Andrew Reynolds, one of my many heroes.
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.
Andrew Reynolds, one of my many heroes.
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.
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.
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.
Even the President of the United States
has got to stand naked and alone sometimes.
It is such a shame
that we all become fragile and broken things.
But we've still got some time left.
Your new name is Tangerine,
I don't know why...
but I like it, so it is.
I will think of you only by that name
from now on.
I like you,
Tangerine.
has got to stand naked and alone sometimes.
It is such a shame
that we all become fragile and broken things.
But we've still got some time left.
Your new name is Tangerine,
I don't know why...
but I like it, so it is.
I will think of you only by that name
from now on.
I like you,
Tangerine.
Rising early but well after noon, I skate past your store and lean in hoping to catch a glimpse of you tucking your hair behind your ears. Your eyes make my mind feel like warm syrup and when my knees hit asphalt (which they do often) I think of the spot where your neck meets your shoulders and how much comfort it must bring someone. The stars seem brighter this way.
I sit and wonder why you do what you do, sipping on my drink well past a few too many, but a ghosts guess is good as mine. I've been looking for a mountain of answers and waves of demands but a ripple would be just fine as long as the sand between my toes felt the same as it used to when I was a little boy. Those types are able to make us fall so in love and test our patience but only because they know so many things that we cannot learn, if she sees the good in one she must see the good in many. However, I've notice that no man could contend with her forces. Unlike you, placed in your fragile frame, and from time to time your heart races like countless brave white horses but don't forget that in your arms I'd be just a child. Because love is the exchange of hopes and secrets and the contact of two skins. The heart is forever inexperienced.
we stay up too late
and smoke too often
and we've all stopped joking
about drinking too much.
us boys sit and talk about blue collar jobs
or years spent in the infantry
and girls arn't as innocent as they used to be
but there is no more searching
because what it is
is what it is
and I close my eyes
and dream of the day
I can trace ghosted letters on your back
words like simple and subtle
and symbiotic.
and smoke too often
and we've all stopped joking
about drinking too much.
us boys sit and talk about blue collar jobs
or years spent in the infantry
and girls arn't as innocent as they used to be
but there is no more searching
because what it is
is what it is
and I close my eyes
and dream of the day
I can trace ghosted letters on your back
words like simple and subtle
and symbiotic.
okkervil river
I'm surrounded, each doorway covered
by at least twenty men.
And they're going to take me and throw me in prison.
I ain't coming back again.
When I was younger, handsomer and stronger,
I felt like I could do anything.
but now things don't make any sense.
by at least twenty men.
And they're going to take me and throw me in prison.
I ain't coming back again.
When I was younger, handsomer and stronger,
I felt like I could do anything.
but now things don't make any sense.
these are hard times
"Dusk, I realized then, is just an illusion, because the sun is either above the horizon or below it. And that means that day and night are linked in a way that few things are; there cannot be one without the other, yet they cannot exist at the same time. How would it feel, I remember wondering, to be always together, yet forever apart?"
Sometimes in the mornings
the curly blonde hair
that resided on the top of her head
smelt like warm summer peaches
which at that moment were being eatin by small children
in our neighbours backyard,
along with sticky fingers and tall glasses of pink lemonade.
I would tuck my nose up next to the warm spot behind her ear
(switching ears from time to time
as to not make the other jealous)
and woud breath in her perfectness
as my eyes focused on the dust
dancing in the sunlight which shone through the window.
A sun which travelled across millions of miles of black emptiness
to illuminate her skin every single morning
for as long as she graces the world
with eyes so green, hair so blonde, and a body so small
that she would not look out of place
sleeping curled up on some forest floor.
She belongs to warm beds and morning times.
the curly blonde hair
that resided on the top of her head
smelt like warm summer peaches
which at that moment were being eatin by small children
in our neighbours backyard,
along with sticky fingers and tall glasses of pink lemonade.
I would tuck my nose up next to the warm spot behind her ear
(switching ears from time to time
as to not make the other jealous)
and woud breath in her perfectness
as my eyes focused on the dust
dancing in the sunlight which shone through the window.
A sun which travelled across millions of miles of black emptiness
to illuminate her skin every single morning
for as long as she graces the world
with eyes so green, hair so blonde, and a body so small
that she would not look out of place
sleeping curled up on some forest floor.
She belongs to warm beds and morning times.
In a wheat field
late at night
until well into morning
a boy lay
starring up at the sky
with beer and cigarettes
and a pellet gun for a toy
to see how long
he can look at the stars
while thinking of a girl he cannot have
testing to see
how long it may take
before their beauty loses all meaning
how long he can think about their grandeur
before one star
becomes just as uninteresting as the rest.
Hoping it will somehow help him
in understanding those other matters.
late at night
until well into morning
a boy lay
starring up at the sky
with beer and cigarettes
and a pellet gun for a toy
to see how long
he can look at the stars
while thinking of a girl he cannot have
testing to see
how long it may take
before their beauty loses all meaning
how long he can think about their grandeur
before one star
becomes just as uninteresting as the rest.
Hoping it will somehow help him
in understanding those other matters.
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