once and forever

never estimater, roll call, and cut clean. I think today felt good, everything minus some heat. from the pool and onto the bike. 50 degrees outside, surely will outlast it all. I tripped up on ... to say " it" would be to vague. so it it is and I already lost it. space, cosmology, linguistics, a superior words book I haven't revisited. shelved and my mind just caved. the mental list, earthquaked, spilled milk and deciphering the prehispanic dance rhythms on the ... speakers? no more on the radio, whats that left outside and pock marked with a cool combination of dust and droplets of seldom see rain. picture any west side phoenix backyard with an empty swimming pool and who knows what speed freak token treasures. an attitude worth traveling home for. say it, sack-rah-men-toh. it means something in something and thats not my lazy lack of interest. quick to google would be to easy. install instead. and I'm a fan of people watching, always have been. maybe most prominent was seated, curbside outside of a New Orleans bar and... you know. the deaf people arguing in sign language and thinking it was the loudest conversation id ever heard. that was until I saw mogwai in sf a time or two.
in order.
fort ways,
Santa Cruz,
portland and back and forth for that decade,
San Francisco,
south Royalton,
now does that and or this solve any contemplative problems, answer any questions not yet asked. using every descriptive word to find the rhythm again. easy to think once that gentle grasp becomes a persuading push,, the black and white tumult clears away the cusping waves from the over saturated skies, neutral density is a well balanced ph, an ever lasting outlet worth fighting for. the stamina to write thru the good times standing up and face to face with it.

fog horns dripping with a midnight condensation bellowing out and into the pale dark black. I used to ride my beach cruiser to the end of the pier in that sandy beach town I once lived and worked in. digging back that far brings handfuls of heavy cobwebs. faces I remember with names I've since forgotten yet sumeena jolly still exists. Canada maybe, Toronto. California is that escaped convict snatching up hitch hikers along every dark and back road across America. this dream turned into reality and now I'm planning an all out assault on what will surely be a three hour ninety mile drive tomorrow. if the power of acceptance ever works its wonders, it will be tomorrow sitting in traffic heading to ricks. I wish I had a simple tape deck in stead of a usb cable. too man options is the headache and I should get gas now. I should pack now. cameras to kill time all day walking around the tenderloin before its gone, I'm sure I'm too late.

losing steam and anything remotely creative and I feel that I'm just complaining aloud so gas and packing now it is. 7p. December 22nd 2018. 6930 18th ave. Sacramento ca 95820.

went 120mph today on the fxr4. got ahold of a freshly dead northern flicker. drew it right handed first then left handed on the opposing page in some journal.


quick little catch up on the last little wreck

its circumstantial. right now. October 13th, something o clock, call it noon to be easy. an ambulance ride later and the descriptive comes with the fevered shakes. my favorite descriptive word. left hand normal, right hand pecking order. broken, swollen and two full months later.

pedal pedal. sacramento to Plymouth and back but I thought this day, screw two lane no shoulder hwy16 for the first... 8? miles. theres a park and ride at sunrise and 16, so lets boogie out there in the automobile for a quick rip. maybe rancho is 8 miles... and not the park and ride. who knows. doesn't matter. parked and geared up, I took off. starts with a slight uphill after the light heading east. then a downhill into some tree cover. note, road kill barn owl, come back for it. cool... pedal pedal. around some farm homes, an equestrian center, and the slight drop into rancho Marietta. green light and he's not stopping, shit I got this... nope I didn't. sitting on my ass in the middle of the intersection, bikes one way and I'm another. my hand hurts, my foot hurts and I can't stand up. this again? this again. cars are moving and I can join em. my bikes still over somewhere and now theres people approaching me from a few directions. " I can't stand up, just get me to the curb." assisted by strangers and sat in the wet grass, I realize where I'm at, what happened and how much of that water is soaking up through my shorts.fingers sideways and little did I know how much of a pain in the ass it was going to be... and two months later, still is. hence the comment of pecking order above... and beyond. this couldn't have happened much closer to a fire station than it did. but he still drove the 150 feet since its an emergency room on wheels, picture me rollin'. well I can't walk, my bikes probably fucked and my cars trillion mils away as far as I was concerned, but hey if I'm going to a hospital, since I can't stand up and all, can we atlas stop by my car to get my shoes. when the hospital releases me I won't be able to walk on those sick ass floors with the clip in shoes., sure the driver say disgustingly. who the fuck asks to make a stop somewhere while in an ambulance. ME! fuck it, if I'm paying (what costs me) 3,000 for a ride 20 minutes I better get some fuckin service. after all I didn't get any pain killers on that ride. tattoos and a shaved head means I'm a junkie. my story never pans out if they only knew. so the ambulance guys dropped me at kaiser and said good luck. of which I needed. worst service I've ever had at a hospital and I've been thru em all. to think of it I've been to a lot of em. Arizona, California, Indiana, Vermont, New Orleans, and multiples in each state at that, no pain killer in the er, just an era strength alieve. they put my finger in a splint without fixing it and I left with it as sideways as it was when I showed up. foot was broken, some toes, but they gave me a little stiff shoe to wear as to not bend my foot digits. right,,,
todd scott and all three kids came to swoop me up which was a godsend. they took me to the forestation to get my bike and back to my car. I drove to the pharmacy to pick up my pain meds and the person there told me they were just more extra strength alieve and I just gave up hope. Advil works better in my head. then home...
so homeboy ran a red light, I t boned his rear fender and basically got 360 flipped off my bike, landed on my butt and kinda sorta walked away from any major damages. first time wearing a helmet too,,, didn't even hit my head though it could have been much worse.

