hands on hips, foot on the tail,
nose in the air, at the edge of concrete,
six guys carving the roundwall,
random dude chatting with Asian chicks,
sitting on the black metal chairs,
skate park bone dry, sunshine overheard,
me trying to catch my breath,
from walking from the busstop,
caught the city bus from downtown,
chock full of damaged people,
me included, me foremost.
two quick pushes to the bank,
front foot too far forward,
down the slope onto the flat,
up and down the pyramid just like that,
flat again, grazed the hip,
flat and crouched down hitting the wall,
hit the corner and then, and then,
slingshot through, saw my feet,
as if unattached, go left to right,
maintained all that speed.
flat again, pump into the wall,
carve through, avoiding stall,
back out, kickturn for good measure,
click, clack on the tranny,
nothing but flat in front of me,
kick, kick, ride, kick, kick, ride,
lean to the left, lean to the right,
feet on board, body waving in the breeze,
surfing the flat back up to the deck.
Rode the roundwall compressing,
dropped in off noping, flew up the wall,
into the corner and again, the same,
slingshot, slingshotting out, slung,
back up the twinkie, not enough speed,
but almost there, almost enough,
felt like my head, torso stayed suspended,
while I watched my feet go left to right,
out of the corners, still working,
pumping, work on right to left.
didn't Hughes mention this before,
in that thread about carving, slingshot,
slingshotting across through the corner,
board was there, under my feet, accompanying,
like some magic carpet, built only for me,
carrying me through the carves,
leaving me wanting, starving,
wanting so much more, intro to carving,
someone mentioned this, just threw my feet up,
head, torso, seemingly stationary,
no pads, no helm, went aggro just the same,
feet on board most of the ride,
felt the back wheels bite a coupla times,
so this is carving, so this is how it feels,
slingshot outta the corner, this is for real.
4.30.2007
Day-twa
1) & 2) The first two pics are of E--such a cutie, isn't he?
3) Nan posing by the giant Tiger in front of Comerica Park.
4) I gave this guy the shirt off my back . . . this was a statue on the platform of the People Mover (a psuedo elevated train thingy). It was about 30 degrees out and the PM was full of drunken Red Wings fans going to the last regular season game . . .
5) E with ramps and fingerboards that WORMY13 of Georgia sent him . . .
6) Me and the brats at Comerica Park--some kinda statues behind us, all the Tiger hall of famers (Ty Cobb in the left of the photo) . . . I lived in the YWCA building in this very same spot for awhile back in the early 80's--
3) Nan posing by the giant Tiger in front of Comerica Park.
4) I gave this guy the shirt off my back . . . this was a statue on the platform of the People Mover (a psuedo elevated train thingy). It was about 30 degrees out and the PM was full of drunken Red Wings fans going to the last regular season game . . .
5) E with ramps and fingerboards that WORMY13 of Georgia sent him . . .
6) Me and the brats at Comerica Park--some kinda statues behind us, all the Tiger hall of famers (Ty Cobb in the left of the photo) . . . I lived in the YWCA building in this very same spot for awhile back in the early 80's--
4.29.2007
can't skate fakie (yet)
Riding backwards down the drive,
Fakie practice during my cigarette breaks,
Nothing like the real thing, not quite,
But practice makes perfect, so I hope,
Or at least something better, better than now,
To visualize if nothing else, right mind, right action.
Looking for headphones and fan, somewhere here,
To block out the noise, to ignore what’s beyond,
Got enough stuff to deal with, don’t want anymore,
And burning up already, already sweating,
Not even summer, not even seventy,
Cold-blooded Asiatic, can’t stand the heat.
Still too much of a good thing, sometimes,
Too much booze, too many videogames,
Too much hung-over sleep, too many regrets,
Nothing is, but what is seen, experienced,
Simple but not innocent, anything but,
Guilty as the next, maybe moreso.
the kids play with their toys, their gadgets,
PSP and IPod, cd players and computer games,
the toddler keeps collecting stuff from uncle,
When he’s driving around town with Nokomis (grams),
Pieces and parts all over the floor, dollar store goodies,
Broken and strewn, destined for the dustbin.
Gotta find some better way, find some middle path,
Moderation in all things, not an issue with skating,
My body only allows me to do so much so often,
the weather lends a hand as well, sentencing me indoors,
To heal and to scheme, for the next big slam,
the physical reminds me I’m alive and that blood flows.
Trucks still feel too loose, need to tighten,
How tight is too tight, how loose is too loose,
Can’t skate fakie, can’t skate half-pipe,
Gonna blame it on my kingpin, gonna get it right,
Tightening until the bushing starts to bulge,
Until someone else tells me to do something else.
Pumping backward, pump at the peak,
the stall point, the nexus of it all,
the set-up point for kickturns, stalls,
Carving, pivots, tailtaps, too,
Feel that stall, the grandfather of them all,
the point at which my son decides to bail.
Compression, knees to chest, not lock-kneed,
Bending forward at the waist just not the same,
Articulate with those knees, God-given instruments,
Pretend they are shock absorbers, energy storers,
Turn out of the carve, stay on that board,
Feet on the board, body perpendicular to wall.
Catch the flow, catch that beat, ride the wave,
the rest of life, still the same, baby steps,
Toward something else, begins right now,
what do we control, where you want to go,
I’m telling you son, makes little sense,
But don’t give up what you want and believe.
Ride and enjoy, so many years to go,
How long, nobody really knows,
So live in the now, remember the past,
Push yourself to your limit, have a blast,
the only one stopping you is yourself,
stop putting tomorrow off on someone else.
Fakie practice during my cigarette breaks,
Nothing like the real thing, not quite,
But practice makes perfect, so I hope,
Or at least something better, better than now,
To visualize if nothing else, right mind, right action.
Looking for headphones and fan, somewhere here,
To block out the noise, to ignore what’s beyond,
Got enough stuff to deal with, don’t want anymore,
And burning up already, already sweating,
Not even summer, not even seventy,
Cold-blooded Asiatic, can’t stand the heat.
Still too much of a good thing, sometimes,
Too much booze, too many videogames,
Too much hung-over sleep, too many regrets,
Nothing is, but what is seen, experienced,
Simple but not innocent, anything but,
Guilty as the next, maybe moreso.
the kids play with their toys, their gadgets,
PSP and IPod, cd players and computer games,
the toddler keeps collecting stuff from uncle,
When he’s driving around town with Nokomis (grams),
Pieces and parts all over the floor, dollar store goodies,
Broken and strewn, destined for the dustbin.
Gotta find some better way, find some middle path,
Moderation in all things, not an issue with skating,
My body only allows me to do so much so often,
the weather lends a hand as well, sentencing me indoors,
To heal and to scheme, for the next big slam,
the physical reminds me I’m alive and that blood flows.
Trucks still feel too loose, need to tighten,
How tight is too tight, how loose is too loose,
Can’t skate fakie, can’t skate half-pipe,
Gonna blame it on my kingpin, gonna get it right,
Tightening until the bushing starts to bulge,
Until someone else tells me to do something else.
Pumping backward, pump at the peak,
the stall point, the nexus of it all,
the set-up point for kickturns, stalls,
Carving, pivots, tailtaps, too,
Feel that stall, the grandfather of them all,
the point at which my son decides to bail.
Compression, knees to chest, not lock-kneed,
Bending forward at the waist just not the same,
Articulate with those knees, God-given instruments,
Pretend they are shock absorbers, energy storers,
Turn out of the carve, stay on that board,
Feet on the board, body perpendicular to wall.
Catch the flow, catch that beat, ride the wave,
the rest of life, still the same, baby steps,
Toward something else, begins right now,
what do we control, where you want to go,
I’m telling you son, makes little sense,
But don’t give up what you want and believe.
Ride and enjoy, so many years to go,
How long, nobody really knows,
So live in the now, remember the past,
Push yourself to your limit, have a blast,
the only one stopping you is yourself,
stop putting tomorrow off on someone else.
the old school
Keep dreaming about the past,
But shrouded in some ways,
I’m back in the old school,
Haunted by phantoms of people I knew,
But haven’t seen in over twenty years.
Started out cleaning up,
My old bedroom over on Blackmoor,
Found a letter from MB,
Said she was divorced,
Living in the area still,
Didn’t want to see her just the same.
Then walked through the school,
Didn’t recognize anyone there,
Barely recognized the building,
But I knew it was there somewhere,
Underneath all the new paint,
Underneath years of living,
Still in that same place.
Saw E standing in a classroom,
Waiting for me with Nan and Z,
So happy, the smile across his face,
I picked him up and walked away,
Don’t remember what I was looking for,
But not that important to me anymore.
Need to learn to let go,
No good in visiting the past,
What is there to gain,
Nothing but dredging up pain,
Let go of the present as well,
Bound and tied by my expectations,
Sentencing myself to a living hell.
So much time spent on things,
Things that I cannot control,
Worrying about who does what,
What can I do, but check myself,
So why do I worry about so much,
So much that is out of my hands.
Chasing after all that glitters,
But so much ends up hollow,
Meaningless nothings glittering,
Always on the horizon,
Just within sight, within reach,
But fades like a mirage,
Upon closer inspection.
Looking elsewhere for my happiness,
Never looking here and now,
Never looking within,
Always and forever,
Falling for the same lie,
When will I awaken,
When will this end?
