY skatepark, which is open and accessible to anyone? After trying to negotiate and just READY TO SKATE, we backed off the park property and tried to park on the street.
Before even making it to the next left, we were pulled over by the PO-PO, who then called for back up and nutted up on us with an additional 6 cop cars! With kids following us everywhere, we tried to explain that IF they made us leave, THEY would cause the riots!
Guess what happened next.................!
Kids were thrown down, hand cuffed and EVERYONE was forced off the FREE/CITY PARK..... for doing what?
Mmmmm lets see. Why don't we make these kids leave a safe environment, which provides fun, talent, and exercise and force them back onto the streets....... GO FIGURE!!!
What a conundrum!
HAPPY GO SKATEBOARDING DAY!!!!
this looks like its gonna be "one of those" weekends. my neck and shoulders feel like they are being perpetually electrocuted.
muscle spasm? ugh.
peace and im out.
errands, and cross-town-traffic. (estimation 2-4 hours)
tonight: a round trip, road-trip to temecula and back (estimation: 3 1/2 hours total)
my ipod is charged and my car bong is full of water. but god DAMNED gas prices sky rocketed in the wrong direction again. 2.49 for regular, a block from my house.
the icey hot is ooozin, and im drinking lotso watah.
fuck your mama. and your mama's mama. that is what i want my bumper sticker to say.
so i checked out that movie about that oldschool vert skater Gator from the 80's. remember him? he skated for vision street wear. at the height of his career was known for his rebel bad ass image, and made hundreds of thousands of dollars on his skateboarding ability.
i remember him from back then, and he was indeed cool for one hot minute there... but he didn't cross over to new school the same way Tony Hawk did. in fact, none of those old timers from the mid to early 80's really lasted through the skateboarding stlye trends. but... not all of those dudes burtally murdered their ex girlfriend's best friend. Gator did. he's nucking futs, i tell ya.
well, this flick is a documentary of gators rise and eventual FALL and even has audio interview clips recorded from phone calls with the currently jailed-up-gator.
and man, he beat that girl to death. a poor innocent girl whom he thrust all his psycho-rage upon. whatta creep.
but hey, it was one killer documentary!!!
it reminds me of an old favorite joke of mine, "what's the difference between a vacuum cleaner and a skateboard?" "the vacuum cleaner comes with the dirtbag attatched."
"the vacuum cleaner comes with the dirtbag attatched."
at any rate, anti gives this film two bong hits UP. and here's a link to the official website.
lates, you filthy jonzing losers.
and they end up everywhere.
i guess i find it most frustrating because this is a tiny studio, bachelor pad, hell hole, of an apartment. i mean, it's not like i'm running from room to room in search of new areas to look.
im just re-tooling through the same shit, and combing over the same crap.
today the keys ENDED UP in the sock drawer. sometimes they are in much wackier places. the worst is when im super stoned...
i will stick my keys, "in a special spot, so that i won't forget," or at least that's the idea. but it results in me hiding my keys from myself in such a good hiding place that i give up and call a locksmith asap. keys are so annoying. i hate those little fuckers.
perhaps i should tie my keys to a shoelace, and tie the other end to a cinder block. it seems to work for the local los angeles gas stations' bathroom keys, why wont it work for me?!
i just made a ten o clock appointment with Dr. Sterns, my new chiropractor. he is located somewhere in the southbay, and sounded like a nice enough doctor. hopefully he can whip me into shape. my cousin called me a "crack (your back) head"
my bike rides like a dream. i took her to hermosa yesterday, and it's perfect perfect perfect. all i need now is one of those annoying bells to startle people with, and perhaps a basket on the front for beers and a boombox. i can't WAIT for 4th of july already.
have you ever heard someone say, "i gotta be me" ?? i know i have even said it myself. but it's a cop-out, and way to rationalize anything wrong with yourself. it's time to man-up, and be willing to see all the cracks and flaws in yourself, your life, and your personality. SOMEone's got to do it, or who knows... you could spiral into a fate much worse than a quirky personality: desolation.
it's never too late to curb all those flaws that cause you social greif. an old dog CAN learn new tricks, but hey... it won't be easy.
when i was still in school and stuff, one of MY biggest fears sending me deep into shy-ness hell was my fear of rejection. it caused me not to make friends, it casued me to not ask out girls that i had crushes on. i was paralyzed with fear that rejection would hit me like a ton of bricks, but i got over it.
