Thursday, November 12, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
Group

She sat there, her eyeliner and mascara were smeared from her tears, a cup of coffee in her hand. She looked weathered, old, even though she was only 32. The years had taken their toll, and her children were taken away by the state.


"Hello. My name is Bill..."

His story was interesting. Lost a daughter and two grandchildren. That was where it had started. His wife had left him, and had gotten fired from his union job as a crane operator. He wanted to get better. Thats why he was here.

"Hello. My name is Joan..."

She had been clean for three weeks. She had gotten a job, a new apartment and had tried to call her son. This life style, she said, it really messed her up. Lost everything she ever loved.

"Hello. My name is Bob..."

"Hello. My name is Jim..."

"Hello. My name is Christine..."

And so the circle went around and around. It was the same stories, the same people, the same problem. Everybody had lost something, everybody had tried to gain something back. A return to normalcy.

"Hello. My name is Johnny. I am an alcoholic."

Friday, October 30, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
Sharing Space

Waking up next to people, be they already wake and doing what I'm about to describe or still asleep and victims therein, is, and forever will be, an exercise in not screaming bloody murder.  People look hidieous first thing the morning.

It's when that little sliver of light, the tiniest little fraction of an inch of light, that, for some reason or another, always finds the thinest spot in your eyelids, wakes me up, I just instinctivly know that I am not alone.  Forget that I went to bed with somebody there, it's the fact that I'm lying on the edge of the bed, on my side, hip throbbing in the pain from the angle it's being submited at that tells everything I need to know.  I can't roll over and usual  and go back to sleep, nor can I shift to quickly lest I wake her up.

But it's too late.  Curiousity has gotten the best of me and I need to see the monster that I brought to my bed.  Or to hers.  Or the couch.  And on top of a piano.  Once.  I pretty much know what to expect.  A smooshed fact that looks something like a cross between an adult shar-pie and a pug, eyeliner smeered across the brigde of the nose and down her cheeks giving her that "coonie" look, hair in an absolute tangled mess that would make Medusa go, "God, she's having a bad hair day," and a glistening line of drool forming a damp spot on the pillow or the carpet.

I turn, slightly, so as not to disturb the freak show that my eyes are about to be thrust upon.  Slightly, slowly turning.  Waiting.

And there it is.

I think to myself, "Ha, whatever.  She's still cute and beautiful.  Even with all the horror."  I pull her in closer and snuggle with her underneath the comforter and fall back asleep.

Not a bad morning,

Johnny Rumble

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
The Month of October

Usually, I love the month of October.  The Fall colors, red, brown, yellow, the smells and the sounds of the leaves rustling thier way down the street.  Sometimes the rains will come and wash the air of smog and pollution and will provide that rejuvinating spirit that I need to lift myself to the tasks ahead.

I read two book this month.  I, Shithead: A Life in Punk by Joe Keithley and Witness To A Century by George Seldes.  I have had a lot of free time on my hands owing to the fact I have no job and am currently interning for Yuba College, which has subsequently attempted to screw me over twice this year.  Once, the one class that I was counting on this semester (advanced Access,  I've been wanting to learn to database for a while now) getting dropped due to lack of students.  This in it self is not a problem.  Shit happens like that.  What really bothered me was that the college decided to call me the day before the second term was due to start, and their were very few classes available that would actually help me in any respect.  I was offered an internship at the Beale Outreach and jumped on it.

The second attempt boils my blood so much that I don't want to talk about it.

Love and Hate,

Johnny Rumble

Saturday, September 26, 2009

Trav:
So Long time No See Folks.

Hiya all. Nope I didn't disappear, I've just been rather busy actually doing stuff. For a change I went places the spring semester(yep I left the room for a reason besides class) shocking I know. Then during summer holiday I went to see Rancid play in Baltimore, that was really one of the most amazing things ever so far(if it stays that way my life will have been boring). To see the band and hear music that has influenced me and on some level been inspirational was just phenomenal. Top it off I made new friends and finally got around to really putting in effort in to not sing and act like such a spaz.

I have good days and bad days. I'm even making serious attempts at the swearing, because who wants to be around someone with a potty mouth all the time. :snide comment here: Along with this whole self improvement, I've been working out, not much but running down mainstreet at school and then consciously eating healthy foods. Granted this tends to be a banana with breakfast, and one cup of coffee. Two sugars and a little milk. Been listening to lots of new music too. Stuff that I would have passed on picking out myself but out of politeness gave it a listen... Granted I'm probably a decade too late: Good Charlotte(chiefly first two albums and some of the later recent songs) and New Found Glory..not sure what album I have by them but it is pretty cool. Actually as I write this, Blink-182 just came on, so yeah add them to the list. So I guess its a bit old school pop-punk recently mixed in with AFI and your Rancid, Offspring etc.

Been Going to Mass a lot and I rather think I'd like to get confirmed, so am currently exploring that process. FYI I still dislike the praise and worship music: I went on the CCM (catholic campus ministries) retreat and had fun, learned a lot yeah but the music...gah was all I could do to not pull the ipod out and put any of the three covers of amazing grace or other Flatfoot 56 songs... It's not that I don't like the lyrics or such, far from it some of them are rather cool and nifty. The thing that annoys me is the arrangement, its slower and mellow. There was one song played that was really more my type of stuff till the singer started singing- it went mellower then and picked back up...if had stayed upbeat the entire time, well surely there must be more 'Jesus music' out there that a punk kid could get into?

Speaking of 'Jesus music' Any thoughts on these for going to Mass playlist, all of these songs remind me some way why I bother going to Mass or evening prayer.
Weigh On My Mind- Transplants(off of Transplants
Hold on- GC(off The Young and the Hopeless)
Movin' On- GC(off The Young and the Hopeless)
Purgatory- The Tossers(off of Purgatory)
When The Angels Sing- Social D(off of White Light, White Heat...

So with that in mind here is something I wrote during the retreat, while I should have been singing along... Just couldn't get into it... I did try though.

