regurgitated nonsense

                                                                                                                                                   At one time PUNK rock was a four letter word.
You were a freak if you were a punk rocker and were destined to take a load of shit from the normal knuckle draggers of the world. When i was about  12-15 years old my Mom would take us to quite a few punk shows

in San Francisco, places like the Farm(now the sight of Potrero skate park), the Mabuhay Gardens  on the outskirts of North Beach, various warehouse shows, and Ruthies Inn on San Pablo ave in Berkeley. It all seems like a lifetime ago and a different world, and it kind of was. Most times i was the youngest person in the room, stuck to my Mom’s side and observing the scene. My brother would grab random beers off tables and finish the last gulps left in them. He is a few years older than me, and was and alway will be someone that can’t quite mesh with other people. In fact him in the punk movement of the 80’s was probably the most social and possibly the most comfortable he ever was. He wore it well, standing about 6ft tall barefoot, when he was decked out in his boots and liberty spikes he looked 8ft tall. His look was enhanced by his acne scared face and  the -fuck off- expression came naturally . Me on the other hand, small for my age with some fucked up hair that was kinda shaved everywhere but my bangs, pegged plaid pants, hi top vans, and a flannel tied around my waist. That was about as far as i took it, basically because i was so little and just wanted to be there but not be paid attention to. I knew the bands like Black Flag, The Vandels, The Fuck ups, DK, and the Circle Jerks but at home i mostly listened to oldies. I was not a punker, i was a kid that was just in the middle of partial suburban life with my Dad and a very Urban Life with my Mom. Mostly i wanted to skate, play Pac Man, steal old playboy magazines out of dumpsters, and of course wanted to do Karate cause that shit looked cool on TV. Those days were cool, the punk clubs smelled wet and reeked of clove cigarettes and i really thought the punk chicks were hot, especially when one would shove my face into there black torn up bra covered tits and say “aww you’re Billys little brother”

  I was quiet those days, stuck in my head, confused by how different my parents were and because their divorce happened when i was two i  just really didn’t understand healthy relationships and what “normal” life was. Most days being left alone was good enough. MY brother would  rebel against everything and i couldn’t relate at all, simply because it drew so much attention. He dropped out of high school and stayed punk till he got a motorcycle then he fell in with the motorcycle messenger crowd. Smoking lots of weed, drinking, and riding his bike around he city, he skated a bit too, we had that in common for a little while until i got better than him and he got a new chick or fell into better drugs. So when i turned about 15 i took notice that my brother was no longer a punker, he was just kind of a dude, at this time he was about 19, he grew his hair long, wore motorcycle jackets, and did as little as he needed to to get by. I kinda missed my punk rock brother that would spastically move through the mosh pit with eyes full of life. We talked less, he argued with my parents more and i just started to avoid contact with him. Hitting my Mom up for weed or money was about the most energy he put into things at this time and i just became his little brother, because i had nothing to give him that made me  invisible. I was skating constantly at this time due to the fact that we had a vert ramp in our warehouse and my Mom’s boyfriend was as obsessed with skating as i was. Billy had become a master manipulator of my parents and locked into his own world where only he really existed or mattered. It was strange to see, and be younger than him but almost look down on his selfishness. One good thing about it was, i could comfortably get b’s and c’s in school and skate and no one really cared. The road my brother paved was bumpy and littered with drugs and problems. 

  I can say i probably lost touch with my brother when i turned 18, i viewed myself as a man and so did our gov’t and there was my brother at 22 still doing the same thing he’s always done, taking more than giving and only causing problems for the family. My skating was starting to take off,and i got to got to Europe with Real skateboards and started to develop my self emotionally and found a solid family in skating. I was now a skater there was no turning back. Dreaming up new tricks or skate spots kept me lying awake most nights , i was hooked and completely challenged. Sitting in a room or van full of skaters i had to learn to communicate, go with the flow, and stand up for myself. Still fairly insecure and maybe still with some younger brother complex, i was always so stoked to be invited on all the skate trips and welcomed as a part of my new family. It took me years to figure out “hey these guys actually like me and value my ability and company” it felt really good and i tried my best to contribute to that world. I liked to read and draw and listen to music but i had this identity this SKATER title that made it more clear of my purpose on the planet. Of course being a skater at this time was still what i would call an outcast activity, Jocks yelling “skater fags” was a daily occurance and grown men making fun of as well. Haha…. It was a good time to be a skater, it had a real feeling of individuality and fight to it. We skated all day everyday and that brought us travel, new friends, new scenes and so much personal growth. Years later i got a little burnt on all of it, i stepped back a bit, got into old cars a little, and then the choppers found me. This was about 1999, so i was 26. It took me years to finally finish building one. I did it with almost no help but a lot of inspiration from J jessee and his friend Job. This crazy fire had been lit, and it was so exciting to be so entranced by motorcycles. I bought a cr80 with paper route money when i was 11 and had lawn mower engine mini bikes before that, i even had a cb350 at one time, but all i could think was chopper. Its a beautiful thing to get completely wrapped up in something, kind of like the feeling of the first few dates with a new chick, where you’re just kind of lost in emotion. My life got off balance because i wanted to mess with choppers more than skate, and i had invested over a decade almost everyday to skating. It was slightly confusing and i even felt guilty at one point that i wasn’t skating more. Going back to my brother i think somewhere along the way he lost this feeling i’m talking about… and i think its because he wasn’t ever really punk he was just was of kind of there.. and he enjoyed the costume that provided an image but also let him be a selfish kid. At times i thought about building him a bike, but i could almost bet that i would constantly have to work on it, he’d get it stolen or end up getting a DUI on it and somehow it would get lost in the wash. That may sound harsh but these were harsh lessons that i had already learned first hand. A very strong appeal to me with skating was that i needed no one else to do it, and most likely the only person i would be hurting was myself. Skill and style worked hand in hand. Hawk vs Hosoi, technically gifted vs born with style. That can be a hard pill to swallow for the technical wizard or the dude with bunk style, but i’ve also seen the dude with bunk style win due to his passion. That’s so valid in life. A better ledge skater, welder, mathematician, whatever golden credentials you have…. i enjoy a world where style and soul are key elements. We all know when something is phony and stinks, it doesn’t always need to be pointed out “fucking hipster fags” the world will work it out. If you’ve ever stepped away from something you invested a lot into because it got -too popular- or -trendy- then maybe you shouldn’t of been there or you were there for the wrong reason. The amount of hate and insecurity i see being talked these days is ridiculous, and if thats you talking all that hate, most likely that is how you will be remembered. I know it sucks to see people sponge off your scene absorb personalities… I’ve had hundreds of people shoot photos in my shop and say “do this”  “ do that” and never even say thanks at the end of it. Or the guy that went cafe, shitbox chopper, dyna…. and maybe changed his personality to fit each one, it eats at you, cause you love it and it’s gross to see, but guess what it doesn’t really matter, and i remind myself of this. The most challenging thing you can be is to be yourself and to do it well. Surround yourself by people that let you be yourself and are inspiring individuals. Most of the people that don’t like me, i don’t care for them….. simple as that. How fucking attractive is a confident individual, or a complete weirdo comfortable in their own weird self.

Learning new moves in the game of life daily, shoots and ladders sometimes getting to slide but always having to climb.   11-20-14