i got over it only be embracinf rejection. GETTING REJECTED. it's fucking hilarious to me that the thing i was so very affraid of, is the exact same thing that set me free. i had to get rejected, and get MAJORYLY REJECTED to realize and see that, HEY it's not that bad. in fact, it can be kinda liberating.
so hey shy people, what are YOU affraid of? whatever it is, i'll bet you $5 it's not as bad as your imagination makes it seem. and what the fuck?!?!? you want to live a life of shy-hellish-ness? i wouldn't.
also, you know how if you dont know an answer to something you "google it" ??? well fuck that noise, my friends. for the last few weeks i have been using answers.com for this function, and coming up with ANSWERS not links to shit that is meaningless. go ahead and try and stump it. you'll be surprised how much it knows. or at least i was.
if you like kittens. check out dehumidifier.
as he ran across the dark street he saw the approaching headlights of their car. He saw a brick wall, and tried to dive behind it in time, before the spray of machine gun fire made baseball size craters in everything.
on his back, covered in sweat, he fished for his side arm, and tried to squeeze in more ammo in time. With a click, and a wiping of his forehead, he steadied his breathing, and squinted his eyes. He heard tow car doors open and slam, and heard fine Italian leather shoes being dragged across the pavement.
"it's on." he thought to himself, and he rolled over and placed his left hand flat on the ground, while his right hand squeezed the handle of the revolver. His pointer finger lightly ribbing the trigger.
"C'mon Johnny, make it easy on yourself. This doesn't have to end like this. We could bring you back alive, yah know?"
Johnny wasn't sure if he wanted to go back alive, or go ANYWHERE alive, but he was certain that these two amateurs, were as good as dead. He called out from the brick wall, "well Cid, do I get one last cigarette?" and he slid the revolver into his waisteband on his backside.
Cid gestured to his partner, pointing at the brick wall and silently mouthing, "he's over THERE"
the two thugs crept around either side of the brick wall, and found nothing. Johnny had slid out of sight, behind the dumpster, in some unknown fluids... Taking aim at Cid's fat round head. And after a tightening of his hand, he watched cid's head explode in a sea of dark red, and his fat body falling backwards.
Cid's partner, spun around wildly, and stuttered, "C'mon Johnny, what the fuck, I'm just following orders here... I gots a family!"
but Johnny said nothing and waited for the partner to walk closer to Cid.
"I-I-I ain't got nothing to do with your girl, Johnny. I-I-I'm small potatoes.... You don't need to ki-ki-ki-kill me..."
Johnny thought about it and he was right. But he should immobilize the guy regardless, so when he was in sight... Johnny shot out his knee cap, leaving the two fat men laying next two eachother. One dead, and one bleeding but alive.
Johnny climbed into their black GMC, started the ignition, and went on his way. More fish to fry.
they had two tow trucks, and yet, decided to use their patrol cars like bull dozers to pushe the car to the side of the freeway. btw, it didn't work, not even with TWO patrol cars, and they spinned their wheels and sent the smell of rubber into the air with plumes of white smoke. brilliant.
finally one of the smarter cops, the einstein of the bunch, used a strong cable to tie the flipped smashed up car to one of the two tow trucks. problem solved. but me and the mexican on a suzuki speed bike made good single serving friends.
i want to get one of those large magnetic signs that you see on teh side of work trucks with the company name and logo. except mine will go on the back of my truck, and it will be a special message to all that follow behind me, "go around, you dipshit. i'm obviously stopping."
i forgot to buy tacos from one of the trillions of catering trucks that stay open 24 hours a day. i'm still debating on whether or not i should go back and get me some. they are that delicious. it's a known fact. it would be worth it for the horchata alone.
my to do list for the upcoming week goes as follows:
1. get my truck's brakes inspected. (finally)
2. see a chiropractor.
3. go to this event.
4. do my laundry.
5. get dez to give me the hair cut i already paid her $10 for.