Friendship's parallel
Feeling lost amongst this crowd
lacking my musical comfort zone
ears slowly bleeding from this 'noise'
That brief instant
Sitting here I know it was worth it
Opening my mind
Don't know what I'm gonna find

Trav

-------

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo, a letter

When I first took this on, this job, this lifestyle, this essence of being punk rock and a punk, I was most definitely and defiantly young. An upstart. Snot nosed and still wearing whitey-tighties. I was vivacious and full of fire and brimstone, ready to take on the world and all their wrongs. To teach the people of their heathen ways of religion and automation. Full of DIY ethic and anarchy and fuck the system.

I wore the bondage pants and patched up hoodies and jackets, Doc Martens with ladder lacing. I screamed in people’s faces and chanted a chorus of Oi! at least once a day. I became a heathen among heathens at the Sunday gatherings at the pew. I remember arguing with the preachers about the existence of God and cursing their teachings of being unscientific and righteously immoral against even their own solid beliefs. “Belief is nothing without fact. To believe does not make you right,” I would say.

The food court at the mall became the place to be, right after the bowling alley tossed the crew on our asses. We sat, eating our anarchy burgers (hold the cheese), debating about the merits of politics and what it meant to be truly anarchistic.

I acquired a new name, a nom-de-plume of sorts so that I might engage in random acts of violence. Kilt Wearing Punk. Not because I wore a kilt, but because I was a fiery believer in Scottish Independence, and hated all things English. I spray painted streets with violent girlfriends and then engage in masochistic foreplay at the house. I once lit my leg on fire, just to see what it felt like.

I learned to write. To get my thoughts about anarchy down on paper. I then broke the rules of writing before I ever learned what they were. I wrote sentences and works and had them scrambled up. Anarchy was all I could imagine, all I could ever be. Because happiness that one continues to wander Francis Street in front of religion and started to deal with the oubliettes, selfishness is asserted like a good thing. And you will not come, it is proposed to the merchants without part out and they take more than they take more than they take more than they take more than they take more than they give and they take more than they take more than they give and deputies, because the success is nothing without part out I set to Fuck Off.” I saw the ladies all the best stuff shipped straight from rain and anarchy and senators, the wheel wells of being punk I was vivacious and all their just pay. There ain’t no one gives a plastic sign.

I found this strangely refreshing.

But now that I’m in the twilight of youth and finding myself sentimental and becoming heavily influenced by the thought processes of Tatsuya Ishida and Erika Moen, two among many, I find that I wasn’t really punk rock after all. I was nothing more than a fashion poser, a self-label. A tourist, if you will. I lived in a comfortable suburban home, a child of the middle class. Heir to everything I could reach with my fingertips. I never did get away from the teachings of Christ, only using the word atheist for shock value against my parents.

I was doing damage outside the system, while never affecting the insides. Never damaging what really needed to be damaged.

Now that I’m older, and wiser, I realize what an idiot I’ve been.

I’m ready for a power suit and a power tie. I’m ready to start destroying cogs from inside the machine.

Maybe I’m punk after all.

Or maybe…

Johnny Rumble

Monday, September 14, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
Dark Horse, You Suck

I’m sitting at the computer banging my head into the keyboard to the furious post-apocalyptic beats of The Exploited’s two-thousand-and-three album “Fuck the System” thinking about what makes for wonderful-to-attend rock concerts and stage shows. Four chords played with distortion turned to eleven type of rock.


Crowd energy is inherently important at any show. Whoever is playing feeds of the energy of the crowd, and relies on that energy to play, especially three months into a tour. Yelling, screaming, movement in “The Pit,” reaction to stage antics, and general barnstorming are all welcome, and needed for a show to be at its peak. There also needs to a “Pit” of some kind, whether it be a pogo, mosh, circle, dance, meatgrinder or hardcore. Movement. Energy expelled. If a person is able to walk out of a show with waking up in the morning sore, concert failed.

Venues also need to small. Not fifteen people in a backyard small, but a dancehall, or, perhaps most famously to the local area, a VFW hall. Not an arena with you and fifteen thousand total strangers. Closeness and intimacy is what’s required. To be able to converse with the band after a show, to buy their merch directly out of the band member’s hands. I remember attending a venue so small, that roughly one-sixth to one-twelfth of the crowd was made up of the supporting bands members. Four or five total bands played that night. I remember moshing around with the lead singer, the lead singer, of O.C.D. Really cool guy.

But it’s all these things, along with a couple of others, that make concerts great. It’s the exact failure of following this unwritten rule that made the Dark Horse/Nickleback tour that came through Sleeptrain Amphitheater on the last day of August such a shit-hole of a concert.

While the crowd may have been into the show, they defiantly didn’t show anything except occasionally clap their hands or sing along. I was bored just watching it. I yawned quite loudly and explicitly to show my displeasure at the state of energy transference. I don’t know how the bands there did it. Crowd energy was pitiful. They gave absolutely none off. An area that was inanely called “The Pit” was nothing but a standing room only place to watch the show. Watch in full force. Zero movement , zero energy. Refer to the above mentioned boredom.

I’m attributing this lack quality to the general movement among the masses to the desire to be entertained rather than entertaining oneself. I truly am starting to wonder if the “video game” generation has forgotten what it means to have to make their own fun.

Another thing that perhaps shouldn’t chap my Slavic thighs as much as it is, is that both Papa Roach and Nickleback seemed to extolling the use of illicit drugs and asking people to light up and pass it among the people. This concerns me, not that people are toking up, but that I now have to drive home surrounded by people that may or may not be high while piloting a two-ton missile down the road at seventy miles-per-hour after the show had ended.

While I did score my ticket for free from a friend that had her original invite drop out, I am left curious exactly what amount of her money was doled out for stage entertainment in the form of fireworks, lights, and what amounted to huge sparklers. Would the show have been any worse without all that shit? I doubt it. Seriously doubt it. In fact, I’m left wondering if a smaller venue could not have been had with the bands playing over several days been ultimately more profitable.