more on the two month recovery another time... cause it'll be three months til I'm fully back I'm sure. still can't bend my finger today but I'm doing physical therapy now that the pin came out on the 19th.

beds full of cameras, coats, socks, mail and bags, guess I'm sleeping with it all tonight. listening to porangui and don evangilino murayay.


regardless of society

sacramento and December as usual. dark early, before most get off of work and left scrambling home in cars, in trucks, playing catch up on freeways and phones. dodge a quick slip and in surmountable. with numb hands, a broken finger, and recent surgery, the hyper sensitive feeling is limited to its presence. feels like it felt like. before the diagnosis, before the year, before the decade of listless and lacking fingers. to feel the space between the keys here and now is surreal and just for the one digit. I remember a couch on brown st in tempe, second storied and we lowered it with ropes from the balcony. "this may be the last time I feel your skin". late spring in the doctored arid desert southwest. one 2009. I believe I believe I believe. to play a sort of catch up, life has happened. the chair to desk ratio right now is off. must have installed the desk too high and well its too shallow. using upper body strength to keep the hands ridiculously on the keyboard. 515p and its dark past the possibility of driving without head lights. my first cup of coffee today, just an hour ago and still sipping. Low is on. another first but for life. their new album came on randomly when zomes turned itself off. be it aliens or just enough to cause said disturbance, but I felt it and still do.
as of late and new to the tackle box is/was a second and dirty bout with depression. heavy mental instability. everything I owned had someone else name on it. not the first time I've thought this through with seriousness. I reached out to a few that made sense and all the while, I started to lose the control of my tongue while speaking some words/letter combinations get awkward. nothing screams of the lack of confidence like not being able to speak correctly. words like allegedly, increasingly, and even Texas were words of worth. none know of greater appreciation really. man, 01/04/14 just popped back into my head.
hard to believe Vermont lasted as it might have masqueraded as. landed there in December and by January I was in full relapse. on pills and not myself, I ended things with her, and plotted an escape back to whats turned into some sort of sacrifice and rambunctious solitude. the days here have been spent physically and mentally always elsewhere. the last two months after the last car vs bicycle wreck have been mind numbing, but I'm almost through it.
the pin in my right ring finger comes out tomorrow, my financial woes hopefully will be revived come January and through cold water immersion, practiced heavy breathing and more and ore sugar free, the depression has shelved itself for what I hope to be the last time.
tribalism is real and I cut those ties I thought to be steeped in friendship. difficulties in wanting what skateboarding provided for so long, even twelve years later. the power of acceptance and accepting that I, too, am a bit different than most of those I spent time, really, chasing. what comes with age, what comes with priorities, and early retirement. no I haven't a nest egg (anymore) to live off of. I just found a route I thought seemed fitting and comfortable.
a dead guy, his old bike, and nightmarish paperwork really got me. paid for the bike in august, arrived here in early November, and paperwork finally straightened out and titled in my name in December kept me from having a livable paycheck since...well, august.
I've been eating once or twice a day since. I haven't left town since. I basically quit doing anything to cost money since. pinching pennies like I never have before.i only hope that when moneys flowing as it used to I am able to remember these tougher times and remain on that plan to save. I know everyone else does it daily, but god damn I wasn't put here to clock in and clock out to make someone else money by throwing my time and energy away.
its too easy for the masses to simply say "but everyone else does it" so what, thats their issue with a lack of life.
diseased, broken, depressed and in constant pain, thats not for me. to find a way to escape that existence and I have for the last two years, but I also had 40k in the bank to pilfer, blow, and lose.
years go I had a friend, I don't hear from her much anymore, who always pushed me writing a book and I started. maybe 40 some typed pages in and I quit, lost steam while trying to keep traction. maybe that will start up again? maybe ill learn Spanish like I tried before Cuba with Simone. I've always been a good gift giver and feel that I've always bent over backwards for friends. "hey, I got hit by a car going 30-40mph while on my bike, I really could use a soak in that hot tub." "sorry, its broken" 3rd times a bitch and while you're only reading of that one instance, its happened two other times, plus a slew of other let downs over the years.
but its cool and its leading to another chapter of some self guided stumble down another darkened sidewalk. just don't forget that rosemary patch at the corner. its always able to give a simple sensation of a simple sensation. break off a sprig and walk 2-3 miles with a branch dangling from my mouth to keep it close to my nose without having to hold it there.
to wonder how long this writing experience will last and who would even read this backyard shack ramble. trumps still president despite...everything.