6. think of more things to do.
and so, on that note.... these bong hits dont just smoke themselves, you know. marijuana smoke will enter my lungs in t-minus 5, 4, 3...
because of my back pain, i can't sleep soundly... and therefore i toss and turn, and end up in shitty positions that injur my back worse. it's a fucking cycle from hell, and it's been going on for years now.
i'm more or less fine if/when i sleep perfectly still all the night through. but that is far easier said than done. right now i have to keep my head positioned perfectly straight, and if i need to look to the left or the right, i have to swing all of my shoulders and body that direction, keeping my head locked straight and aligned with my frame.
the other bitch is, of course, that my usual pain solution (icey hot) will not work because i CANT FUCKING REACH MY SPINE. in fact part of the reason i can't reach is, it hurts my neck and back to move my arm in that direction like that. it KILLS me. my knees buckle and i can't see straight with pain.
right now i can feel it throbbing and and shit. like whoa. and im SOOOOO out of pain pills. i'm living off of shitty wimpy ass alieve. and aleieve dont do shit alskdja
ok. smell you fingers. what do they smell like?
mine smell like children.
it was near midnight, and all of us were having fun at Mark's expense, because mark didn't get loaded all the time. we were at the school because it was a place to be loud and drunk without getting in too much trouble. all we needed was enough 40 oz'ers, enough packs of marlboro reds, and with any luck... some dirt weed would be passed in a metal chamber pipe around the circle of boys sitting on their skateboards.
but mark was whitey's friend from before he got kicked out of catholic school, and mark was kind of sheltered, and well... he just told us he liked to dance. That made pete grab teh brim of his ball cap, and weissman shot Mickey's Malt Liquor out his nose. but whitey told us all to fuck off, and threw a hackey sack at mark's head.
i wonder where the kids these days go when they sneak off to get drunk or stoned in the park. sometimes i wander over by the tree in sand dune park that we made our #1 get loaded clubhouse. it's all overgrown and forgotten... the new generation of loaded youngsters must be elsewhere. i would go and try and find them... but if they are and paranoid and we were... i couoldn't get within 50 yards without them fleeing into a million directions like roaches.
i hate when i run into people from those days (whitey being the one of very few exceptions) because lots of these folks have moved on from that "pot smoking phase" and in a very elitist way look down on me and the way i live my life. it never was a phase for me, obviously it was more of a perma-choice. i'd say "lifestyle" but that sounds so fucking fagge.
i'm reporting to you from my glass house full of holes. im trying to get off that big hill, of hope, for a destination.
ever notice people the most defensive when they are wrong? im as defensive as it gets. its really hard to let go sometimes, what can i fucking say. that's why i write about letting go. i have a lot of stupid shit im hanging onto.
my new bike is the shiniest bike i ever saw.
i keep lighting my hair on fire when lighting my cigarettes.
my first stop was wal-mart which has the lowest prices bar-none on bikes of all types. the thing about wal-mart though is... their bikes suck. they're ugly, and not the right shape... but in a pinch i would ride on of those fuckers, no doubt.
next stop was target, which was more than disapointing... because target doesn't sell bikes like they USED to. now they ONLY have mountain bikes, and not even that great of prices... and i can't even ride a mountain bike without killing my back. so target was a bummer.
nextly i thought to go to k-mart, especially since k-mart is open 24 hours, and it was nearing 10pm. they had ONE strand cruiser, and it looked pretty dope... but there was no price and i couldn't get the k-mart-worker-person's attention because she was being monopolized by the mexican family and all ten million of their children.
i thought maybe iw as going the wrong route... maybe you need to go to one of those bike stores that sells ONLY bikes, and bike parts. boy was i ever wrong. those places are where RICH PEOPLE go to buy bikes... who has $350.00 for a fucking strand cruiser? it was after the first two bikes-only shops that i thought maybe i should give up and just steal someone's bike, even though it would surely get me in trouble with the karma godz.
this morning after i checked in at work, i headed over to sportmart, big tanky told me she heard that they might have decent bikes for decent prices... and they did!! just not cheap enough... but it was CLOSE!!!
on my way home i stopped at one last bike shop, and viola! i walked out of there with my affordable, black, strand cruiser. aluminum frame and rims, and the coolest name for a bike i ever saw "four twenty".
i'm gonna call all my friends and see who wants to go hit up the bike path. peace out, you bitches.