To keep along this line, why must to the interludes between bands been nothing more than a changing of drum kit? Ten minutes to change a kit takes way to long and the bands start to lose whatever crowd energy they may have built up. Why not run with one kit all tour to share and have the transitions between bands in the space of two minutes? Just enough time to change the amplifiers between bands, and send them on stage to keep playing?

All these sentiments were echoed by the woman that took me with her. A failure of a show and a failure of a crowd. Money wasted on another large show. Highlight of the night: the breakfast at Denny’s was hot for once.

Killing Time,
 
Johnny Rumble

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
The Gospel of Saint Johnny

Chapter 1

In the beginning was the Sound, and the Sound was with Music, and the Sound was Music.

2 The same was in the beginning with Music.
3 All things were made by Music; and without Music was not any thing made that was made.
4 In Music was life; and the life was the light of free.
5 And the light shineth in the darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.
6 There was a man sent from Regions Beyond, whose name was Johnny.
7 The same came for a witness, to bear witness of the Light, that all people through him might stay free.
8 He was not that Light, but was sent to bear witness of that Light.
9 That was the true Light, which lighteth every person that cometh into the universe.
10 Music was in the world, and the world was made by Music, and the world knew it not.
11 Music came unto it’s own, and it’s own received it not.
12 But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of Music, even to them that believe on it’s name:
13 Which were born, not of blood, not of the will of the flesh, not of the will of man, but of Music.
14 And the Sound was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we behold it’s glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Composer,) full of grace and truth.
15 Johnny bare witness of Music, and cried, saying, This was it of what I sang, Music that cometh after me is preferred before me: for it was before me.
16 And of it’s fullness have all we received , and grace for grace
17 For the lawlessness was given by Vicious, but grace and truth came by Marley.
18 No man hath heard Music at any time; only the begotten Children, which is in the bosom of the Composer, it hath declared it.
19 That is the record of Johnny, when the students sent poor and downtrodden from the world, Who art thou?
20 And he confessed, and denied not; but confessed, I am not the Music.
21 And they asked him, What then? Art thou a guitarist? And he saith, I am not, Art thou a drummer? And he answered, No.
22 Then said they unto him, Who art thou? That we may give an answer to them that sent us. What sayest thou of thyself?
23 He said, I am the voice of one yelling into the herd, Make straight the way of Music, as said the Composer
24 And they which were sent were of the un-free.
25And they asked him, and said unto him, Why dance thou then, if thou be not that Music, nor Composer?
26 Johnny answered them, saying, I dance with drink: but here standeth one among you, whom ye know not;
27 Music is it, who coming after me is preferred before me, whose notes we are all worthy to unloose.
28 These things were done in Edmond beyond Ardmore, where Johnny was dancing.
29 The next day Johnny feeleth Music coming unto him, and sangith, Behold the creation of Composer, which giveth freedom to the people
30 This is it of whom I said, After me cometh Music which is preferred before me; for it was before me.
31 And I knew him not; but that he should be made manifest to freedom, therefore I come dancing with drink.
32 And Johnny bare record, saying, I saw the Light descending from heaven like an albatross, and it abode upon him
33 And I knew it not: But it that sent me to dance with drink, the same sang unto me, Upon whom thou shalt see the Light desceding, and remaining on him, the same is he which danceth with people.
34 And I saw, and bare record that this is the Music of the Composer
35 Again the next day after Johnny danced, and two of his comrades;
36 And listening to Music as it played, he saith, Behold the creation of Composer!
37 And the two comrades heard him speak, and they listened to Music.
38 Then Music played, and sang unto them, What seek ye? They said unto it, Where doth come from?
39 It sangth unto them, Dance and see. They danced and saw where it came from, and enjoyed it that day: for it was about the killing hour.
40 One of the two which heard Johnny speak, and followed him, was Jesse, comrade of David.
41 He first findeth her own comrade David, and saith unto him, We have found the freedom.
42 And he brought him to Music. And when Music played for him, it sang, Thou art David, the son of Joseph: thou shalt be called Reverend.
43 The day following Music would go forth into the Villa of Mary, and findeth Richard and sang unto him, Live free.
44 Now Richard was of Yuba, the city of David and Shane
45 Richard findeth Kevin, and saith unto him, We have found freedom, Music, creation of the Composer.
46 And Kevin said unto him, Can there any good thing come out of the heart? Richard saith unto him, Dance and see.
47 Music felt Kevin dancing, and sang unto him, Behold a free-man indeed, in whom is no servitude!
48 Kevin saith unto him, Whence knowest thou me? Music answered and sang unto him, Before that Richard called thee, when thou wast under the Mart of Walt, I sensed thee.
49 Kevin answered and saith unto it, Thou art the creation of Composer; Thou art the lynchpin of the Free!
50 Music answered and sang unto him, Because I sang unto thee, I sensed thee under the Mart of Walt, believest thou? Thou shalt feel greater things than these.
51 And he sang unto him, I sing unto you, Hereafter ye shall see the yoke open, and the notes of the the Composer ascending and descending upon the Music of man.