But shrouded in some ways,
I’m back in the old school,
Haunted by phantoms of people I knew,
But haven’t seen in over twenty years.
Started out cleaning up,
My old bedroom over on Blackmoor,
Found a letter from MB,
Said she was divorced,
Living in the area still,
Didn’t want to see her just the same.
Then walked through the school,
Didn’t recognize anyone there,
Barely recognized the building,
But I knew it was there somewhere,
Underneath all the new paint,
Underneath years of living,
Still in that same place.
Saw E standing in a classroom,
Waiting for me with Nan and Z,
So happy, the smile across his face,
I picked him up and walked away,
Don’t remember what I was looking for,
But not that important to me anymore.
Need to learn to let go,
No good in visiting the past,
What is there to gain,
Nothing but dredging up pain,
Let go of the present as well,
Bound and tied by my expectations,
Sentencing myself to a living hell.
So much time spent on things,
Things that I cannot control,
Worrying about who does what,
What can I do, but check myself,
So why do I worry about so much,
So much that is out of my hands.
Chasing after all that glitters,
But so much ends up hollow,
Meaningless nothings glittering,
Always on the horizon,
Just within sight, within reach,
But fades like a mirage,
Upon closer inspection.
Looking elsewhere for my happiness,
Never looking here and now,
Never looking within,
Always and forever,
Falling for the same lie,
When will I awaken,
When will this end?
water beads on the deck
The boy and I went to the park,
Still drying up from the night before,
Puddles in the corner, water beads on the deck,
Sun shining down, promises of a beautiful day,
Half-dozen or so teens flipping about,
Two little kids, helmeted, kickturning,
And two old schoolers up on the deck,
Walked over to them to chat,
Doug and Dave, locals, 41 and 35,
Saw them dropping in, carving,
In the bowl area many times before,
Snapped some shots on my disposable,
Got schooled by Doug on the basics,
Pumping and carving, all else falls in place,
Stay perpendicular to the plane,
Made it look and sound so easy,
But easy doesn't get it done,
Pump at the top to gain momentum,
Keep your body in place,
Otherwise you’re gonna eat concrete,
Still need to work on that,
Can’t seem to pump like I should,
The boy can fakie, but no pumpage,
Just dies when in the half-pipe,
certainly understands the concept,
Z-man and I went off to the bowl,
Messed around trying to carve,
Got my kickturns back, at least a little,
And the boy is more than half-way there,
But stalls and bails, told him to compress,
But his knees don’t bend, no matter what,
Just cannot go from theory to practice,
Two little groms jumped in with us,
They’d hit the wall and fakie,
Didn’t do much else, keep hitting the wall,
Almost throwing themselves at it,
Or falling down and hitting their knees,
Told me my shoes were no good,
Both wearing, skating on Walmart gear,
We just sat and listened, not saying much,
The little one keep talking, about whatever,
Asked me if I could skate, asked me if I could ollie,
Blah blah blah, following me into the flow,
Told him no, not really, told him I didn’t know,
My son and I are just learning,
Fakies, carving and kickturing,
Someday soon we’ll both have the tail drop,
Grinds on coping and son surpassing pops,
But for now we’re just learning, just like you,
But one day, we’re gonna own this here pool.
Still drying up from the night before,
Puddles in the corner, water beads on the deck,
Sun shining down, promises of a beautiful day,
Half-dozen or so teens flipping about,
Two little kids, helmeted, kickturning,
And two old schoolers up on the deck,
Walked over to them to chat,
Doug and Dave, locals, 41 and 35,
Saw them dropping in, carving,
In the bowl area many times before,
Snapped some shots on my disposable,
Got schooled by Doug on the basics,
Pumping and carving, all else falls in place,
Stay perpendicular to the plane,
Made it look and sound so easy,
But easy doesn't get it done,
Pump at the top to gain momentum,
Keep your body in place,
Otherwise you’re gonna eat concrete,
Still need to work on that,
Can’t seem to pump like I should,
The boy can fakie, but no pumpage,
Just dies when in the half-pipe,
certainly understands the concept,
Z-man and I went off to the bowl,
Messed around trying to carve,
Got my kickturns back, at least a little,
And the boy is more than half-way there,
But stalls and bails, told him to compress,
But his knees don’t bend, no matter what,
Just cannot go from theory to practice,
Two little groms jumped in with us,
They’d hit the wall and fakie,
Didn’t do much else, keep hitting the wall,
Almost throwing themselves at it,
Or falling down and hitting their knees,
Told me my shoes were no good,
Both wearing, skating on Walmart gear,
We just sat and listened, not saying much,
The little one keep talking, about whatever,
Asked me if I could skate, asked me if I could ollie,
Blah blah blah, following me into the flow,
Told him no, not really, told him I didn’t know,
My son and I are just learning,
Fakies, carving and kickturing,
Someday soon we’ll both have the tail drop,
Grinds on coping and son surpassing pops,
But for now we’re just learning, just like you,
But one day, we’re gonna own this here pool.
4.25.2007
class project
the boy had to burn a cd and publish a booklet with "liner notes"--here's part of the cover-- can you tell the old man's had an influence on him?
4.23.2007
in a flash
Cut and paste, flip and rotate, crop and invert,
Just playing with pics to kill the time,
So addicted to the visual, just can’t shake it,
Want to start taking photos and do my own,
Not sure why all of a sudden, out of the blue,
Something about them affirms and verifies,
Makes the everyday seem much more real.
Photos freeze and slow down time,
Focusing attention on the mundane,
But in a flash, in a moment, so much contained,
So much to this thing called life, much too much,
To see with the mind’s eye, naked and plain,
Full color or black and white, no difference,
Frozen in time, for however long it lasts.
The human form, in competition,
Against and alongside, doing battle within,
And the works of humanity, captured momentarily,
Along with the works of the divine and eternal,
Flora and fauna, stars and galaxies, endlessly vast,
Frozen for a moment, just for one instant,
Slows me enough to appreciate, to consider.
Just playing with pics to kill the time,
So addicted to the visual, just can’t shake it,
Want to start taking photos and do my own,
Not sure why all of a sudden, out of the blue,
Something about them affirms and verifies,
Makes the everyday seem much more real.
Photos freeze and slow down time,
Focusing attention on the mundane,
But in a flash, in a moment, so much contained,
So much to this thing called life, much too much,
To see with the mind’s eye, naked and plain,
Full color or black and white, no difference,
Frozen in time, for however long it lasts.
The human form, in competition,
Against and alongside, doing battle within,
And the works of humanity, captured momentarily,
Along with the works of the divine and eternal,
Flora and fauna, stars and galaxies, endlessly vast,
Frozen for a moment, just for one instant,
Slows me enough to appreciate, to consider.
what you waiting for?
One or two spills, enough to kill my confidence,
Blame it on lack of speed, blame it on wheel bite,
Not pumping hard enough, lack of skills,
Something’s gotta give, gotta get over this hump,
Jonesing to ride the wall, took two steps back,
Have to move forward and hopefully progress.
Watching all the others skaters hitting numerous lines,
Holding myself back, due to some kind of lack,
But sketchy as it sometimes seems, that’s just that,
Gotta ride and just stay on, feel myself slipping,
Moving forwards and back, on only two wheels,
Loud Kid 1 says just drop in, what you waiting for.
Easier said then done son, over thinking the thing,
Shut up and just do it, don’t think, just do,
Gonna scare myself into early retirement,
Sitting here taking tips from a seven-year-old,
But ironically, how hilarious is that, what a lark,
Should’ve thought of all that before jumping on board.
The freedom, the rush, when I let go and shut up,
My mouth and my mind, and follow those lines,
I saw others flow from spot to spot, super fast,
Centrifugal force, spinning me around,
Into the corner and right back out, up the twinkie,
And up to the opposite tranny, no thoughts surface.
Line by line, drop by drop, carving the whole thing,
Fakie to and fro, kickturns on bank just for show,
Pump pump pump, turn left turn right,
Touch the coping as I glide right on by,
I see the lip, see the flat, bend them knees,
Tired and wasted by the end, another fine run.
Best of all, I managed to stay on the board,
Didn’t eat any concrete today, came close,
Had a few bails, put my trust in the seven-plys,
Visualized and manipulated, to pull it off,
But still hungry for more, flinging around,
In the corners and bowls, coming back for more.
Blame it on lack of speed, blame it on wheel bite,
Not pumping hard enough, lack of skills,
Something’s gotta give, gotta get over this hump,
Jonesing to ride the wall, took two steps back,
Have to move forward and hopefully progress.
Watching all the others skaters hitting numerous lines,
Holding myself back, due to some kind of lack,
But sketchy as it sometimes seems, that’s just that,
Gotta ride and just stay on, feel myself slipping,
Moving forwards and back, on only two wheels,
Loud Kid 1 says just drop in, what you waiting for.
Easier said then done son, over thinking the thing,
Shut up and just do it, don’t think, just do,
Gonna scare myself into early retirement,
Sitting here taking tips from a seven-year-old,
But ironically, how hilarious is that, what a lark,
Should’ve thought of all that before jumping on board.
The freedom, the rush, when I let go and shut up,
My mouth and my mind, and follow those lines,
I saw others flow from spot to spot, super fast,
Centrifugal force, spinning me around,
Into the corner and right back out, up the twinkie,
And up to the opposite tranny, no thoughts surface.