RANDOM THOUGHTS about WEED.
sometimes i see myself, as corny as it may seem, as a symbol for how GOOD and HONEST and PURE marijuana truly is. and also: im living proof that it won't always lead a person to harder drugs, or prevent a person from holding a job, and being an upstanding citizen.
the mis-informed have it all backwards... if they had more real world experience they would see that BOOZE is the scary one... MADD stand for mother's against drunk driving, not mother's against doobie driving. ever notice that?
i also notice that there is only one illegal recreational drug that is also widely known for it's medical benefits. i never heard anyone say medicinal LSD, nor have i heard of glaucoma patients snorting rails of cocaine. a doctor would never prescribe someone a bottle full of crack rocks, and a glass pipe. but DOCTORS DO prescribe earth's green gift: canabis.
perhaps the misinformed are led to believe that weed is a much more powerful drug than it is. the high is actually very mild, and a person maintains quite a great deal of lucidity. in fact you can be as high as you ever been, and its likely that no one will notice. the side effects are extermely insignifigant as well (dry mouth, increased appetite, relaxed composure)
sometimes i wonder if legalization in america would lead to the corporatization of the marijuana industry. currently its a very much DIY, black market, natural process... in which the pot is grown in private residences, and sold based on word of mouth and secrecy with regards to the law. sure it drives up the price, but at least you know that its REAL MARIJUANA. for example... what the fuck is that brown junk they put in cigarettes these days? i highly doubt there is much tobacco content after all those chemicals and by products find their way into my cigarette. DO IT NOW, unravel your cigarette... doesnt it resemble pencil shavings to you? me too.
or you could be daring for once in your life and let all those plates come crash and smashing to peices. maybe you couldTRY SOMETHING NEW and make waves, throw the status quo into a spiral. ROCK THE BOAT. the silent wheels never get any extra grease, it's true, only the loud squeaky ones do. if i can convince strangers of my self-importance, maybe u/i'll beleive it one day too.
trying to maintain control over everything is futile. some things are beyond your control, and you will only stop being pained and frsutrated when you finally submit your will. LET GO. you were never hanging on to the steering wheel in the first place, which is why it was frustrating to begin with. taking responsibility and controling your own destiney are of the UPMOST importance, but it's not always an option in every situation. i'd give an example, but if you don't "get me" by now, you never will.
i think happiness is possible. i don't believe in a lot of things, like god, true love, integrity in politics, a peaceful world is possible... BUT i DO believe that a person can learn to be happy with themselves and their lives. It is under-rated how important it is to learn how to live a happy life. mathematics?! science?! i don't understand why it was more important for them to teach me how to read, when being happy is so much more vital.
schools are jacked up, obviously.
i take pleasure in whatever i can. a picture, my skateboard, a funny MCI commercial. whatever. even the most shitty situation is so ri-goddamned-diculous that you can/will be able to turn it into a joke of some kind. it's called not taking things too seriously, because what good did a bunch of serious people ever do? maybe they did SOMEthing... but pffftt... i bet they did it boringly.
it was like this one time that i totally ate shit on my bike. i was like 13, and i was trying to show off and was pumping the pedals all hard, gaining speed, and when i looked back, my bike hit a massive pothole causing me to FLY over the handle bars like superman and crash into a pile of myself. i stood up, cut and bruised, to find all my "pals" pointing and laughing at me. and i was quite offended...
but who was i kidding. it WAS hilarious. and if i could re-write history, i would drag my bloodied self over and laugh along with them. thats what friends are for. it's a sad sad daywhen you lose your ability to laugh at yourself, and it's a brand new world when you learn how to stop taking yourself seriously.
i think it is admirable when someone holds onto a belief system SO MUCH that they aren't willing to even TOLERATE or FATHOM any doubt that they are 100% correct. that is admirable in a way... but psychotoc in so many other ways. i mean, how elitist could anyone really be to not consider that they might be wrong? narrowminded-ness was not the path to true liberty. being able and willing to admit that everything you know and see as real could be proven false or fake is true liberty. you're only free when you realize this. leave your thank you's in the comments below.
he rushed to jump back into the car, to avoid the wave of dust that the desert winds had kicked up. his car was parked on the side of interstate 10, eastbound, ten minutes past Flying J's truckstop, and he had lost his hat out the car window. the lucky hat. sure by now it was ran over, and less than lucky, but he couldn't give up, and he wouldn't let the forces of nature have THEIR way. his will was stronger than them. and he was going to prove it.
after a few semi trucks rolled past, and he had found his flash light, he knew that it was ON. and his hat was going to back where it belonged in no time. with the car still running, andthe headlights shut off, he got out and walked cautiously in the ditch on the side of the road. all he saw was cactus and desert shrubs showing up in his thin beam of light.
he flung himself 180 degrees in a panic when he thought that he heard footsteps behind him... nothing was there. frazzled, cold, and breathing too much dust he trucked on frustrated with this whole situation. he KNEW she should have tightened the hat tighter after he shaved his head. a sigh.
five more minutes of walking and he was ready to give up when he saw the hat at last! it had gotten caught on a bush and was there wating for him... udamaged by gutter water or the like. he put it on and let his shoulders relax whlie he shit off the flashlight and put it in his pocket. that's right when he felt someone tap him on the shoulder...