Chapter 2

And the third day here was a union in Sacramento of California; and the friend of Music was there:
2 And both Music was called, and his followers, to the union.
3 And when they wanted beer, the Composer of Music wroteth unto it, They have no beer.
4 Music sangth unto Composer, Guinness and Irish floweth, but the hour is not yet come.
5 Composer saith unto the people, Whatsoever Music singeth unto you, dance to it.
6 And there were set there six water jugs of plastic, in the manner to sober the people, containing nothing at all.
7 Music sangth unto them, Fill them with water. And they fill them full.
8 And Music sangeth unto them, Draw out now, and bear unto the dry and sober. And they bare it.
9 When the dry of the feast had tasted the water that was made Guinness and Irish, and knew not whence it was: (but the people which drew the water knew;) the dry of the feast called the couple.
10 And toasted unto them, Every man at the beginning doth set forth wine; and when men and women have been decent and courteous, then that which is dry: but thou hast kept the good drink till now!
11 This beginning of miracles did Music in Sacramento of California, and manifested forth it’s freedom; and it’s followers believed and danced.
12 After this Music went east to the Village of Placer, it, and the Composer, and it’s followers and they continued there not many days for there too much wine.
13 And the Prisoners auction was at hand, and Music went down to Folsom.
14 And found in the dancehall those that sold labor and relations and swindlers of currency sitting:
15 And when Music had focused a feedback, he drove them all out of the dancehall, and the labor and the slaves and Prisoners broke free and over threw the tables:;
16 And said unto them, Leave theses free; do not make this place a house of captives.
17 And his followers remembered that it was written, The beats of this house hath free me.
18 Then answered the Prisoners and said unto him, What sound shewest thou unto us, seeing and hearing that thou doest these things?
19 Music answered and sang unto them, Destroy this prison, and we will raise a House of freedom.
20 Then said the Prisoners, This is only home we know.
21 But Music then provided a new House of freedom for all.
22 When therefore the House was risen, Music’s followers remembered that Music sang freedom to them; and they believed the sound, the sound of Music’
23 Now when Music was in Folsom at the hour, on the feast day, many believed in the Sound, when they saw the freedom which it provided.
24 Music committed itself unto all of them, because he knew all of them.
25 And knew not that any should live unfree: for it knew what was in free people.

The Blasphemer,
Johnny Rumble

Saturday, July 25, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
simpler days, Complex Nights

i remember 5 years ago when the days were simpler the night longer and the cash flow more positive than it will be in the next 5 years, there was a busted 1987 volkswagen golf gl it was light blue a manual the radio was shit and could never remember the presets

it also didn't have a front end from when it hit a brick mailbox

i remember before i left, that we would on any given night would just go out and cruise the town cruise between the cities and travel where ever we wanted we were the kings of our own domain blessed with the gas money to take us to tulsa or oklahoma city or bricktown we would just hit the road windows down listening to 94.7 him chugging coca-cola me with my mountain dew  we loved it

there was nothing that could have made those night better nothing

I've lost touch with the cruising mentality over the years.  I've forgotten that it dosen't matter what car you're in, what music you're listening to, or where the gas gauge is pointing.  The point is and always was to just get out and go anywhere.  To pick a direction, set the cruise control and jam.  I've forgotten what the radio was like.  Switching to another station to avoid commercials or that one song that nobody wants to listen to.  I've forgotten the deep converstions and the trival debates about the merits of House versus Drum and Bass.

Just over the past few weeks, I've been finding myself thinking, "Damn, if this was only a better car" or "I wish I had more gas and money."  None of that matters.

i remember we used to go until we just couldn't any more i remember we ran out of gas a few times

Now I'm just so worried about what is wrong, or what could go wrong, that it's not the freedom that it used to be.

You'll find me out, trying to recapture the magic, and cruising until the needle hits E.

Johnny Rumble

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Johnny Rumble:

If there is one thing I will come to loath in the coming days, it's this:

The smell of stale cigarette smoke outside the veterinarian's office while knowing that I cannot watch what is going on behind closed doors.

I dug the hole this morning.

Blues,

Johnny Rumble

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
Addiction

I'm torn on writing about this particular subject of my past.  It's both moderatly embarssing, but the outcome is probably one the greatest triumphs of my life.  Beyond the adrenaline rushes, beyond for-show boozing, I am addicted to pornography.

I don't say this lightly.  I really don't.  I used to be a once, or even twice, daily user.  I think most of it stemmed from a lack of a personal connection with a lover.  A kind of loneliness that is derived from the darkest regions of the mind, body and soul.

I will freely admit that, even while in a relationship, I still looked at porn, although much less frequently.  But that's what an addiction is.  The need to do something.  I derived my need for love from jerking off in front of a computer screen. 

Every lover I've ever had has had to deal with this once secret side of me, unknowingly.  While the first lover was a real sexual awakening, there can be no blame tossed at her.  This problem was already teed up and the driver was swinging by the time she arrived.  It was the first that fueled some of the antics that have happened with the second, both during the relationship and afterward years laters. 

The third, and one of two to read this, probably suffered the most.  There were weeks I wouldn't talk to her due my shame.  When she left, both literally and figurativly, my addiction sank to it's lowest.  And I was a mess.  I once again became that ackward kid at the back of the class.

The fourth, and current, probably didn't even have a clue until now.

But lately, something has been different.  It's like my addiction to coffee.  I did too much, too quickly, and now the thought of porn is not a pleasant one.  I think I'm finally beating this addicition and can move on with my life.

I used to look at Coop's photography because it had naked chicks in it.  Now, I just go through it and study the form, the style, and colors and the imagery.  I no longer see naked chicks, but I see art and expression and life and a zest for living it.  It's beyond the sex and into something greater, more personal, and more open.  It's the shedding of restraints, the shedding of of the unnessisary.  It excites me on a level beyond my loins.

I think, and I hope it stays this way, that I WAS addicted to porn.

I wonder what Coop would say to this,

Johnny Rumble

Saturday, June 20, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
Latest Where's My Gun







Summer Vacationing,

Johnny Rumble

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
Shit Cleaner

I have to keep reminding myself about how much my job pays me.  I have to keep reminding myself about how much my job pays me just to clean a couple of bathrooms for five hours a day.  I have to keep reminding myself of how much I can do with the money that my job pays me just to clean a couple of bathrooms for five hours a day.  I have to keep reminding myself of how much I can do with the money, such as buy a new digital HD camcorder and accessories, that my job pays me just to clean a couple of bathrooms for five hours a day.

I am a custodian.

I am The Custodian.

And these are my days now,

Johnny Rumble

Wednesday, June 03, 2009

Trav:
Imaginary conversation

Honestly I have no clue what this was, this started when I was walking around the neighborhood listening to music, mainly missing friends and generally having fun at school, not that I don't have fun at home, it's just totally different. So yeah it started when I thinking about how stuff at school went when my mind did whatever and one of my friends got stuck in but it never really went anywhere, it was more one way ramblings then anything else. The entire thing is peppered with lyrical references, mostly again from what we listened to at school, and now on my own. God I need to get out more. Probably sounds more dramatic then it is.