surrounded by massive sound. at home, the floor is trembling. oceanic directive and she pointed at the moon. legs wrapped warm and amongst some parkside bench. shitty dogs shitty humans. all guteral laughs and always only real life. "id follow someone" and "someone" else as another.. im writing of an interaction followed by a memory that could means whatever you put your mind to. choose your own adventure sort of evening filled with a burrito and someone else holding my bag of chips, some solid step and a few near missed encounters. found fleeting, color coded.



today ... gripped and more back and forth. some after work and quite the nap. neglected the feeling and caught some glance. free wheeling the forewarned feeling. been too good of since oh two. photos of bears feet, nanuk. a song in greenlandic

today was work, two traffics worth, heavy fog. photos of smoking crack and walking with vans employees. proof lab in mill valley and every look.  shoe biz on valencia and every look. back to oaklung and above. dinner somewhere in the future after i hang with bill withers in a second.


cut my esophagus…somehow

confiscated, taken pull. moon destructed, fevered full. the she insightful in her glow. recommence to the ebb and flow. music that jumps and making animals of the trees. following footsteps and tripping. eucalyptus and poured. stumbled across and divine.

11pm and i should have gotten my meds today. globus syndrome. sharp potatoes.trying to get stoned off of old weed cookies and it aint happenin. throats nearly swollen shut and I've got two hours of sleep under my belt. looking at a long monday i suppose… i suppose ill get a lot done… i suppose ill make the most of it sans sleep… spitting in a cup to keep from unnecessary swallowing. listening to paco de lucia and my space heater, watching the moon change. been swollen in penmanship all night.

...and real felt great.



molinas fingers molinas heart

raised as rough. my hand slid easily over a freshly shaven head. the weight of the long weekend sought in a sigh and there it is.  congestive, particular, even keeled yet pensive. the song, never loud enough and almost a drink. like a drunken blur the vibrations of some strum. tonights half moon.

revelry in dichotomy

push pull string take took and leave. knotted hammered cluttered and battered. nothing about life i couldn't take. absorb reform perform the forlorn. ample as every. ghosted as crescent. deeming fevered and while i await. a wall of sound song of chords veins vibrated in unison incognito in radiovision. a bit closer, every step further. only passing thru. taking from everything, back bent and slouched. this chair or that one, difficultly indifferent. rest easy on rusty hinges and repurposed. written in color, sing/sung blade/blood. she as equals to five. taught, we sheeted the wind and wove the coast.

some song about communication. "i hear my sleeping sister"


tim barry

could be anywhere. could be anyone.


caught the buzz about...

couldnt resist the spray of rain. a day on foot for reasons that need not see the light of day. stepped into nostalgia and looked back more than once. seeds picked up off and stored in a pocket for the remainder. yest the colors are that color but the smell, you wouldnt ever understand. its beating in your lovers chest. amplified and the color of orland in october. should i have gotten lower, maybe closer, yes but an ocean still churns and amazes. a long time ago, firsts were spent cliffside and along a silver cloud. seagulls afloat and afading into the scene. occasional pelicannal. from there i filmed that risky fuel, contemplated the beginning and lost another to planks. it feels portland out now. it smells of home. and jason molina is perfect with this. even or not this is where i wanted to be, and a little more up beat.