(what should happen next?)
when i pick out clothes, the most important part is how soft and cozy does it FEEL? fuck design, fuck fashion, comfort is the number 1 stunna.
i blow through packs of camel lights like water under a bridge. i can chainsmoke non-stop all damn day. i know how to stop the weezing with a single fist punch to my chest. shake up that lung butter nice and loose.
my chiropracter is going to be located near the intersection of Aviation avenue + Grant Avenue in the City of Redondizzle beach. there;s also a 7-11 right there... one of my favorite places to be is a 7-11. it's good to know that if you are stricken with severe cotton mouth, youare only a few feet away from the gatorade section.
i'm going to start seeing this chiropracter dude. maybe he can crick-crack my back into some sort of less painful alignment. or maybe he will make it worse. it's worth investigating. in a perfect world, all this shit would be super cheap.
the first time i ate mushrooms i was in highschool, and i was sorta nervous about it, because my friends told me crazy shit about what i should expect. they said that it was a very visual high, and it wasn't out of the ordinary to be looking at someone's face and watch it melt onto the floor. or for the sky to be green, or maybe even polka dotted.
welp it wasn't as visual as they said it was gonna be, but i DID see some pretty heavy duty trails.
the plan was for weissman, whitey, and i, to roll over to wiatt's house and wait for Dealer McDope to drop off the shrooms. we each planned on eating an 8th a piece. but weissman got a little extra because he was the guy who knew the guy, or whatever.
a bunch of us headed back to whitey's house, because whitey had what we called "the back room" which was a spare room dettatched from the house that was used for storage. but we converted it into our own personal opium den, complete with couches, candles, and coolers full of beer, ect. we knew what was UP in highshchool, eh? maybe we would have been able to convince girls to come over back in those days if it weren't for that pee smell, and the constant lurking of house flies.
when we arrived, we all whipped out our zip-lock baggies full of assorted mushroom caps, and mushroom stems. we compared each other's portions, and marveled over the fact that we were all about to eat something that literally grew on a piece of cow shit. got to love being a lodie! and so we ate our drugs.
within an hour we were laughing hystericly, and bouncing off the walls, and full fledged trippin our balls off. or as we liked to put it, "trippin balls." but then out of nowhere, without even realizing that they had left the room, whitey comes in to tell all of us that weissman had officially lost his mind on drugs. so we all clamored out of the buckhorn to find weiss standing in the middle of the street in front of whitey's house with his arms straight out like jesus, and his mouth wide open like a butterfly net. but before we could get close enough to stare or throw something, whitey shuffled us all back into the opium den, and assured us that he would take care of weissman.
after another hour or two, i went searching for them and found them in whitey's bedroom with weissman passed out on the floor in the fetal position, and whitey pacing his room and drawing on the walls. i asked what happened...
whitey said, "well weiss man was on my bed when i saw his pants get all wet, and that's when i knew he peed my bed...
but he seemed kinda freaked out about it...
so to make sure he knew i wasn't pissed off, i flipped over the mattress and poured my beer all over it."
sometimes whitey borders on super-genius, but i guess not when he's shroomin. although it made perfeect sense at the time.
eventually whitey's mom (sorry for all the mischief, bev) finally had heard enough, or was awoken out of her coma, or whatever the deal was, and came downstairs, and found us acting all weird and suspicious. Bev is a nurse, and it wasn't a big secret to her that we were doped up out of our minds.
she held out a cup, and jokingly asked whitey for a urine sample. but the really funny part was that whitey whipped it out, and GAVE her a sample on the spot.
i think around 6 or 7am i road my skateboard back home, and snuck into my bedroom, and went to go trip out and hide under my covers. alone.
later we got the news that weissman hadn't lost his mind after all. at least not permanently... whitey's mattress was completely ruined, although he still slept on it for another three years.
that's what the gods said about my week this week, or so it seems. i hope mount olympus crumbles into dust. those insensitive punk-asses.
so yesterday i had beef with pep boys, today my time is equally wasted with the old "the check you are here to pick up is not ready, come back in an hour."