Trav

You say that I'm silly,

But I don't put on an act.

It gets outta control but who's perfect?

Growing up do I have to change? What makes me me? Growing up do I have to change?

Walking a fine line don't want change but I want be taken seriously.

Does that mean abandoning my ideals, styles of dress and speech?

You say lolz again, I got no reply no spiffy retort. I look and sigh I don't know what to do I miss the drives in the car, loud music and no worries, blowing off steam,

Now I wonder when did I turn into this emo caricature? Why worry?

I’m doing my thinking now

Walking my neighborhood is a poor excuse for a car I know.

just doesn't feel the same driving myself, keeping track of whats going on

Lolz, I hear the voice, I know I’m silly,

Smiling with my ipod I crank up Spaz lost in my head. There's no anthem here.

Sat in mass this morning thinking about these questions

I’m a bit lost and a bit scared.
Dad says my secondbelt is 80’s chick thing

Exuding a don't talk to me vibe

That what I want?

Fashion accessory whats it matter

Mayhap we are all just poseurs: products of our own minds and insecurities. Growing up do we have to change?

You've got tattoos and piercings ftw

Hardcore Minor threat and don't start you on Ness;

why we are friends I won't know. I don't know why you hang around, now I got more songs running through my brain, soundtrack of my life I’d ask questions if I was watching a movie of my own life.

I wonder what you would think of this exercise? I bet that Social D. t shirt that you’d laugh and maybe say being silly though I hope you take it seriously for what it's worth, whatever that is.

You said once I'm predictable, its true: I get caught up in the little things. no shit , more lolz I want everything in its place, but the world’s full of grey. There's a place in my mind yeah where this comes from; keep it locked down tight one day I hope to look back and laugh. My problems look big to me and why should anyone care? I just walked into a street sign again. Does anyone hear me singing Mommies Little Monster while running into things and falling off stairs. I'm telling them all everyone I meet, its happy days.

I’m happy and content with my music and books, I’d loose my mind without them.

I think its funny, where does it come from this conflict in my head? Why can I not enjoy the summer:

Feeling isolated,
why all this drama,
and tug of war, one of us has to be right
since I can't seem to step out of her shadow,
sister's opinion, remind why I should care?
Ain't never gonna be as good as her
yet I still try, no said it's fair.
Wish it was elementary school, when we were tight.
those morning cartoons,
it all ended to soon.

Is this a phase, will it pass
only time will tell
sitting in silence
the music makes it alright.

ten people online, all these people
People I know-
How can I feel outside it all?
when you feel ignored,
There's no point in causing a row.

I'm laughing at my self. What else can I do?

I know I got it good, I’m thankful for the life I got, and all that has happened to me since that far off day in an Oakland hospital incubator. People say I've come so far, fine but I don't remember all the baby stuff, while its important for context, really I don't know what to frame in now that I'm in school, I'm 'normal' well at times, minus the singing and overly talkative nature. My worries seem big to me though.


Lolz


Monday, May 18, 2009

Trav:
Springtime thoughts

So yeah these were done in this past semester, just trying to get stuff out of the head.

Sitting here
Left again
All Alone.
This night out,
Turns to another night in.
Quiet Studying,
The exams killing us
Stressing out
what's left to do?

New Sights to see
We Can't wait to get back to DC
While my grades are nice
Friends just can't be beat.


So yeah that's probably crap on some level but whatever, just thoughts on a Friday night before exams. I'll try to post something better later, well better by my mind anyway, and thats all that counts.

Oi- Cheers!
Trav


Trav:
Everything's Gonna Be Alright Now...


So yeah, Hi All. /me waves to the loyal readers. Basically school while fun this spring semester was definitely a learning experience, hehe. Long story short, since we know I can ramble: made some new friends, realized some people used me as the verbal whipping boy(note that jokes at ones expense really sucks.) One of my friends is wicked funny and nice and while I am made fun of, I can tell they jest, others, I question whether the mockery is well sincere or if it is just sarcastic. So anyway we burned loads of cd's a while back and I have to say and I'm gonna get burned for this: A) I'm nearly ten years too late B) early Good Charlotte is actually way way kick ass. Yeah its not hardcore, but erm I like it, so the hell with it. Top four on every playlist right now( I do that, go through phases where certain songs will be on nearly every playlist, for a month or so, till something else goes ohh shiny, play those those look fun guy.(Undergrads refrence, watchd that finals weeks since I was done with my exams oh yeah that was way fun):
1. The Click- this as been noted by friends is nearly the story of my life, well the Travis just sits around all day and does nearly nothign but go to class and talk online
2. Waldorfworldwide- such a kickass party song and great to drive around too, nice chorus and all
3. Little Things- whats to be said, its the little things in life :)
4. East Coast Anthem-- I do live in DC metro area and all, and got called freak at quadfest- drunk morons, always fun to people watch.
5. Yeah it is...Number five: This isn't Good Charlotte, but I have to throw it out there, Spaz's House Destruction Party

I've also started going back to Mass more. When I could get a ride I'd go at least twice a week not counting Sundays. Oddly though when home now I just go once during the week and sunday, since I really only went on Monday at the end of the semester. I haven't decided if I want to go to Mass at the church, or the CCM chapel at GMU, which seems slightly more friendly. I'm not sure what it is about the parish church, which is still close(ten minute drive) but I just don't like going. If only the CCM chapel had weekday Mass too.

Anyway so I've been writing in a journal and keeping a notebook around me. Whats the difference Travis you ask? Good question, the first is for me and only me while the other is mainly notes, grocery lists and things of that ilk. However it also has some important stuff, generally how I feel and what not, maybe thoughts jotted down while I walk, which while it gets told to people they are not in such a well, raw form. And the Pictures are of what, 3 weeks ago now, my hair is shorter, so I can try to get a job, but other then that, its about the same, I've just got into wearing whatever, shirt, t shirt, or plain shirt really whatever I pull out that day, I just don't care any more, if its this and not that shirt. So yeah make of that what you will.