Line by line, drop by drop, carving the whole thing,
Fakie to and fro, kickturns on bank just for show,
Pump pump pump, turn left turn right,
Touch the coping as I glide right on by,
I see the lip, see the flat, bend them knees,
Tired and wasted by the end, another fine run.
Best of all, I managed to stay on the board,
Didn’t eat any concrete today, came close,
Had a few bails, put my trust in the seven-plys,
Visualized and manipulated, to pull it off,
But still hungry for more, flinging around,
In the corners and bowls, coming back for more.
daily skate affirmations
Hit the wall, carve that bowl,
Speed with ease, don’t go slow,
Kickturn the deep end,
Make me some new friends,
Kickturn that darn roundwall,
Try like hell not to fall,
Fakie and pump the concrete half,
Try no to be so daft.
Lines upon lines, kick-free gliding,
Boneless to disaster, bert-sliding,
Pushing is for street-stylers,
Dream about ollies and transfers,
Cruise that park kick-free,
Drop-in and pump quickly,
Float over the twinkies,
Wear braces on both my knees.
The hubbas and the hips,
Try like hell not to slip,
Get your gnar on, beg borrow or steal,
So much closer to making it for real,
Beautiful smooth concrete,
Whizzes by beneath my feet,
Sunshine and concrete to warm my bones,
Try like hell to feed my skate jones.
Speed with ease, don’t go slow,
Kickturn the deep end,
Make me some new friends,
Kickturn that darn roundwall,
Try like hell not to fall,
Fakie and pump the concrete half,
Try no to be so daft.
Lines upon lines, kick-free gliding,
Boneless to disaster, bert-sliding,
Pushing is for street-stylers,
Dream about ollies and transfers,
Cruise that park kick-free,
Drop-in and pump quickly,
Float over the twinkies,
Wear braces on both my knees.
The hubbas and the hips,
Try like hell not to slip,
Get your gnar on, beg borrow or steal,
So much closer to making it for real,
Beautiful smooth concrete,
Whizzes by beneath my feet,
Sunshine and concrete to warm my bones,
Try like hell to feed my skate jones.
4.22.2007
old men on skateboards
I'm still having problems with carving/pumping, etc . . . still can't get high enough on the walls . . . not sure if I'm not pumping properly, or if I don't have enough speed. It's getting a little frustrating. The following photos are from other skaters over at OldManArmy.com--the cool sequence is of El Gato Negro of Marseilles, France and there's another one of him and his buddy skating doubles at a park along the harbor. There's also a shot of Jer, from North Carolina at his local spot, the p-58, taken by JakeSkate. The last two are both taken at a park that just opened in the Phoenix area--Goodyear, both by OldManMike, I think . . . I apologize if that is incorrect . . . they are both in the deep end of the pool-- note the cool tiles and concrete cool coping. I believe that it is about 12 feet from the bottom and Jlcopr5150 and Rubberman Dan or both abusing the coping in a most vicious fashion. I'm posting these as an aid, as a reminder to myself of what I want to achieve-- these guys are way beyond my talent level, but maybe someday. . . I also chose these pictures due to the massive amount of knee bending involved-- I do think that I am not bending enough, and that's something I'm trying to work on right now.
Oh, of these guys, I think Jer is younger than me and the rest are older. El Gato is the oldest--he's in his late forties or early fifties-- and still skateboarding.
Oh, of these guys, I think Jer is younger than me and the rest are older. El Gato is the oldest--he's in his late forties or early fifties-- and still skateboarding.
annoying
i stole this and tweaked it a little--not real sure why some photos don't come out to well here...but i like the design/colors...
4.21.2007
the day's only just begun
The day started out better than most,
Z-Man and I were dropped off at the park,
Wife and the rest went to breakfast,
My boy wanted to skate while it was early,
Not too many folks clogging up the lines,
Hone our skills without too many prying eyes.
Five or so guys already there,
Plus a couple of kids—neighbors of ours,
We call them the “loud kids” cuz they are,
Can hear them and mom yelling everyday,
But at the park they’re pretty mellow,
The youngest spots us and says hello.
Don’t even know their names,
But shorty can rip and is only seven,
Dropping in, ollieing, launching outta the bowls,
Told my son to watch and learn,
See how his knees bend on his kickturns.
I sat and watched, too—still skate like a grom,
Getting higher on the walls, hitting the twinkie,
Still need more speed, need bigger cojones,
Other oldschoolers started carving around the park,
Gave me a kick in the butt, gave this old man a spark.
Some twenty-six year old was bitchen about being old,
Told him to suck it up, twelve years his senior,
Nowhere close to hanging it up, giving up,
Working on my fakies, trying to work on my skills,
Working on kickturns, living for the thrills.
I had to take a step back, working on the basics,
Tired of hurting myself, going the distance,
Not overdoing, taking baby steps for sure,
But can’t be skipping steps, need to do it right,
Hit the wall fast, fells like you’re about to take flight.
Everything good, good old time, til I hit my knee,
Hopping over the coping, going to check the bowl,
Damm oh damm, what the hell, bruising up,
So much for not hurting myself, solid session,
Up til then, learned something else, another lesson.
Seventy-seven degrees, park is gonna be packed,
Later in the day, by mid-afternoon, wall-to-wall,
My sessions are short, building up my endurance,
But overall, I can’t complain, enjoying the sun,
Smiling as I carve along and the day’s only just begun.
Z-Man and I were dropped off at the park,
Wife and the rest went to breakfast,
My boy wanted to skate while it was early,
Not too many folks clogging up the lines,
Hone our skills without too many prying eyes.
Five or so guys already there,
Plus a couple of kids—neighbors of ours,
We call them the “loud kids” cuz they are,
Can hear them and mom yelling everyday,
But at the park they’re pretty mellow,
The youngest spots us and says hello.
Don’t even know their names,
But shorty can rip and is only seven,
Dropping in, ollieing, launching outta the bowls,
Told my son to watch and learn,
See how his knees bend on his kickturns.
I sat and watched, too—still skate like a grom,
Getting higher on the walls, hitting the twinkie,
Still need more speed, need bigger cojones,
Other oldschoolers started carving around the park,
Gave me a kick in the butt, gave this old man a spark.
Some twenty-six year old was bitchen about being old,
Told him to suck it up, twelve years his senior,
Nowhere close to hanging it up, giving up,
Working on my fakies, trying to work on my skills,
Working on kickturns, living for the thrills.
I had to take a step back, working on the basics,
Tired of hurting myself, going the distance,
Not overdoing, taking baby steps for sure,
But can’t be skipping steps, need to do it right,
Hit the wall fast, fells like you’re about to take flight.
Everything good, good old time, til I hit my knee,
Hopping over the coping, going to check the bowl,
Damm oh damm, what the hell, bruising up,
So much for not hurting myself, solid session,
Up til then, learned something else, another lesson.
Seventy-seven degrees, park is gonna be packed,
Later in the day, by mid-afternoon, wall-to-wall,
My sessions are short, building up my endurance,
But overall, I can’t complain, enjoying the sun,
Smiling as I carve along and the day’s only just begun.
4.18.2007
april time. . .
Drowning my sorrows in pints of lager,
What passes as sorrow is nothing but regret,
The day’s half gone and I’ve done nothing yet,
I blame it on the crowd, blame it on the season,
But I blame to hide, hide from the real reasons.
What have I done, what have I become,
So many dreams, washed up and undone,
The observer observing so critically,
All the places I wanted to go, to see,
All the things I wanted to do, to be.
Fault lies not with those without,
Fault lies with me alone, looking for what,
I know not, keep getting forever stuck,
Easier to observe and blame instead of change,
So much easier to pretend, keep on playing these games.
I have never been, never was, not even a has-been,
Never tried, never believed, never going there again,
Anger and doubt shrouding my thoughts,
But I never lashed out, kept it to myself,
At the very least, I never hurt anyone else.
Angry young and alone, is no way to live,
But live we must, unless we decide otherwise,
Mourn the passing of the inner child that has died,
Begin life anew with open eyes rooted in reality,
Childhood dreams and false beliefs finally set free.
How can someone, anyone, a solitary shooter,
Take so many lives, expressionless lone killer,
Shook the nation's foundations, rocked the very pillars,
Lives destroyed, shattered, never to be the same,
Everyone scrambling, trying to share the blame.
Who knew what, what could have been done,
Questions about the police, debates about guns,
Solitary loner, ruminating in his own anger,
Growing everyday, metastasizing like a cancer,
How many felt the same, but chose a different route?
At some point we choose, to live or to die,
To embrace this life or not even try,
Truthfully, many sit on the fence, somewhere in-between,
I’ve had dark days, don’t want to repeat what I have seen,
But I have always chosen to live, or at least to try.
What makes someone give up, to strike, to destroy,
To choose to live half-awake, devoid of any joy,
Then to end it all, the only something we know for sure,
And take the lives of innocents, what is that for,
What reasons can there be, that make any real sense?
I cannot say, but all this time, wasted on the fence,
Cannot go on into countless tomorrows, not for another day,
Strengthen my resolve, follow the middle way,
Acknowledge my part in all of this, and the same for the rest,
This great gift of life, deserves nothing but our best.