don't you love that line? so wait, it's not ready? but you said, "come back in an hour" an hour ago!!!
finally, after i had waited an extra four and a half hours, the guys comes over and explains to me, "it's the accountant lady's last day at work, so she took an extended lunch, and she's been slighty pre-occupied with saying her good byes, you know how it goes, right buddy?"
i smiled and nod, and tell him it's cool. but i WANTED to say: "if the bitch is gonna take a two hour lunch and not lift a fucking finger all damned day, why the fuck did she even come to work today? all i want is a teeny tiny little check, just print it, get it signed, and fork it the fuck over before you REALLY piss me off."
restraint is a good thing. my boss tells me always, "just smile and nod, let ME do the yelling." and he is a good yeller, so i let him scream at the appropiate clients, and suck up my frustrations.
it was after 5 by the time i got my check, so i had to truck it to the branch office that's inside the chinese 99 cent ranch supermarket. good old east west bank, yall. the only branch open till 7pm, 7 days a week.
i could have had a worse day tho. waiting around for a check isn't the end of my world, it's just after the fourth of fifth time they tell you to come back in an hour, you feel like they are fucking with you. why tell me the check will be ready to go at noon when it wasn't even ready to go by 4:30?? WHY?!
im just glad i got the check at all, because my boss warned me they might be weird about it. and my boss LOVES hearing that i was able to pick up the check. that's the most important part of the sign business. without a doubt.
pep boys screwed me over. they let my truck sit in their parking lot all damned day while they worked on other cars, even cars that came in after my car, and all that brian could say for his sorry ass was, "jeeze i derno why that happened, wanna call my manager tomorrow?"
he can bet his sorry ass i want to talk to the manager, that fucker. @#$%^&%$#
next door is a jiffy lube, and they were open, so i fucking threw my truck into one of their stalls, and began to negotiate my fee for every single solitary service they offer. (i tend to drive a lot)
oil change, oil filter, fuel filter, air filter, sterring fluid, brake fluid, tranny fluid, radiator flush, rear diffrential fluid, just to name a few.
he told me that the total would be about $550.. but i grinded his ass down to 400 even. cash in hand speaks volumes, take that as a lesson you filthy youngsters.
now my baby's purrin like the tiger she is, rawr up in this piece. the brakes even seem to work slightly better.
i don't have time to mess with the truck any further, at least not until next week. i'm too busy kicking the dirt out of my cleats, and making sure my arms have the propper levels of elbow grease.
i mean here i am with my car in the shop twidling my thumbs like a fucking sissy-boy in sunday school, and all i want is to shred and carve and things of that nature, but my back hurts, and my skateboard knows it. but it doesn't care because it looks sexy right now, all shiney and red, and wide and phat. with a "p-h" of course.
i ate at IHOP today because once you go lignonberry you don't go back. just ask anyone.
i wanna eat some of my muscle relaxers but they make me comatose, and i would definately sleep through the phone call from Manny, Moe and Jack that im waiting for. AND just for the record, there is NOTHING peppy about the pep boys. but OH JOY, the guy behind me in line waiting for his turn was one of "those dudes" that jingle his car keys in hopes that we will hurry up for his bitch ass. (btw, he was wrong)
i have lungs full of kush smoke, a mouth full of taffy cookies, and a nose full of boogers. but that's not all im full of...
new globes via nina. THANKS NINA!
i woke up remembering why i stopped sleeping on my couch, my back is rigid with pain. it's all good though because my mom made me a marble cake, and im on my way to go have a slice of it at her house. i can never eat enough cake.
i have a signjob this weekend in La Puente again, which is cool because i have that city on lockdown. i just hope i can get my car's brakes worked on prior to that. i was sposed to do that today, but i totally blew it.
i did manage to vacuum all the nasty gunk out of my fan. now it's kickin like jackie chan.
lord only knows why they are so shit-eatingly happy. maybe it's further proof that ignorance is bliss. and even though they say, "if ya can't beat them, join them." i'm going to hold my ground and NOT sink to that level.
even though stupidity and a well sharpened drill bit to the forehead seem rather tempting.
you've got that sinking feeling again, dont you? like when the butterflies in your stomach have taken permanant residency and you WISH TO GOD (if there is one) that you could find a way to stomach some nurishment.
another day in paradise? hardly.do you know who you are anymore? you'd like to think so... but you've got your doubts.