dust of dazed

the sun set, faster than the still lingering red dust and we could taste it. i write of this with eyes clamped shut thinking of every second spent in tennessee. i had breakfast with david deweiss and family, real grits for the first time. a bland mash of mixed up nonsense of the likes id never eat again. the tail gate dropped down hard, resting easy on rusted hinges. the catalytic converter drew a line of the past. the trucks been around and all over southside tennessee. those two gas stations might still be there but i never knew them to have gas, just inhabitants behind borded up windows with oil lamps stuck between here and there. i could picture a fire and smell the soot, feel the firetrucks wet glow a day or two later as strangers sift thru the ash of peoples belongings. some faded photographs and everything else important to no one else, diarys as bibles and the likings.  david was my cousins buddy. rancher by nature and backwoods before birth. its 1130pm there and now and im sure hes settled in somewhere settling. they had over one thousand acres when we were kids playing in the stream that ran thru their property. im sure his father, mister deweiss, left it all to him. hard works begets hard hard work. the truck was full of grain, sacks of it and needed to be unloaded before the weather lew in from the south west. its always the southwest and her name is jane. looked up, opened my eyes to see if... and no. the barn was listing, the timbers from a century ago and the farm stood tall and leaned a little in every aspect. who has time to fix these things when theres so much work to be done. summer break was never summer break and school should have ended at 6th grade for these souls because precalc never mattered when fences needed mending. your gloves or mine the snips wont work, grab the pliers and hurry up. grain off loaded and the humidity as annoying as the june bugs, the clock was beat as we kicked it in to high gear towards the river. pinnacle peak. a medium height bridge, some sorta southern rope swing and a big part of my youth.


...reads anymore.

thirteen as ever with and along to nirvana. psychotic revelry, nostalgic and one blank stare. life force. that "moon over the wild sea" bit hard and threshing. "something in the way" lost at sea apparently and all over the board. i work, i ride and i sleep. playing tangled mesmerized with letters and three times now. i think i said fugazi, i wait. there were missed situations and i caught those lookers. the followers are following us. etched a stretch and always was lookin up. code deciphered and found the elevators.  another planet and im going to have to ask you too leave. once, twice and back on terra firma tumultua. soft and concerned, leaned and the roll south was lost between all red lights silence. knew and known. 

bumps along the way and life heavy set thru hungry brown. pump sunk, steel and led but lit. wonder and amazement as upturned. "the results are always perfect, but thats old news, an injured bird"1. colibri detras de la luna and off past the setting.

i spoke with freddy in his drive way, six steps and felt.

eleven over two

1. k. cobain


fictitiousness tried to raise me better.

sunday was just that and her hair, soft and lost with leaves, fell over her shoulders and onto the extra bedroll i packed. a pillow.  a defined and drifting slight smile creeping steadily, behind some story of well lit morning eyes. so the story goes. full circle and ever bridging the gap between the points of tonights curvaceous, crescent, and western setting moon. that old pacific is cold ya know? take a dip, the waves are menacingly menacing. touch and go, bound by only the gravity that keeps it in check. once en route forever en route, forever nonlinear, forever nonnuclear. to bend the ear of old man time and see the far out. black holes eating starved blacken holes. a repertoire of reckless reconditioning. silent letters left out and up-off. the preservation of characterism. soliloquy-ily daffodil and a tightened tall careful rain fall.  packed up and thru the sands of ever. legs pressed, pock marked roads and tiny scars. the exploration of disinsinuation.


half my lifes been on the highway.
all my life ive done it my way.


ive driven all night before. the second wind, it beckons for a third and even the forth. time most absolutely flies. even now. a swung leg, clipped and bruised. got in and situated, peeled off and amazement pursued. an unknown shrouded with a decade or more and rightfully ripped back. headed up and in all directions. contort and revert. the jostle of a little pain. gussets next go 'round. figured and sandy amongst the embered footsteps of the hummingbird silently behind the moon. it crept and lit, danced a little while past sun up and disappeared somewhere beyond the beach. priorities and a decided way of being. life is joy life is pain. welcomed to wander. indefferently defended. a well groomed train of thought and ive been here before, entrenched in swamps.


to my keyboard cassanova, i too can do this dance...

grammatical airs and the such are for you. krooked and keruoac, bukowski, beavis, and butthead. fall off that high horse, come down to earth, dont bump your head, it needs no more swelling. i didnt know you followed rules, man. so tell me, is it one space or two after a period? dont your little pinkies work for the capital letters? fuck it, right? thats what i think... which is why other than this you get nothing from me, im too busy outside living and working to read your nonsense. hopefully it makes you feel better though, cause...  at least a proper address would be nice.