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.
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