Oi!
Trav

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
Style Formats

I was asked a question about the MLA and APA style formats for papers:

Margins, titles, even where and how I format my name! Why all the rules governing how I am required to write my paper? Why do you think they are so picky about how your paper is formatted?
 This was my responce...

The rules are there to stifle creativity and individuality. The goal, it seems, of nearly all colleges and universitys is to turn it's students into more cogs of the same bland, boring, and homogenized machine of workplace despair. This is only perpetrated by lazy, and sometimes inept professers who only want to sit in their chairs of imaginative power and collect paychecks until they retire. Those who do, succeed. Those who cannot, teach. And this is where systems fail. Those who cannot, surely should not be allowed to teach, only because thier inherit failures will be passed on the next generation, creating a cycle of losers, whiners, and failures that will pass on thier knowledge to the following generations. I feel safe in the knowledge that the best teachers I have had all retired successful from thier chosen profession to pass on the information that they learned to a generation that desires to succeed and florish in society, not rot in the stench of inept failure.
Stay Free, Free Stay,

Johnny Rumble

Sunday, May 03, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
Vampie...or is it Vampy?

I enjoy the night hours.  I sit in a darkened room, shadows cast by the flickering Sky Sports and the words of other people splashed across thier respective screens, and analyze what happened in the sphere of Johnny.  I can troll the internet, masturbate in privacy, and re-enforce my general ill will against man and all of his creations.

But really it's the peace and solitude I look foward to.  And when the Petrol Gods have deemed it so, I can cruise from the moment the sun dips below the Buttes to the moment it crests the Sierras, watching the endless ribbons of blacktop disappear beneath the wiper cowl and wonder why Saturn decided to build a car that has an invisible hood line.  There are few people on the road, and I usually have some old tune whispering from the speakers and out the cracked windows as I push the accelerator toward the floor and leave another stoplight behind me.  When they do occur those, the headlights can be moments of glory.  Another soul looking for thier moment of bliss.  At least this is what I'd like to think if I was alone and that car didn't have a headlight out.  Sex Point.

Entering strange urban areas is as exciting as it is frightening.  The dark road lights up with street lamps and headlights, other cars dodging the potholes Public Works refuses to fix.  It's a pin ball game at eighty miles and hour and the ball just entered the wormhole.  I scrunch down in my seat, turn Lowrider up to Volume 7, and cross over to the slow lane, imagining I'm in six-four Impala rolling fifteens and hydros. Clean, simple.

Keep Rollin' Rollin' Rollin',

Johnny Rumble

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
Old Things

I stumbled, quite accidently, onto an old set photos that dated from July of 2007.  I clicked through them, slowly, looking at every detail, every nuance, and remembering every memory.  Your wierd facial expressions and fucked up hat, your father's mustache, and my fat gut at Wisp.  That dress.  I'm not going to make little white lies and say I knew they were there, because I truely did forget that I still had the photos.

I'm also not going to lie and say that I don't miss you somedays.  Because I do.

I'm also not going to lie about one other thing.  I tend to compartmentalize the people I run into and only tell certain people certain things, keeping them guessing about me and never giving them the whole picture, the whole me.

You were the first to shatter that mold, to see hear and comprehend enough to get me.  And I've been very cautious since about who knows what.  Further compartmentalization.  A puzzle of 500 pieces with 434 of them missing.

I think I do this out a rash instinct to survive my life schedule of finding a new home every so often.  It's easier to seperate when nobody really knows you.  Just another person they knew back then.  A memory.

I lie to myself and say that it's for the best.

Storms a-coming, my knee is acting up,

Johnny Rumble

Friday, April 17, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
the go-kart

i remember when i was still living in north carolina
it was summer, street construction was on going
my friend brought out his two seat go-kart
a lawnmower engine with no roll hoop, just in case we might die
i remember sitting on the right laughing and squinting into the wind
foxcroft was getting expanded and they had just grated the surface
we zipped up and down the dirt all afternoon
just laughing and acting like boys
wondering if the ellerslie trail was worth another pair of soggy shoes
i begged and prodded and bargined to make a turn of wheel
he got out and i slid over feeling the go pedal at my sole
just be real careful pop said only i'm supposed to drive
i smashed the gas and corrected the tail arcing out from behind me
the seat vibrated from the dirt beneath the tires
and the motor howled and roared and made lots of noise
the right foot came up and the left foot went down
a quick turn and a squeeze of gasoline
i felt like i was flying disconnected from everything in the world
he waved his arms yelling for me to stop
and hit the kill switch
why did you hit that jump
what jump
move over you're not driving anymore


I'm still flying that go-kart Brad,

Johnny Rumble

Saturday, April 04, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
__________

"But by the time they fix my head, mentally I'll be dead."

I'm shooting to alleviate the biggest headache I've had in long time.  It's the kind of headache that manages to blue the line between fantasy and reality and forces me to evaluate my own mental health status.  Working for The Prospector has not been kind.  And while I didn't expect it to ever be nice and fluffy like a course on HTML or PHP, I never would have thought that it would lead to me changing and developing my identity and personality.

Working for The Prospector has taught me many invaluable lessons like learning when to cut your losses and leave the field of battle, when to charge Cemetery Ridge, when to charge Mount Tumbledown, and when to entrench your postion.  But this is the time to leave.

I have officially stopped producing content for The Prospector from this moment here-on, and will publicly state that all content published by them from here-on is done so with out my consent.  I do not leave my flags waving on fields I do not wish to remain.  I will not list grievences here.  Those that need to know them, do.

An unfortuante casualty is Where's My Gun? Productions.  As the equipment we were using is owned by Yuba College, video content will cease until we can fund the purchase of a camera of our own.

I leave this battle, not in retreat, but with my flag held high, my cannon intact.  This is battle I came into ill-prepared, ill-equiped to fight for as long as I have.  I sacrificed everything I was willing to for the greater good of myself, my compatriots, and for the video content created.  But this is no longer worth fighting, as my talents and uses are better applied elsewhere.

