This is where I’ll be on Saturday night. Good lookin’ out, Jered from Em Zine. Maybe Blake will play Sea Foam Green for me.
So last week Lance and I started repurposing an old marble-works warehouse into an indoor skatepark. Exciting, no? I apologize for not reporting on this sooner, but I haven’t had much time to internerd or computerlate since becoming a construction worker. Billy of Windell’s fame and our friend Ben Mohr are helping us build, along with a number of other shiny volunteers. 20th and Hawthorne, set to open March 1, people. It’s gonna be bananas!
Web site is coming soon, but for now head over to our Facebook page and totally “like” us.
Do you know where this backyard racetrack is? Hint? It’s not in Portland. But … close.
In other news, I’m undertaking a huge project. Huger than huge. Gi-normous. It makes every other project I’ve ever done seem like bellybutton lint. More about this later. Right now … sleep.
In keeping with my James Franco phase, and in keeping with my predilection for biopics about writers, I watched Howl last night and disappeared into weird ’50s beat poet ruminations. I don’t read poetry that often because it seems like you have to think too much about it. But I like Ginsberg’s Howl simply because it’s nice to read. Strange wonderful imagery from an eccentric brain. Here’s a tad for you to chew on:
…backyard green tree cemetery dawns,
wine drunkenness over the rooftops,
storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon
blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree
vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brook-
lyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind….
Did a bunch of work for Pat at Coda, sent it in, and then promptly forgot about it. That’s how it goes sometimes. Recently, though, I stumbled across it again on the new and improved Codaskateboards.com. Paddle over and peep all the new stuff—new board graphics, new photos and videos, and my mini conversations with the illustrious Team Coda.
I didn’t work for two weeks straight during the winter holiday thingy—but it may as well have been two months. My inbox is now poppin’ off with new assignments, but my brain is somewhere else, or full of something slow, like the thick, sticky substance that coated Nick and Justin’s wood floors after the above New Years fete they threw.
I’m not sure about this photo. I mean I like the colors, but Noot looks a little weird—like an awkward spotted toddler. His Christmas sweater is very festive, though.
Did you know that despite Department of Skateboarding having been closed for months and months, skating continues to happen inside the gutted space? Yeah, that’s how desperate we are during these cold, wet days. Anyway, the Koerner-Ansons came here for the New Year and this is where we whiled some time away.
I like it when boys snuggle like this. Cozy.
Old Self by Robert Basilisk
You might think traveling to
a distant land conducive to
writing poetry; both being drugs.
You find yourself lost
in the same old world
(5 walls, 1 invisible)
always known, yet
different as in a dream
just before you awake
teetering on some brink?
of some thing wholly strange
and new and of course
by the time you find
what you wanted it is only
to return home
to yourself and the way
you were before.
(Photo by Lance. Me, in a cave, playing in the dirt, in Utah)