all you know is that the mirror hasn't been your friend lately, and only because you don't like who glares back that sad face at your every single time.
how can anything be truly great or good when it's always tainted with bad vibes and uncomfortable overtones?
sometimes you walk up to the buffet line with your plate, and without realizing it, you scoop up so much onto your plate that there is no way you can eat it all... BUT YOU TRY. and you stuff your face, and over indulge, and make yourself sick, because normal people aren't suppsed to injest THAT much mac-n-cheese. life can work quite the same way.
everyone's lips are sealed, and they have nothing to say anymore. THEY DO, but they don't say it, they harbor it, and wait for you to read their minds.
the pressure is getting to you tho, because mind reading ain't your fucking specialty, no matter how hard you fucking try.
you're tired of making choices AT ALL and tired of being held accountable for making the world a happier place; you never wanted that job. the guilt is eating you alive.
i'd love to spread words of encouragement, like, "hang in there, bro!" or "everything usually works out, so don't sweat it!", but that barely works anymore.
i was reminded recently that what doesn't kill me, makes me stronger. but is that all that true?? maybe something won't kill me, but it will make me bat-shit-insane. surviving a situation shouldn't always be looked at like a boy scout merrit badge.
badges? BADGES? we shit on steenking badges, mon.
believe me when i say that the answer is clear you're just too close to see it. like when the great subway train artists of the mid 70's would paint their wildstyle masterpieces... the trains in the yards were parked so close together, that they could never actually stand back and see the big picture all at once.
well i have good news and i have bad news. the bad news is that shit is not going to change today, and it's not going to change tomorrow.
BUT the good news is that it will change, and you can bank on that because you know that you want it to change bad enough to be working towards that goal (no matter how distant the goal seems.) and your current state of misery is an incentive plan to make things right, and better.
i'm gonna count on my friends, and the few family members i trust, because i know that they count on me in the same way, because we are eachother's safety nets, and we're to make sure that no-one in OUR circle has too hard a fall if we can help it.
sure the light at the end of the tunnel won't be seen tomorrow, but that doesn't mean you can't try and make tomorrow as painless as humanly possible.
I, anti dis estab, solemnly swear to not talk about birthdays for another year. it's finally almost over.
this is an excerpt from a larger piece of writing that I'm working on:
so I walked into the restaurant and went straight to the bathroom to wash off the filth from my hands. My job is street, so my hands literally are black with sut.
it was one of those bathrooms that needed a coin to open, and once I was inside, there was no mirror above the sink. My guess was that it had so much graffiti scribed into it that they had to remove it. And they had shitty soap, it smelled worse than my hands smelled to begin with. And when are restaurants going to learn that that hot air method of drying hands simply doesn't work?
I stalk the entire layout of the greasy spoon in search of a booth that allows me a view of the TV. NASCAR is on... The #8 car is in the top ten. I order a coffee: too much cream, even more sugar.
worried that I missed a call, due to a too quiet cell phone, I hurriedly whip it out to see if there are any missed calls. I'm safe, so I set the phone next to my napkin and unused silverware, and slide down the booth, so that I can use the opposite side like a foot rest. If only you could still smoke indoors, eh?
I look around at all the people in the shitty pancake house located in a remote desert town, and I wonder how many years these regulars have been coming day in, and day out, never missing a beat. Hell who could blame them, the homes were hot as fuck, and the restaurant's rotating display of assorted fruit pies looked appetizing enough. And to top it all off, there I was with them all. At the only place in town to be. The only difference being that in another hour I would never come back to this restaurant, or this town, or this state. I was on my way, and nothing was holding me back, certainly not a glossy looking cherry pie.
the following day I was awoken by the light of Sunrise filling the cab of my truck with light. I sat up in the back seat, a little confused and disoriented. It's hard waking up in a brand new place every single time, and not recognizing any of your surroundings. Things looked a lot different in the dark when you arrived. I unravel the balled up sweatshirt I used for a pillow and put it on, and open the car to get some fresh air. It's fucking freezing outside, maybe a cigarette will warm things up.
time to grab a coffee, fill up the gas tank, and get to driving. There's work to do. Distance to cover. I've stopped and smelled these roses for long enough, there'll be plenty more along the way, and you better believe that I'm gonna stick my greasy Italian shnauze into each and everyone of them.
the hum and vibration of the engine are familiar, and comfortable. Holding still feels un-nerving at this point. Got to keep it moo-ving.