__________,

Johnny Rumble

Saturday, March 21, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
J'sF's and WMG's WMD

Finally got second third of Johnny's Folly written and done.  It's going up on the J'sF's blog in segments over the next few days, so be sure to look for those.  I'm going to try and actually finish it by the end of the summer, but we all know how I am with deadlines...

I said it before, but I want to say it again because I can, be sure to check out my latest venture in media, Where's My Gun Productions.  I have no intention of quitting the writing, but film is my latest "it" thing to try.  And I'm going to try the shit out of it.

Dropping Bombs,

Johnny Rumble

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Trav:
New Semester

So yeah my life really is boring and I do nothing at all but read for school and pleasure. I hang out with friends in the evening but rarely do we do owt besides watch The Wire or The Sopranos. GOnna have to motivate myself to actually get out the legal pad again since I do have ideas- that really just sit there.

Trav

Sunday, March 15, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
Down and struck-the-fuck Out

-My mood lately has been irrational, frought with anger and resentment, unhappy, delusional at some points, and down right scary at others.

-And this is just me looking into the mirror this morning as I shaved my head for the fifth time this year.  Welding helmets have a tendency to rip hair out of people skulls.

-I know things are bound to get better in the long run, but I've never been a person to look at the long run.  Fuck, I've only planned my life for thirty years of age.  Every day after that is just bonus extra time.

-With a mounting scholastic debt, an increasingly bleak job outlook for anything anywhere (hell, even McDonalds, perennial last resort for anybody, turned me away) I've become more and more irrational about my decisions.

-Alienating my friends to one degree or another, my lover to a larger series of degrees, and everybody else completely, I'm starting to think that my fuel tank is running empty.  Two weeks ago, I was tripping through the daisies.

-I need a vacation from myself.  Recharge the batteries, fill up at a Flying J, eat at the Country Market and just blast east bound on I-80.  To somewhere I don't have to look at somebody and think, "Impress Dispress Sidepress" and stay in bed for two weeks without feeling guilty about getting shit done.

Over the rainbow,

Johnny Rumble

Monday, March 09, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
Bosozuko Driving

My internet pals over at Bosozuko Style ran a photo that both garners my respect and makes me very angry.


I am just not sure what my final thoughts are about this Saturn.  Maybe I enjoy flinging mine toward the horizon too much to have a front mounted, crossed exhaust like this guy has done.



Radar Love,

Johnny Rumble

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
Where's My Gun

It is with great pleasure and some sort of infection that I would like to introduce Where's My Gun? Productions (<-clickable), a three man production team that uses the talents of myself and two of my friends.

Enough of the typical introduction bullshit. here (<-clickable) we are, we started making short "newsie" type clips for the colleges student newspaper, and founded our own way of getting things done in the mean time. More than likely, 80% of the video content uploaded has a more sanitized and masser markert appeal on the newspaper's channel, but we wanted our cuts of video to make it out there to. Better yet, we do have some independent productions coming down the pipeline, so keep an eye for those.

But, for now, one of the first videos that we did independently (<-clickable), highlighting your's truely...

Kemble's got a gun, Kemble's got a gun, it's time for us to run,

Johnny Rumble

Friday, February 20, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
J'sF's part 4

Fuck I really moved to get the first third done. Yes. I said third. 20 total pages of story thus far, and another 40 left to edit and write.

Anyway, part 4 here.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
J'sF's Part 3

Fucking I'm moving on the editing. Part 3 is up.

Booking it,

Johnny Rumble

Monday, February 16, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
J'sF's part 2

Johnny's Folly Part 2 is up here.

Chuggin along,

Johnny Rumble

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
Oh Noes!

In the same vein that I nearly constantly rant about (the absolute stupidity of humanity), anybody who knows anything about cars will cring when they see this.

As my friend EK Hatch pointed out, "This will end badly."

More and more worried,

Johnny Rumble

Friday, February 13, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
The (lacking) Thoughts of Time

I did the unthinkable this semester and am now half-heartedly studying journalism. Any aritcles I manage to write will eventually end up both here and on The Prospector website. I am also taking up a bit of journalistic videography and have acted as cameraman for three journalism production. Two of them are uploaded here. I recommend watching the Chili Cook Off. Poured my heart and soul into it.

Johnny's Folly is progressing. I'm exhausted after writing an emotionally demanding part. I'm shooting for a Part 2 release of Friday the 20th. Until then...

Father Time and his stupid beard,

Johnny Rumble

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
Johnny's Folly Poetry

Hiaku:
Swirling in the air
The smoke bring her around
Tokyo Rose calls


Free-Verse:
A quiet prayer leads to a hidden rosary
While I turn on the stove to light another smoke
Haze...dancing, playing, fills the void of
Thoughts
A lonely whisper beckons through the space
Greetings Johnny. Are you demoralized?
I always did love that fucking bitch.


Rhyming sucks,

Johnny Rumble

Sunday, February 08, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
Fighter Pilots

They really are all the same arn't they?

Shooting for the Horzion and Hitting The Sun,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble:
Johnny's Folly Re-Released

I've actually done the impossible and re-worked Johnny's Folly. For now, Part 1 can be found here. All subsequent parts will be announced on this blog, but I will warn, the releasing will be quite eratic.

Also, I have finally released myself from the grasp of MySpace. I thank whatever god you people pray to that I no longer have one. I have however set up a Flickr account here to store new photos and what not.

Writing and Re-writing,

Johnny Rumble

Saturday, January 31, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
America's Military, Buy American?

Especially since the start of the Cold War, and even before then in many cases, America’s military has been hobbled by Congressional oversight, not only in the business of HOW to defend the nation, but also in the ways and means in which to do so.

Congress, and famously many American defense companies, has been trying to direct the American military to buy equipment that, while it may not be the better choice in the long run, and just might hobble deployments immediately, will keep American assembly lines and American business in the business of making poor choice products.

Most recently in the long line of defense contracts, the U.S. Air Force has been trying to replace the venerable KC-135 Stratotanker. The last airframe was built and delivered in 1965. While the Air Force has publicly stated that many of the later model tankers are only through about a third of the projected forty thousand flying hours, the costs of maintaining and re-building the airframes is skyrocketing.