Death stalks us all, and eventually wins,
But until that day, I am going all in,
The little things, the simple things mean so much,
Tired of hearing about killers and thieves and such,
No one gets recognized for doing what they should.
No awards for doing your job every day,
Being there for your kids, showing them the right way,
Doing what should be done, for the sake of loved ones,
Living everyday for my daughter and my sons,
For that there is no recognition, no ticker-tape parade.
We've been sold a bill of goods, sacred vs. the profane,
But the truth of it is, that the holy is found in the mundane,
Simple and plain, no other way to say it,
Star-struck news addicts, suckling on delusion's tit,
Missing the point of life, the point of creation.
My heart goes out to the victims and families,
Their worlds torn asunder, too surreal to be reality,
At the hands of a mad man, yet of one us,
Obsessed with false idols, dreams reduced to dust,
So stuck on what he had not, destroyed the self,
Unable to accept what is, was, blaming everyone else.
So many more lurk out of sight, potential time bombs ticking,
Perhaps a symptom of a diseased society, result too sickening,
How can one person, hate so much, show no remorse,
Lack of impulse control, life completely off-course,
Disengaged and disenchanted, afloat in a sea of confusion,
Seeking to destroy and lash out, will we find a solution?
Destruction is simple, critique is easy, weapons of apathy,
Creation and nuturing, furnace of life, creates empathy,
The real work, the hard work, beyond self and the material,
the love of community, of family, of faith and the spiritual,
Look within, see without, one and the same, look around,
Healing must start, all of us struggle, just like that college town.
Affirmations must be made, to live and to love,
For the sake of everyone beyond and above,
the future generations to come, those that follow,
So their lives will have meaning, will not be hollow,
So no one else will die a senseless death,
that we will all live to the fullest until our last breath.
What passes as sorrow is nothing but regret,
The day’s half gone and I’ve done nothing yet,
I blame it on the crowd, blame it on the season,
But I blame to hide, hide from the real reasons.
What have I done, what have I become,
So many dreams, washed up and undone,
The observer observing so critically,
All the places I wanted to go, to see,
All the things I wanted to do, to be.
Fault lies not with those without,
Fault lies with me alone, looking for what,
I know not, keep getting forever stuck,
Easier to observe and blame instead of change,
So much easier to pretend, keep on playing these games.
I have never been, never was, not even a has-been,
Never tried, never believed, never going there again,
Anger and doubt shrouding my thoughts,
But I never lashed out, kept it to myself,
At the very least, I never hurt anyone else.
Angry young and alone, is no way to live,
But live we must, unless we decide otherwise,
Mourn the passing of the inner child that has died,
Begin life anew with open eyes rooted in reality,
Childhood dreams and false beliefs finally set free.
How can someone, anyone, a solitary shooter,
Take so many lives, expressionless lone killer,
Shook the nation's foundations, rocked the very pillars,
Lives destroyed, shattered, never to be the same,
Everyone scrambling, trying to share the blame.
Who knew what, what could have been done,
Questions about the police, debates about guns,
Solitary loner, ruminating in his own anger,
Growing everyday, metastasizing like a cancer,
How many felt the same, but chose a different route?
At some point we choose, to live or to die,
To embrace this life or not even try,
Truthfully, many sit on the fence, somewhere in-between,
I’ve had dark days, don’t want to repeat what I have seen,
But I have always chosen to live, or at least to try.
What makes someone give up, to strike, to destroy,
To choose to live half-awake, devoid of any joy,
Then to end it all, the only something we know for sure,
And take the lives of innocents, what is that for,
What reasons can there be, that make any real sense?
I cannot say, but all this time, wasted on the fence,
Cannot go on into countless tomorrows, not for another day,
Strengthen my resolve, follow the middle way,
Acknowledge my part in all of this, and the same for the rest,
This great gift of life, deserves nothing but our best.
Death stalks us all, and eventually wins,
But until that day, I am going all in,
The little things, the simple things mean so much,
Tired of hearing about killers and thieves and such,
No one gets recognized for doing what they should.
No awards for doing your job every day,
Being there for your kids, showing them the right way,
Doing what should be done, for the sake of loved ones,
Living everyday for my daughter and my sons,
For that there is no recognition, no ticker-tape parade.
We've been sold a bill of goods, sacred vs. the profane,
But the truth of it is, that the holy is found in the mundane,
Simple and plain, no other way to say it,
Star-struck news addicts, suckling on delusion's tit,
Missing the point of life, the point of creation.
My heart goes out to the victims and families,
Their worlds torn asunder, too surreal to be reality,
At the hands of a mad man, yet of one us,
Obsessed with false idols, dreams reduced to dust,
So stuck on what he had not, destroyed the self,
Unable to accept what is, was, blaming everyone else.
So many more lurk out of sight, potential time bombs ticking,
Perhaps a symptom of a diseased society, result too sickening,
How can one person, hate so much, show no remorse,
Lack of impulse control, life completely off-course,
Disengaged and disenchanted, afloat in a sea of confusion,
Seeking to destroy and lash out, will we find a solution?
Destruction is simple, critique is easy, weapons of apathy,
Creation and nuturing, furnace of life, creates empathy,
The real work, the hard work, beyond self and the material,
the love of community, of family, of faith and the spiritual,
Look within, see without, one and the same, look around,
Healing must start, all of us struggle, just like that college town.
Affirmations must be made, to live and to love,
For the sake of everyone beyond and above,
the future generations to come, those that follow,
So their lives will have meaning, will not be hollow,
So no one else will die a senseless death,
that we will all live to the fullest until our last breath.
4.12.2007
ramp it up
The pictured ramp is from fleabagmatt of OMA, also of fleabagskates-- from Washington state (directions below are his as well). . . the kids and I would like to make one of these soon and we are currently in negotiations to acquire another used quarter pipe in the area. . . the idea is to get the kids comfortable with "dropping in" so the ramp will probably be closer to 2 1/2 or 3 feet high with PVC coping. The coping will be useful for learning lip tricks, like grinds and such. . . also tail taps, sweepers, and. . . having a ramp that they (and I) can use rain or shine, in the privacy of our own garage should do wonders for our skills, hopefully.
As in the picture, the ramp was 20 inches tall. I think I used about a 5' radius for the transition. I just laid a 24 next to the edge of the OSB board and drew it with a 5 foot piece of string. After that I pretty much just winged it. After a couple minutes of skating it I realized that it was a little bit tall for the space I have so I tore the surface off and cut it down to the next highest cross brace. Now it's about 15 1/2 inches tall, perfect for a 1-push runup.
Of course it's not wide enough to do a whole heck of a lot on, but it works great for practicing basic lip tricks on. Just barely big enough to do sweepers on.
I think I am going to get some 1 inch diameter pipe and add some coping down the road.
As in the picture, the ramp was 20 inches tall. I think I used about a 5' radius for the transition. I just laid a 24 next to the edge of the OSB board and drew it with a 5 foot piece of string. After that I pretty much just winged it. After a couple minutes of skating it I realized that it was a little bit tall for the space I have so I tore the surface off and cut it down to the next highest cross brace. Now it's about 15 1/2 inches tall, perfect for a 1-push runup.
Of course it's not wide enough to do a whole heck of a lot on, but it works great for practicing basic lip tricks on. Just barely big enough to do sweepers on.
I think I am going to get some 1 inch diameter pipe and add some coping down the road.
4.11.2007
wide-eyed wonder
My head just started hurting again,
Somewhere behind my left eye,
Not sure if it is sinus pain,
Or the pain of living my life in misery,
Confined to an 8-by-8 cell,
8 hours a day, 5 days a week,
My very own personal hell.
And so it goes, so I stay, chained to my desk,
For the rest of the day, but it’s alright, it’s o.k.,
the gods decided to dump slush on us,
Another wasted day, not able to skate,
Nausea increasing as the minutes fade,
I have been averaging about a six pack,
Most everyday, since falling off that wagon.
Maybe the dt’s are kicking in,
Sleeping and drinking, nothing else,
For the last few weeks, since I was skate-free,
Only thing really worth doing and seeing,
All else just pales, nothing brings any real joy,
Life has become mediocre, just a chore,
But skating stops time, much more than just a toy.
Maybe I should have picked something easier,
Something simple and free of pain, but these are just words,
Representing concepts, they only suggest the real,
So whatever it is that makes you live and feel,
Whatever takes your breath away,
Reminds us of the wonder of youth,
Is what you should pursue, what you should chase.
the magic of youth is in wide-eyed wonder,
In living life in the moment,
Boundless energy reflecting an ego unbound,
By the ties and traps of advancing age,
Being and living gifts of creation,
Kicking and screaming into our numbered tomorrows,
Unfettered by life’s lies and wicked sorrows.
So tomorrow begins anew, skate or not,
Fresh slates, new page, need to forge ahead,
Faith and reason, hand-in-hand, upon the cusp,
Open-hearted, open to my life, open to change,
the only constant, the only thing that can be trusted,
So I will start again, laundry list of reasons,
To welcome the new day dawning before my eyes.
So skate often, skate hard, skate fast,
Shred the surly bonds of the everyday,
Open yourself to whatever comes your way,
Grinding across time and memory,
Skate and defy gravity, defy the social constraints,
that packs us into cages, bleeding us of our youth,
Live to the fullest, before we are reduced to ashes,
Anything less, anything short of that, is just tragic.
