27 Apr 2012

one track mind

I don't want skateboarding posts to overtake the blog - I really don't - but now and then I have to put stuff that meant a lot to me, up for all to see, and sometimes a few skate-related items all come along at once. Couldn't ignore this one from CBI.

18 Apr 2012

Some days are all of the days.

Some days are all of the
Days you despise
The hours that cramp your stomach
Hold your skull in a vice
A loose paving stone
After a torrential downpour.

Maybe it’s the gravity
The physical pull that creates a circuit
Wires connected to fire connected to light
To brighten the dark road.

And today the whole world just weighs on in
Today is THAT day
One of
When it all comes crashing down
Whispering to you in a child-like laugh.

Maybe it is just gravity
A physical pull sparking the decline
Flesh and muscle and heart on fire
Maybe it’s the strategic reintroduction of
The lies
The self denial
Self preservation.

But on the outside there’s nothing
Nothing to see or hear

No breath
No presence or force
Today there is nothing
Of me.

13 Apr 2012

'I'm 18, he's 18 - everybody's 18...'

What do you think of skateboarding in 2012?

I don’t think many kids even comprehend what it took to come up with the tricks that everybody does today. They all started this knowing that a noseblunt was possible because they’d seen it. They know it exists. We didn’t. I remember sitting in front of World and watching Mark get into them. I couldn’t believe it. Then I’d hear about Hensley getting into them backside and on down the line…

I think a lot of the difficulty lies in the establishing groundwork. The originality and the innovation. It’s easier to learn something once you know it’s possible.

But skateboarding means everything to me, man. It’s the Holy Grail. It’s the thing that opened up all these different facets of my life that I’m still drawing off of. It’s the gift that keeps giving.

Thank God for Epsom Salt.

Ron Chatman.

12 Apr 2012

abandoned work

The preparation of the defiant.

Those who continue to defy the median
Who run in the walking lane and
Fly across shipping lanes,
Seem to be retreating further back and
Down into their regressive fantasy,
Locked into a delicious spiral,
Dense and craving and dark and warm.
Those who tow the line,
Who remain stead-
Fast and fancy free,
Those fuckers increase in size
And bank balance,
Inwardly and outwardly,
Quietly and cowardly,
They dwell in the shallows and graze
Bovine like.

And they all accept the inevitable end.
Though some remain buried in perpetual denial
The others prepare for it every single morning,
From 5a.m dreams to sunset.
They prepare,
Happy and worryingly defiant,
Stupidly wrong, as they spin down to the singularity

And still you run the race

Burn Molotov cocktails in place of adrenaline
Still you climb walls
Scale Olympus Mons
Still you chase down fears and burn your past to dust
Still you dance to the song of your lover’s voice
Her truthful stare
Her breath on your neck while you lay there
Sleeping like a simple child.