baking and mistakes and regret

fuck.
whatever.

hallucinations

leaf chicken: 1, josh: 0

it's been a while since I peaced from the law

had a nice run this morning, silent and crisp.
saturday, so nobody out and about really.

a mile and a half in a car creeps up behind me and honks. I pay it no mind. and then again. the asshole doesn't think I heard him. wants me to get out the way. so I unsheathe our favorite finger and give him the bird.

at which point he pulls up next to me
and asks if "I wanna' try that wave again?"
he's rollin' deep. in a big ass cruiser.
a police interceptor.
mr. ossifer was, shall we say, visibly frustrated.

I give him an enormous jackal grin and keep right on keepin' on.

wonder if there were any juicier crimes he could have been fighting on such a lovely morning. ah... welcome to stockton.

reminds me of an old nike sb commercial

trick question:

why isn't getting a job
like growing a beard?

before you got here

A web of asphalt was spun over the mouth of San Francisco. Deep dark overpasses that coiled and snaked like the closely tucked tubes of an abandoned waterslide. Mysterious hyper-urban shapes. A stark and sudden transformation from the golden rolling hills of Berkeley to the grit and juggernaut of The City. A place where all things became literal, where the shells of homeless tucked into the shadows thrown by the looming Financial District. Be ready, it warned, anything can happen.

In ’89 the earth decided to give that gauntlet a shake and a face lift, inspiring the stewards of San Francisco to pull down what remained. Things got a little cleaner, a little softer. The double-decker freeway along the Embarcadero came down, bit by bit chunks of overpass were replaced by chunks of sky.

It feels different now, entering The City. The old growth is cut away and glass condos pierce the sky like flowers run wild. A cover worthy to judge this book by.

the misconceptions of a 9 year old

michael phelps is hardcore and all, but hardly as badass as john rambo.

all I need to do to get in the shape of my life is crawl around in the dirt, eat maggots, and live in a lean-to hewn from body parts of the local sheriff.
careful, don't waste any...

broken noses,

broken dreams.

I ever tell you about breaking that girl's nose in fourth grade? my dad put me in judo when I was a little kid, thought a little more aggressiveness could do me some good. sarah range was a crush of mine, she wanted me to demonstrate some of my moves. I broke her nose. accidental.

if only my pops had stuck me in gymnastics. I coulda' used a little more gymnasty in my life.