Somewhere behind my left eye,
Not sure if it is sinus pain,
Or the pain of living my life in misery,
Confined to an 8-by-8 cell,
8 hours a day, 5 days a week,
My very own personal hell.
And so it goes, so I stay, chained to my desk,
For the rest of the day, but it’s alright, it’s o.k.,
the gods decided to dump slush on us,
Another wasted day, not able to skate,
Nausea increasing as the minutes fade,
I have been averaging about a six pack,
Most everyday, since falling off that wagon.
Maybe the dt’s are kicking in,
Sleeping and drinking, nothing else,
For the last few weeks, since I was skate-free,
Only thing really worth doing and seeing,
All else just pales, nothing brings any real joy,
Life has become mediocre, just a chore,
But skating stops time, much more than just a toy.
Maybe I should have picked something easier,
Something simple and free of pain, but these are just words,
Representing concepts, they only suggest the real,
So whatever it is that makes you live and feel,
Whatever takes your breath away,
Reminds us of the wonder of youth,
Is what you should pursue, what you should chase.
the magic of youth is in wide-eyed wonder,
In living life in the moment,
Boundless energy reflecting an ego unbound,
By the ties and traps of advancing age,
Being and living gifts of creation,
Kicking and screaming into our numbered tomorrows,
Unfettered by life’s lies and wicked sorrows.
So tomorrow begins anew, skate or not,
Fresh slates, new page, need to forge ahead,
Faith and reason, hand-in-hand, upon the cusp,
Open-hearted, open to my life, open to change,
the only constant, the only thing that can be trusted,
So I will start again, laundry list of reasons,
To welcome the new day dawning before my eyes.
So skate often, skate hard, skate fast,
Shred the surly bonds of the everyday,
Open yourself to whatever comes your way,
Grinding across time and memory,
Skate and defy gravity, defy the social constraints,
that packs us into cages, bleeding us of our youth,
Live to the fullest, before we are reduced to ashes,
Anything less, anything short of that, is just tragic.
dragging your syllables
Crying out loud, will you just shut up?
Been complaining about your workload,
What’s it been, seven hours?
Three distinct personalities that I’ve seen,
Just today, from you, in that span,
Which one are you, which one do I answer?
I’m out here working, because he needed help,
Put aside all my paperwork for later,
But I don’t see any work being done,
Squeaky wheel gets the grease once again,
Greasing the system and sticking it to me.
Earlier you were playing with your dictionary,
Trying to sound educated to people who could care less,
Dragging your syllables over your lazy breath,
Complain some more and I will go ballistic.
I give what I get, simply want something back,
Been cheated out of so much time,
Because of whatever it is that you lack,
My workload increases or decreases,
Due to my own effort, cannot count on you,
To have my back, to have an original thought,
You keep finding problems, that we just get past,
We figure it out, and try to do our best.
You do not even trouble-shoot,
Just looking for something to mull,
Something to keep someone else busy,
While you just shoot your mouth off.
Never has so much time been wasted,
On saying nothing at all, pretending to be busy,
While killing time off, no more,
Nothing other, just so, so shut up.
Earlier you were giving props,
Way beyond the bounds, wordiness unrestrained,
Killing time thanking me,
For doing what I am supposed to do.
Then you questioned whether WR was saved,
Thanked your Lord Jesus and prayed,
That he would see the light and the errors of his ways,
But why should he be any different from you,
Blinded by your own vanity and delusions,
Not working, just creating more confusion.
Been complaining about your workload,
What’s it been, seven hours?
Three distinct personalities that I’ve seen,
Just today, from you, in that span,
Which one are you, which one do I answer?
I’m out here working, because he needed help,
Put aside all my paperwork for later,
But I don’t see any work being done,
Squeaky wheel gets the grease once again,
Greasing the system and sticking it to me.
Earlier you were playing with your dictionary,
Trying to sound educated to people who could care less,
Dragging your syllables over your lazy breath,
Complain some more and I will go ballistic.
I give what I get, simply want something back,
Been cheated out of so much time,
Because of whatever it is that you lack,
My workload increases or decreases,
Due to my own effort, cannot count on you,
To have my back, to have an original thought,
You keep finding problems, that we just get past,
We figure it out, and try to do our best.
You do not even trouble-shoot,
Just looking for something to mull,
Something to keep someone else busy,
While you just shoot your mouth off.
Never has so much time been wasted,
On saying nothing at all, pretending to be busy,
While killing time off, no more,
Nothing other, just so, so shut up.
Earlier you were giving props,
Way beyond the bounds, wordiness unrestrained,
Killing time thanking me,
For doing what I am supposed to do.
Then you questioned whether WR was saved,
Thanked your Lord Jesus and prayed,
That he would see the light and the errors of his ways,
But why should he be any different from you,
Blinded by your own vanity and delusions,
Not working, just creating more confusion.
contest time
Finally found the indoor park, walked inside,
Hit by the sounds of urethane on plywood,
Alterna-rock blaring from the speakers,
Ramps, hubbas and banks,
Surrounded by chain-link fencing.
Walked around the back, looking for the pool,
Teens with helmets slapped on,
Jauntily so, over their mop-tops,
As haphazardly as the stickers,
Advertising this or that on their helms.
Tight jeans and big skate shoes,
Brand-name skate companies,
Emblazoned across their chests,
Popsicle riding leaders of tomorrow,
Some with girlfriends in tow.
I’m still hung-over from the night before,
Killed a twelve pack just like that, up until just past four,
Had to eat four Tylenols and chilidogs,
to alleviate the pain of regret.
Found my buddy, Todd of NativeSkates,
Sitting with G.V. of NemesisSkateboards,
And some other cats, old school Michigan crew,
All showed up in force, to check out Danforth’s pool contest.
Bill introduced me to- dang, what was his name?
The guy was forty-two, hair all grey,
Returned to the board just seven years before,
Stoked on the Old Man Army, told him to check it out,
Sign up and join the crew, and talked about skating,
Told me about rad sessions in Lansing and Mason, too.
Says Skater Dave (Campbell) and Bill visit all the time,
As well as the Detroit crew up at the Nine Bowl,
Shredding, grinding, carving at the two parks,
Designed and built by Team Pain,
Paid for by folks like me and you.
Young shredders representing in the pool,
One of them was named Micah Wu,
Came all the way from Lexington, KY,
And if I’m not mistaken, he’s only nine,
But local legend Skater Dave had a rough time.
Should’ve owned that pool, schooled them fools,
But at contest time, you never know,
If you’re “A-game” will show, if you’re in the flow,
But still good to see some rippers, young and old.
Forgot to mention that they had real pool coping,
I sat a few feet away, tried taking photos,
Tried anticipating, getting a shot while they were floating,
Or doing inverts and 360’s and rock-n-rolls,
But ended up with pictures of the ceiling,
Or an empty pool, or guys running after bailing.
Growing and learning all the while,
Don’t know if any of us would ever compete,
Went to check out the park just north of Twelve Mile,
Hanging with bros who shared our love of concrete,
The coolest part was that the whole family went,
Even the wife(!), so all in all, it was time well spent.
Hit by the sounds of urethane on plywood,
Alterna-rock blaring from the speakers,
Ramps, hubbas and banks,
Surrounded by chain-link fencing.
Walked around the back, looking for the pool,
Teens with helmets slapped on,
Jauntily so, over their mop-tops,
As haphazardly as the stickers,
Advertising this or that on their helms.
Tight jeans and big skate shoes,
Brand-name skate companies,
Emblazoned across their chests,
Popsicle riding leaders of tomorrow,
Some with girlfriends in tow.
I’m still hung-over from the night before,
Killed a twelve pack just like that, up until just past four,
Had to eat four Tylenols and chilidogs,
to alleviate the pain of regret.
Found my buddy, Todd of NativeSkates,
Sitting with G.V. of NemesisSkateboards,
And some other cats, old school Michigan crew,
All showed up in force, to check out Danforth’s pool contest.
Bill introduced me to- dang, what was his name?
The guy was forty-two, hair all grey,
Returned to the board just seven years before,
Stoked on the Old Man Army, told him to check it out,
Sign up and join the crew, and talked about skating,
Told me about rad sessions in Lansing and Mason, too.
Says Skater Dave (Campbell) and Bill visit all the time,
As well as the Detroit crew up at the Nine Bowl,
Shredding, grinding, carving at the two parks,
Designed and built by Team Pain,
Paid for by folks like me and you.
Young shredders representing in the pool,
One of them was named Micah Wu,
Came all the way from Lexington, KY,
And if I’m not mistaken, he’s only nine,
But local legend Skater Dave had a rough time.
Should’ve owned that pool, schooled them fools,
But at contest time, you never know,
If you’re “A-game” will show, if you’re in the flow,
But still good to see some rippers, young and old.
Forgot to mention that they had real pool coping,
I sat a few feet away, tried taking photos,
Tried anticipating, getting a shot while they were floating,
Or doing inverts and 360’s and rock-n-rolls,
But ended up with pictures of the ceiling,
Or an empty pool, or guys running after bailing.
