After spending all winter watching the GIRL guys and Green Apple kids shred it up on youtube I've forgotten how much I really suck. Those guys kill it everyday, and yeah the Green Apple guys are dicks and all, but you have to support local, even if that means putting up with their "better than the rest of the world" attitude; which is such an unoriginal path for really good skaters to take. Their like the jocks of skateboarding except not as dumb and I still look up to them. It's sorta like PTSD or something, you watch too many videos and it crushes your spirit to skate cause you know you'll never be as good as any of them. But I'll keep going with it until I'm too old or dead or get really fat or get a penny stuck in my belly button and that somehow prevents me from skating.

Andrew Reynolds, one of my many heroes.

It's summer so take photos and drink and be silly.

Also here's this.

The thought of you opening your eyes each morning, still buried in a warm bed, fills my heart full of wine.

It's that time of year for Angus and Julia.

It’s the air in your mother’s lungs when your father tore her defenses down. It was a sold motorcycle, a dying dream which never made it far, just to keep that heaters on. If I died on my bedroom floor would you cry on your bedroom floor? Tattoo my name underneath your arm and reminisce about my boyish charm? We have material minds, restless hands and longing hearts with empty beds where your voice blew in but was swept away. A reminder of warm palms on a hot spring day. Something that was alive in the olden days, but been put to death in this golden age by our colour TV and some family's SUV. Theres still love hiding in this world, beating from the heart of that young girl. I don't remember what it used to feel like.

You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintery light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on, and killed the spring, it was as though a young person died for no reason.
    -Ernest Hemingway

leaving scars of reddish blue

Love is the idea of flirting so closely
with such devastating pain
with the hope
of it never hurting;
but this possibility is forever unlikely.

Every day I wake up to eternity. Fuck you for not wanting to be here.

It's a harsh thought when you finish your first pre-party beer and you suddenly realize that the things you love like girls who wear vans or carry knives, and soldiers with red jackets, and skateboards from 1973 are all just shit that you've made up or things which no longer exist.

When you realize your scene is dead and all those little punk girls from high school have traded in their skinny jeans and mohawks for high heels and mimosas. Your whole world is made up of little meaningless collectibles like an old flea market on a hot summer day where grandmas buy chairs and teapots next to bikers looking for a 1968 original sissy bar.

But after the sun drys all the rain from the gutters and even a t-shirt feels too hot to wear, you begin to remember that this odd little world you've made up is fucking awesome and  anyone who wants to know even a sliver about it is also fucking awesome, and they themselves own their private worlds which they share with you.

And life becomes so fun and exciting that you forget to sleep for days.