how long will this last, how far can I get? Will they come find me and drag me back?! There's no time for bullshit. Worry will drag the ship into a storm. I can't think about what I did, and who will come hunting... It might make me sloppy...
i pull the sunglasses down from my forehead, and position them porpperly on the bridge of my nose, as i approach a nice looking coffee shop. i could use a blast.
when i wake up each and every single FUCKING day, i scream into the sunlight. literally, i sit up with my eyes still closed, and i fucking scream loud and glirly like Ned Flanders... sometimes being awoken can feel like leaving the womb, what else can i say?
when was the last time you dropped and did 20 push ups? my answer is 5 minutes ago.
life wants to be kicked in the nuts, that's all it is waiting for. go ahead and get a running start, and rupture those damn testes, my friends. use your knee if you think you'll cause more pain. and do it ONCE a day, damn you.
we all know right from wrong, and what will better ourselves and what will perpetuate the misery... yet lots of people make bad/poor choices. they WITTINGLY do themselves wrong. me myself and i hit a boiling point one day and said NO MORE WILL I TOLERATE MY LIFE GETTING SHITTIER AND SHITTER. and from that point on, i made choices in a different vain. i no longer was willing to settle for who or what i was. i KNEW that i had room for improvement, and i felt that i deserved to achieve that.
within your life, your thoughts, your environment and your social relationships, EVERYTIHNG HOLDS HANDS. it's all connected, like a giant chain link fence, and you want that shit to have ZERO holes. pick up what im saying, eh?
when you isolate something about yourself that you want to make better or something that you could do smarter, ect... it feels so ginormously rewarding for ACCOMPLISHING that goal.
the hardest part is wanting it, wanting it bad enough to not just sit there and do nothing like you always fucking do, you lazy pig.
whats cool is, as much as her last job SUCCKED... this new job seems to be totally opposite. the last one was far away, paid lesser, and dealt with crapola that he had no experience with.
the NEW one is close, pays MORE, and deals with industries that she has lots of experience with. the two jobs are so dis-similar that it's like night and day.
good luck tanky, or eh... BREAK A LEG! or um. i derno. knockem dead? you know what i mean.
tony is smiling like that because he is stoned out of his mind, and so am i. six footers, man. gotta love it.
to everyone who went out of their way to show their respect to me at my birthday party... you made this the best birthday in as long as i can remember.
i arrived home from a shitty long day at the office, and found my apartment decked out with rasta colored streamers, and pirate balloons. my jaw dropped, and i could barely utter a word... i was THAT surprised.
the whole fucking night was perfect, JUST PERFECT... people showed up, i got high and drunk out of my mind, i think i even did a line, and now i have spent the entire day drinking orange juice, wearing sweatpants.
so much love, joy, and companionship and shit people!!!! it's not even my birthday YET. (but i sure can't wait for it to be over so i can shut up about it already.
right now the stench of beer is a little on teh strong side. i went outside for a minute, and when i was walking back up to my front door, i could smell the beer-stench creeping out of the sides of the door. yummy.
extra special thanks to big tanky and the viking, because this would not have been as nice or as special without their contributions. i'll never ever forget the year that i turned 26, and i have you two to thank.
my shitty birthday streak is officially OVER. i have tomorrow off work... i have folks meeting me at my favorite bar to get crunk, i shaved a neat-o looking goatee on my face, john denver is JAMMING on my itunes, and a half ounce of the REAL DEAL kush is en-route to my house, and it has my name written all over it.
the theme for tonight is PIRATE and i could not be any happier. whip out your eye patch, some skull-and-crossbones and let's get to it, shall we?
normally i get extremely drama-queenish on my birthdays, and i end up crying in a ball at the foot of my bed, thinking, "no one loves me... :( "
this year, i promised myself in january that i was going to be a better, stronger, HEALTHIER human (body and mind) and so feeling sorry for myself won't work. 2005 yall!!! the year to be alive.
hopefully tomorrow i'm so torn back from the partying, that i will be naked on my bathroom floor trying to puke, and promising god i will never have another sip of booze the rest of my natural life.
i hope i don't break my camera...
kill me slowly.
i'm off work at 7pm. oh joy.
thanks god for two foot bonghits for breakfast.
i feel like i have no time to do nothing anymore... so sad.
December 2002 January 2003 February 2003 March 2003 April 2003 May 2003 June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 December 2003 January 2004 February 2004 March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 January 2006 July 2007