Growing and learning all the while,
Don’t know if any of us would ever compete,
Went to check out the park just north of Twelve Mile,
Hanging with bros who shared our love of concrete,
The coolest part was that the whole family went,
Even the wife(!), so all in all, it was time well spent.
the house that Skater Dave built
Heading out the door, taking the toddler to preschool,
I ask the wife if my new hat makes me look fat,
No, she says—your chubby cheeks and double chin do,
Nothing like honesty and truth to dispel my illusions.
She asks when I’ll be back—right after said I,
Well, since its so nice out, I thought you’d go skating,
Not a bad idea at all, I replied, perhaps I will,
Maybe she just needs me out of her hair,
Whatever the reason, whatever the motives,
I gladly take her up on it and stop at the park.
Three college kids were mucking about,
One of them had killer ollies, grinding on the manual pad,
His friends could barely ride on their boards,
Wobbling as they went down the banks,
Brand new set-ups underfoot thanks to the local shop.
Ice crystals were holding on in spots,
Shimmering like broken glass from afar,
Dotting the smooth concrete trannys and hubbas,
And a couple of little puddles stand in the corners,
Out of the way, silent watery obstacles.
Two locals show up and start to rip,
The first does a fifty-fifty up on the wall,
Ten feet off the concrete floor,
Hits the half-round wall and flies over,
Does a kick-flip before landing up on the deck.
His homeboy, wearing chords and a button-up shirt,
Proceeds to drop in and carves all over,
Old school vans in full effect, ollies and flips,
If nothing else, never judge someone by his or her clothes,
Rippers often come incognito, let their skating speak for itself.
I stood around yakking for awhile, as I often do,
So bad with names, but skater number two,
Just got back from a roadtrip to Nashville,
Tried finding the new Bowling Green park as well,
Got lost on the way, stopped in Da’Ville instead.
Told them I was down in the D,
Checking out Danforth’s pool contest,
They asked me how Skater Dave did,
Everyone here gives him his props,
Dude kills it everyday, without hardly any effort,
Just turned forty-six a couple months back,
The driving force for this park getting built,
And a teacher and friend to several generations.
Old school, mid-school, new school,
He rules them all and does so with style,
Humble as can be and always has a smile,
Gives encouragement and tips to any and all,
Knows anyone and everyone near and far.
Killing time and working on my fakies,
Trying to pump ala Crash! and the other homies,
In the house that Skater Dave built,
Just a few blocks from Michigan State,
Just happy to be alive, never too late,
To enjoy your life and share the stoke,
It took me thirty-seven years, but I finally awoke,
Doing what I want to do, happy in my own skin,
Born-again skateboarder, armed with nothing but a grin,
I’ve gone back to square one, back to my roots again.
I ask the wife if my new hat makes me look fat,
No, she says—your chubby cheeks and double chin do,
Nothing like honesty and truth to dispel my illusions.
She asks when I’ll be back—right after said I,
Well, since its so nice out, I thought you’d go skating,
Not a bad idea at all, I replied, perhaps I will,
Maybe she just needs me out of her hair,
Whatever the reason, whatever the motives,
I gladly take her up on it and stop at the park.
Three college kids were mucking about,
One of them had killer ollies, grinding on the manual pad,
His friends could barely ride on their boards,
Wobbling as they went down the banks,
Brand new set-ups underfoot thanks to the local shop.
Ice crystals were holding on in spots,
Shimmering like broken glass from afar,
Dotting the smooth concrete trannys and hubbas,
And a couple of little puddles stand in the corners,
Out of the way, silent watery obstacles.
Two locals show up and start to rip,
The first does a fifty-fifty up on the wall,
Ten feet off the concrete floor,
Hits the half-round wall and flies over,
Does a kick-flip before landing up on the deck.
His homeboy, wearing chords and a button-up shirt,
Proceeds to drop in and carves all over,
Old school vans in full effect, ollies and flips,
If nothing else, never judge someone by his or her clothes,
Rippers often come incognito, let their skating speak for itself.
I stood around yakking for awhile, as I often do,
So bad with names, but skater number two,
Just got back from a roadtrip to Nashville,
Tried finding the new Bowling Green park as well,
Got lost on the way, stopped in Da’Ville instead.
Told them I was down in the D,
Checking out Danforth’s pool contest,
They asked me how Skater Dave did,
Everyone here gives him his props,
Dude kills it everyday, without hardly any effort,
Just turned forty-six a couple months back,
The driving force for this park getting built,
And a teacher and friend to several generations.
Old school, mid-school, new school,
He rules them all and does so with style,
Humble as can be and always has a smile,
Gives encouragement and tips to any and all,
Knows anyone and everyone near and far.
Killing time and working on my fakies,
Trying to pump ala Crash! and the other homies,
In the house that Skater Dave built,
Just a few blocks from Michigan State,
Just happy to be alive, never too late,
To enjoy your life and share the stoke,
It took me thirty-seven years, but I finally awoke,
Doing what I want to do, happy in my own skin,
Born-again skateboarder, armed with nothing but a grin,
I’ve gone back to square one, back to my roots again.
4.09.2007
under leaden skies
Conspiring silently under leaden skies,
They lined up along the sidewalk,
Waiting for the bus to take us to school,
Last stop along the route,
Take whatever seat was left.
Stare silently ahead,
Don’t make no noise,
Don’t look no one in the eye,
Lest they take offense,
And target you next.
Some days it didn’t matter,
Sitting by myself silent and still,
Get smacked upside the head,
Just because, no real reason,
Different and alone was plenty enough.
Sick and tired of everyone’s shit,
Mocked and belittled day-by-day,
So I spit in R.D.’s face,
Dropped my books ready to fight,
Despite the difference in size and height.
Quickly had me in a headlock,
Punching me in the face,
Unable to use my arms,
Legs kicking uselessly behind me.
My head was throbbing afterward,
Blackened eyes and swollen face,
Dad showed no compassion,
Told me to kick ass or get ass kicked,
Losing a fight and crying like some wuss,
Would result in more pain at his hands.
So I went after R.D. in the schoolyard,
Knocked him over a bench,
Wrestled to the ground,
Rage upon rage, anger beyond control.
Marched off to the office by teachers,
In front of our schoolmates,
But too angry to care,
untriumphant in victory,
thought it would fix everything,
but still mired in my own fury.
Given the choice of detention
Or swift retribution via paddle,
Chose the latter, so dad wouldn’t know,
Nothing they had could hurt me,
Like the scorn of my own father.
More fights were to follow,
Each one stupider than the last,
Bullied became bully,
Inflicting pain for no reason,
Other than the illusion of control,
Until I realized what I had become,
Everything that I hated and despised,
Just another conspirator under leaden skies.
They lined up along the sidewalk,
Waiting for the bus to take us to school,
Last stop along the route,
Take whatever seat was left.
Stare silently ahead,
Don’t make no noise,
Don’t look no one in the eye,
Lest they take offense,
And target you next.
Some days it didn’t matter,
Sitting by myself silent and still,
Get smacked upside the head,
Just because, no real reason,
Different and alone was plenty enough.
Sick and tired of everyone’s shit,
Mocked and belittled day-by-day,
So I spit in R.D.’s face,
Dropped my books ready to fight,
Despite the difference in size and height.
Quickly had me in a headlock,
Punching me in the face,
Unable to use my arms,
Legs kicking uselessly behind me.
My head was throbbing afterward,
Blackened eyes and swollen face,
Dad showed no compassion,
Told me to kick ass or get ass kicked,
Losing a fight and crying like some wuss,
Would result in more pain at his hands.
So I went after R.D. in the schoolyard,
Knocked him over a bench,
Wrestled to the ground,
Rage upon rage, anger beyond control.
Marched off to the office by teachers,
In front of our schoolmates,
But too angry to care,
untriumphant in victory,
thought it would fix everything,
but still mired in my own fury.
Given the choice of detention
Or swift retribution via paddle,
Chose the latter, so dad wouldn’t know,
Nothing they had could hurt me,
Like the scorn of my own father.
More fights were to follow,
Each one stupider than the last,
Bullied became bully,
Inflicting pain for no reason,
Other than the illusion of control,
Until I realized what I had become,
Everything that I hated and despised,
Just another conspirator under leaden skies.
4.08.2007
Detroit redux
Been gone so long can’t believe its been twenty years,
Stayed right across the street from my dad’s office,
The last one he was to occupy in Detroit,
Before packing up and moving upstate.
The building being renovated, windows missing,
Covered with plastic, nothing but a shell,
Looks like nothing that I remembered,
Even the street below is different as well.
We took the kids to see the new ballpark,
The field stands twenty-five feet below street level,
Sculptures and bats adorn the fenced façade,
Where once stood blocks upon blocks of buildings,
Some vacant, some used but only slightly,
And one of these was the old YWCA.
Mom took us there one winter day,
Snuck away while dad was at work,
Sick of being smacked around, being yelled at,
Tired of his domineering drunken ways,
Packed our bags and slipped away into Detroit.
The seventh floor belonged to us,
Battered woman and their battered children,
Only accessible with a key, a safe house,
Away from our broken homes and broken dreams.
Dirty walls and floors, smelling of sweat and tears,
Crawling with cockroaches and rats,
But for many this was now their home,
Away from punching fists and prying eyes,
Leather belts across your face or your backside,
Usually hidden, leaving no trace for wondering eyes.
I looked out from the seventh floor, from the activity room,
Onto barren roof tops and an empty street,
Boarded up buildings, two once-grand theatres,
Nothing more, felt the cold chill of endless doubt.
Shipped off to the city schools, discovered a new kind of abuse,
Battle-scarred neighborhood, not far from downtown,
Drug gangs recruiting twelve-year-old runners,
Selling crack in their track suits, so they confined us to the school,
No lunch, no gym, no nothing for the city rats,
Most of the kids just killing time until they turned sixteen,
So many of them were close, still only in the eighth grade.
I stared out at the street below every night back at the shelter,
Kids playing ping-pong in the background,
Wondering about long-ago glory days, for me and the city,
Stared across the street at the Fox and State theatres,
Shuttered doors, broken lights, empty cavernous shells.
Now everything has changed, the theatres re-opened,
The vacant rotting buildings razed, even the church on the corner,
It was the only thing open on that street for many years,
A beacon of hope in the wilderness, surrounded by doubt,
The streets belonged to the homeless and helpless,
Still many around, but not like it was before.
Two new stadiums—named after companies that own the city,
Made it what it was in some ways, but two new stadiums,
Open park areas, two new/old venues for music and shows,
Even an opera house and so much more,
Three casinos in the downtown area,
But where have all the homeless ones gone?
Pushed into the outlying areas, beyond the new town homes,
Maybe past the cultural center, past the university,
Down on the corridor, vacant buildings still line the street.
I saw a couple sleeping on the grates,
Warmed by the steam from the buildings,
Saw a couple begging outside the casino,
Then going inside to gamble it away,
Or going into the party store for smokes.
Time has not stood still, so much has happened,
An All-Star game, a Super Bowl, the World Series, and the Stanley Cup,
Have all visited in recent years, fueling revitalization,
Changing my city, changing their image,
Changing the physical but not changing my memories,
Of a city in decay, falling apart from the inside,
So much more to do, but change it will,
Nothing ever stays the same.
It always comes back to the personal,
How have I changed, what is new with me,
How am I different from those days,
Staring out onto the street from the seventh floor?
That will require some more thought,
I’ll mull that one over for a couple days more,
Need to consider what I’ve done,
Where I’ve been for me to answer that one,
But we’ll see, we shall see . . .
Stayed right across the street from my dad’s office,
The last one he was to occupy in Detroit,
Before packing up and moving upstate.
The building being renovated, windows missing,
Covered with plastic, nothing but a shell,
Looks like nothing that I remembered,
Even the street below is different as well.
We took the kids to see the new ballpark,
The field stands twenty-five feet below street level,
Sculptures and bats adorn the fenced façade,
Where once stood blocks upon blocks of buildings,
Some vacant, some used but only slightly,
And one of these was the old YWCA.
Mom took us there one winter day,
Snuck away while dad was at work,
Sick of being smacked around, being yelled at,
Tired of his domineering drunken ways,
Packed our bags and slipped away into Detroit.
The seventh floor belonged to us,
Battered woman and their battered children,
Only accessible with a key, a safe house,
Away from our broken homes and broken dreams.
Dirty walls and floors, smelling of sweat and tears,
Crawling with cockroaches and rats,
But for many this was now their home,
Away from punching fists and prying eyes,
Leather belts across your face or your backside,
Usually hidden, leaving no trace for wondering eyes.
I looked out from the seventh floor, from the activity room,
Onto barren roof tops and an empty street,
Boarded up buildings, two once-grand theatres,
Nothing more, felt the cold chill of endless doubt.
Shipped off to the city schools, discovered a new kind of abuse,
Battle-scarred neighborhood, not far from downtown,
Drug gangs recruiting twelve-year-old runners,
Selling crack in their track suits, so they confined us to the school,
No lunch, no gym, no nothing for the city rats,
Most of the kids just killing time until they turned sixteen,
So many of them were close, still only in the eighth grade.
I stared out at the street below every night back at the shelter,
Kids playing ping-pong in the background,
Wondering about long-ago glory days, for me and the city,
Stared across the street at the Fox and State theatres,
Shuttered doors, broken lights, empty cavernous shells.
Now everything has changed, the theatres re-opened,
The vacant rotting buildings razed, even the church on the corner,
It was the only thing open on that street for many years,
A beacon of hope in the wilderness, surrounded by doubt,
The streets belonged to the homeless and helpless,
Still many around, but not like it was before.
Two new stadiums—named after companies that own the city,
Made it what it was in some ways, but two new stadiums,
Open park areas, two new/old venues for music and shows,
Even an opera house and so much more,
Three casinos in the downtown area,
But where have all the homeless ones gone?
Pushed into the outlying areas, beyond the new town homes,
Maybe past the cultural center, past the university,
Down on the corridor, vacant buildings still line the street.
I saw a couple sleeping on the grates,
Warmed by the steam from the buildings,
Saw a couple begging outside the casino,
Then going inside to gamble it away,
Or going into the party store for smokes.
Time has not stood still, so much has happened,
An All-Star game, a Super Bowl, the World Series, and the Stanley Cup,
Have all visited in recent years, fueling revitalization,
Changing my city, changing their image,
Changing the physical but not changing my memories,
Of a city in decay, falling apart from the inside,
So much more to do, but change it will,
Nothing ever stays the same.
It always comes back to the personal,
How have I changed, what is new with me,
How am I different from those days,
Staring out onto the street from the seventh floor?
That will require some more thought,
I’ll mull that one over for a couple days more,
Need to consider what I’ve done,
Where I’ve been for me to answer that one,
But we’ll see, we shall see . . .
unfinished angry song
Betrayed yet again
Thought we had finished this,
Tried to keep my mind open,
But back to the same thing,
Not sure what else to do,
I gave you some space,
Didn’t want to pressure you,
Maybe my expectations are too high,
Maybe you were right all along,
I’m still sitting in the same spot,
Singing the same old tired song.
So what’s left to be said,
What is left to repair?
Feel like I’m better off dead,
Or living on the run,
Disappointments begin to pile,
Living like a shadow,
Unable and unwilling to smile,
Full frontal stupidity,
Who’s the idiot, you or me?
My back’s wracked with pain,
And my ulcer’s acting up again,
But I still don’t know what to do.
Its funny to hear my co-workers bitch and moan,
Then spend half the day on their cell phones.
So why do i even try,
When no one else understands,
Why perpetuate the lie,
When I have no real chance,
Why oh why oh why,
Do i keep singing this same old song?
Chorus:
How am I supposed to trust anyone else,
When I can’t even trust myself,
How can I trust you when you lie,
Wonder why I even want to try,
For a love that long ago died.
Thought we had finished this,
Tried to keep my mind open,
But back to the same thing,
Not sure what else to do,
I gave you some space,
Didn’t want to pressure you,
Maybe my expectations are too high,
Maybe you were right all along,
I’m still sitting in the same spot,
Singing the same old tired song.
So what’s left to be said,
What is left to repair?
Feel like I’m better off dead,
Or living on the run,
Disappointments begin to pile,
Living like a shadow,
Unable and unwilling to smile,
Full frontal stupidity,
Who’s the idiot, you or me?
My back’s wracked with pain,
And my ulcer’s acting up again,
But I still don’t know what to do.
Its funny to hear my co-workers bitch and moan,
Then spend half the day on their cell phones.
So why do i even try,
When no one else understands,
Why perpetuate the lie,
When I have no real chance,
Why oh why oh why,
Do i keep singing this same old song?
Chorus:
How am I supposed to trust anyone else,
When I can’t even trust myself,
How can I trust you when you lie,
Wonder why I even want to try,
For a love that long ago died.
facts on The Tripper
The Tripper, the upcoming David Arquette movie (he co-wrote and directed), produced by Steve Niles. Arquette, entrusted with the film clip to be shown at ComicCon lost it. "I'm so embarrassed," the he said. "It'll probably be on the Internet tonight." So to make up for it, he acted out a few lines from the film, which he described as, "a political horror film about a person who's obsessed with Ronald Reagan and he attacks hippies at an outdoor music festival." He plays a small part, a "redneck" named Muff.
Tripper stars Paul Reubens, Jason Mewes, Lukas Haas and Thomas Jane (who became Arquette's brother-in-law when he married actress Patricia Arquette). Courteney Cox Arquette, makes a cameo appearance.
coupla days in Detroit
went and spent a coupla days in Detroit, just needed to get out of town--
photos to come...
Here's what I did/discovered:
1) Downtown Detroit has changed drastically--for the better methinks... didn't even recognize half the streets down there, everything looks so different with the new ball park and football stadium...
2) Viewing art by masters (at the Institute of Arts) is breath taking-- saw works by Diego Rivera, Rembrandt, Degas, Gaugin, Picasso, Monet, Matisse, Miro up close and personal...
3) Met David Arquette at the Greektown Casino--
me: "dude you look just like David Arquette"
him: "yeah, that's me...(almost apologetically)
He was in town to push his new movie which he directed, which I can't remember the name of...
a) he seemed smaller in person
b) he seemed like a nice guy
c) he got fleeced at the roulette table
4) Went to Danforth's bowl contest and watched rippers--young and old up close. I was trying to take pictures-- my first real experience with digital cameras and "action" shots-- the result wasn't pretty, but seeing people rip the pool that close up was inspiring...
photos to come...
Here's what I did/discovered:
1) Downtown Detroit has changed drastically--for the better methinks... didn't even recognize half the streets down there, everything looks so different with the new ball park and football stadium...
2) Viewing art by masters (at the Institute of Arts) is breath taking-- saw works by Diego Rivera, Rembrandt, Degas, Gaugin, Picasso, Monet, Matisse, Miro up close and personal...
3) Met David Arquette at the Greektown Casino--
me: "dude you look just like David Arquette"
him: "yeah, that's me...(almost apologetically)
He was in town to push his new movie which he directed, which I can't remember the name of...
a) he seemed smaller in person
b) he seemed like a nice guy
c) he got fleeced at the roulette table
4) Went to Danforth's bowl contest and watched rippers--young and old up close. I was trying to take pictures-- my first real experience with digital cameras and "action" shots-- the result wasn't pretty, but seeing people rip the pool that close up was inspiring...
4.04.2007
fickle fate
The fates have conspired against me once again-- the high temp. in Louisville was 83 degrees yesterday...the high on Saturday will be 41-ish...our trip has been cancelled/postponed due to inclement weather... on to PLAN B:
4.01.2007
the Louisville park
The first pic is actually an aerial shot of the park-- the white and black dots are people!! this place is something like 40,000 sq. feet!!
skate Mecca
My kids don’t seem particularly thrilled
about our upcoming trip to Louisville,
not sure where it is that they wanna go,
they’re on spring break and have nothing to do,
last year they went to visit their mishomis in the Soo.
The year before that we all went to New York City,
Stayed in midtown for a couple of days,
Then crashed at our friend’s place,
Across the river in Brooklyn- Williamsburg,
Or was it Green Point? Not too sure.
The thing is, what they need to understand,
Is that with what little we have, we do what we can,
We can’t go to Florida or California like their friends,
We aren’t flushed with money like so many of them.
I think one of them went to Italy or Spain,
But that’s the lives that they lead, so insane,
Wish we could afford just a piece of that,
But what little we got, isn’t really so bad.
Travel is good for the mind and soul,
See how other folks live and all of that,
Seeing someplace new with your eyes wide open,
Opens your mind and your heart to so much,
Helps break us out of our daily ruts.
So we’re visiting the Louisville Skate Park,
Open 24 hours, giant lights that cut through the dark,
Skated by Tony Hawk, Bill Danforth, et. al,
It’s gonna make our local park seem so small,
The kids are quite nervous, claim they can’t skate,
But this is just an adventure, nothing to debate.
I’m not expecting them to skate the full pipe,
don’t expect them to skate in the middle of the night,
or drop into the 8 foot bowl, ride the giant ramp,
just wanna see them get stoked and amped.
They don’t need to grind the coping,
Just want to have fun, that’s all I am hoping,
Don’t need to ollie over the banks,
Just want to go to Da Ville and give thanks.
I just want them to check it out with me,
Live in the moment and see what there is to see,
I’m no great skater, only just started back up,
Been going at it for about eight months,
And the last three of those spent rehabbing,
Spend most of my time standing around gabbing.
But the thrill and adventure of speed,
On those four wheels fulfills some need,
I don’t question or wonder, just go and skate,
My intention is to have fun, not to be great,
The terrain is different from our own they will find,
And sometimes that is a challenge worth trying.
Easier or harder, that’s for them to decide,
But trying something new stokes a fire inside,
It opens your eyes to new possibilities and lines,
And when they’re old and gray they’ll remember these times,
When we ventured out of our normal everyday,
And explored and discovered something new along the way.
I’m a little worried about meeting the Concretins in person,
My ego might need some after-session nursing,
But they all seem to be a fun bunch of rippers,
Shoot, I forgot to ask them about those chiggers—
But I rarely see other old schoolers up my way,
And I’m sure I’ll get some schooling that day.
Maybe my son will finally learn how to carve,
He just might realize it’s not really that hard,
Or my daughter will figure out how to kickturn,
Sometimes a change of scenery will help you learn,
Or my sorry butt will learn how to fakie and pump,
Instead of spending sessions falling on my rump.
Helped along by being outside our comfort zones,
Five hours to the south, not really that far from home,
We are going to the skate Mecca to show our respects,
Trunk full of helmets and pads and all our decks,
Make a joyous sound, with your hearts and your minds,
Raise your voices in song, or fill the air with grinds,
Its all the same song, celebrating this life we have been given,
So precious, so short, but so many of us forget to start livin.
about our upcoming trip to Louisville,
not sure where it is that they wanna go,
they’re on spring break and have nothing to do,
last year they went to visit their mishomis in the Soo.
The year before that we all went to New York City,
Stayed in midtown for a couple of days,
Then crashed at our friend’s place,
Across the river in Brooklyn- Williamsburg,
Or was it Green Point? Not too sure.
The thing is, what they need to understand,
Is that with what little we have, we do what we can,
We can’t go to Florida or California like their friends,
We aren’t flushed with money like so many of them.
I think one of them went to Italy or Spain,
But that’s the lives that they lead, so insane,
Wish we could afford just a piece of that,
But what little we got, isn’t really so bad.
Travel is good for the mind and soul,
See how other folks live and all of that,
Seeing someplace new with your eyes wide open,
Opens your mind and your heart to so much,
Helps break us out of our daily ruts.
So we’re visiting the Louisville Skate Park,
Open 24 hours, giant lights that cut through the dark,
Skated by Tony Hawk, Bill Danforth, et. al,
It’s gonna make our local park seem so small,
The kids are quite nervous, claim they can’t skate,
But this is just an adventure, nothing to debate.
I’m not expecting them to skate the full pipe,
don’t expect them to skate in the middle of the night,
or drop into the 8 foot bowl, ride the giant ramp,
just wanna see them get stoked and amped.
They don’t need to grind the coping,
Just want to have fun, that’s all I am hoping,
Don’t need to ollie over the banks,
Just want to go to Da Ville and give thanks.
I just want them to check it out with me,
Live in the moment and see what there is to see,
I’m no great skater, only just started back up,
Been going at it for about eight months,
And the last three of those spent rehabbing,
Spend most of my time standing around gabbing.
But the thrill and adventure of speed,
On those four wheels fulfills some need,
I don’t question or wonder, just go and skate,
My intention is to have fun, not to be great,
The terrain is different from our own they will find,
And sometimes that is a challenge worth trying.
Easier or harder, that’s for them to decide,
But trying something new stokes a fire inside,
It opens your eyes to new possibilities and lines,
And when they’re old and gray they’ll remember these times,
When we ventured out of our normal everyday,
And explored and discovered something new along the way.
I’m a little worried about meeting the Concretins in person,
My ego might need some after-session nursing,
But they all seem to be a fun bunch of rippers,
Shoot, I forgot to ask them about those chiggers—
But I rarely see other old schoolers up my way,
And I’m sure I’ll get some schooling that day.
Maybe my son will finally learn how to carve,
He just might realize it’s not really that hard,
Or my daughter will figure out how to kickturn,
Sometimes a change of scenery will help you learn,
Or my sorry butt will learn how to fakie and pump,
Instead of spending sessions falling on my rump.
Helped along by being outside our comfort zones,
Five hours to the south, not really that far from home,
We are going to the skate Mecca to show our respects,
Trunk full of helmets and pads and all our decks,
Make a joyous sound, with your hearts and your minds,
Raise your voices in song, or fill the air with grinds,
Its all the same song, celebrating this life we have been given,
So precious, so short, but so many of us forget to start livin.
the road ahead
The outline of trees,
Black against the dark sky,
Still without buds,
Along the avenue.
Black pools of rain water,
Dot the roadside,
Spraying sheets as I drive by,
In the early pre-dawn stillness.
Thunderstorm the night before,
Raindrops drip from the branches,
Soaking into the bark,
Seeping into my soul.
Half asleep behind the wheel,
Looking forward to nothing,
But the road ahead,
The long cold day ahead.
Awakening at 6 a.m.,
Shook off an uneasy sleep,
Shuddering as I went,
Stumbling into the light.
Long day of monotony,
Listening and watching,
Babysitting the fully grown,
As another 16 hours slips away.
Tomorrow again holds the same,
Dragging myself from truncated slumber,
Tying up loose ends,
Paying all my late fees.
But escape is on the horizon,
Somewhere different,
Just for a day or two,
Five hours to the south.
Looking to tear myself away,
Just for a couple of days,
To remind myself of what lies,
Under the surface,
Beyond prying eyes.
Black against the dark sky,
Still without buds,
Along the avenue.
Black pools of rain water,
Dot the roadside,
Spraying sheets as I drive by,
In the early pre-dawn stillness.
Thunderstorm the night before,
Raindrops drip from the branches,
Soaking into the bark,
Seeping into my soul.
Half asleep behind the wheel,
Looking forward to nothing,
But the road ahead,
The long cold day ahead.
Awakening at 6 a.m.,
Shook off an uneasy sleep,
Shuddering as I went,
Stumbling into the light.
Long day of monotony,
Listening and watching,
Babysitting the fully grown,
As another 16 hours slips away.
Tomorrow again holds the same,
Dragging myself from truncated slumber,
Tying up loose ends,
Paying all my late fees.
But escape is on the horizon,
Somewhere different,
Just for a day or two,
Five hours to the south.
Looking to tear myself away,
Just for a couple of days,
To remind myself of what lies,
Under the surface,
Beyond prying eyes.
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