Since 2002, three separate efforts have occurred to replace the tanker. In 2002, the Air Force tried to lease from the Boeing company 100 tankers to be based off of the 767 airframe. This bid failed to corruption stemming around the fact that a former procurement officer that hand hands in the deal moved to Boeing shortly after the deal was struck.

Nearly immediately after that, the USAF opened up a new bidding under the KC-X name. Boeing re-submitted the KC-767 for evaluation, and Northrop Grumman, partnering with European Aeronautic Defense and Space, brought a proposal of using a variant of the Airbus A330, internally designated KC-30.

In February of 2008, the USAF selected the Northrop Grumman/EADS entry as the new tanker. In March, Boeing filed a protest with the Government Accountably Office. During the investigation, many Senators and Representatives shouted at the top their lungs their support for Boeing.

Many claimed that this move would keep tanker jobs in the U.S., never mind the fact that Northrop Grumman/EADS would be building two new manufacturing centers in Mobile, Alabama, and that all of the maintenance would be performed by American workers. The GAO upheld the complaint and the bidding process was canceled.

More recently, the USAF put out a bid for the next VC-25, colloquially known as “Air Force One.” Northrop Grumman/EADS did not even bother putting in a bid, leaving Boeing as the sole bidder. Many have speculated the reasoning behind this is that Northrop Grumman/EADS did not want to have a protracted fight with Congress about the thought of the American President not flying aboard a purely American aircraft.

The biggest question that must be put forth is “must the American Military buy American?” My response is no. The fact that American companies have a monopoly on military contracts only allows for complacency in the marketplace and forgoes the entire thought process of capitalism by not allowing these other companies to submit their bids and force American companies like Boeing to step up their game against the world.

Competition only brings about better products for less money. Right now, the duopoly on Boeing and Northrop Grumman/EADS can only fail for the military and force America’s global influence to wither and die.

Buying The Best,

Johnny Rumble

Friday, January 30, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
Obama and Afghanistan

In the days following President Barack Obama’s inauguration, he has discussed, and implemented, several plans dealing with the current “War on Terrorism.” The ordered closing of Guantánamo Bay Detention Camp, and very vocal support (with many campaign promises) of a pullout from Iraq, one does have to wonder what he intends to do about the “forgotten battlefield,” the original War on Terrorism target of Afghanistan.

An international poll of 24 nations conducted by Pew Global Attitudes project in June of 2008 found that 21 of the nations polled showed a desire for a pullout of Afghanistan, the only three, the United States, Britain, and Australia showed a generally favorable view of keeping troops in place until the situation became fully stabilized.

Speaking only in terms of world strategy, it makes complete sense for United States forces to stay in Afghanistan for the extreme long run, much like South Korea. The United States does not have a stable “home base” to operate from in that region of the world, unlike the Middle East, where the U.S. operates bases in the U.A.E, Qatar, and Bahrain on the Persian Gulf, Turkey to the north, and the island of Cyprus to the west in the Mediterranean Ocean. U.S. Forces also formerly had several bases in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.

In that region of Southwest Asia, the U.S. Military has very little presence. Support in fact has to come from the Middle East, from Diego Garcia in the middle of the Indian Ocean, or in extreme instances, Guam in the Pacific. Also, the United States does not have territorial right to Diego Garcia, that being owned by the British, with the (unlikely) possibility of a denial-of-use.

If this happens, that would leave only Guam and bases on the Persian Gulf as staging bases for large aircraft, supplies and equipment. Due to rising tensions between India and Pakistan and India and China, a U.S. presence in the area could be helpful if conflict were to break-out in that region, with fast response time and forward operating areas.

Strategically, Afghanistan is a near-perfect base of operation for the theater, and I can only hope that President Obama, while perhaps ending sustained war operations in Afghanistan, will keep a U.S. boots-on-the-ground presence to protect interests and provide a stabilizing factor to the area.

Ground Pounding,

Johnny Rumble

Thursday, January 29, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
Abecedarian poetry about Spicy McHaggis

Probably the biggest stinking pile of poo I've ever had the pleasure of writing, but it's an assignment, and I completed it.

A story that I’ll weave for you
Bout a man constantly on the prowl, looking for
Chicks over 400 pounds. He is always
Drinking beer, so his vision is always blurred. This is an
Eccentric story you may have already heard.
For Spicy McHaggis is a
Good fella at
Heart
It’s
Just that he sometimes pisses his filthy
Kilt.
Love him or leave him, it
Matters not. The unfortunate thing is, he
Never knows who drank all the rest of his beer
Oh Spicy McHaggis, what were you thinking? You got that girl
Pregnant, just because she played with your unit. What a
Quandary you bring to the boys, telling them you’re a dad. Was her name
Rita or Rice, maybe it was Condie or Carrie. Either way she was yelling your

name,
Spicy! Spicy! Oh Spicy! Yes Spicy! Right there!
To tell the truth, she did ask for a glove, but Spicy didn’t hear when he lifted his
Urine soaked skirt and gave her a quick shove. Many nights he spent in this
Very pool-hall, playing cards, throwing dice, and playing for the girls and
Won them all. In some little black books, Spicy’s name has a little black
X placed to the right. Perhaps not all the girls
Yell Spicy! when he walks in the door. But I’ll tell you one thing, I caught my
Z’s the night Spicy laid me on the floor.

Saturday, January 24, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
"...Like Leather on a Duck!"

Tomorrow is a big huge day for me.

Tomorrow, barring some unfortunate disaster, like pregnancy, I will acctually be finishing or be very close to finishing Johnny's Folly. Eventually, I'll break it up and create a whole 'nother blog for it to sit and reside and get hits and comments and love and hate. So look for that in the next couple of weeks to become a reality.

And I know what you're thinking...

"Johnny, you've promised this shit before, and you didn't deliver. You a cracker foo."

To this I say nothing.

Tanning hides,

Johnny Rumble

Sunday, January 18, 2009

Trav:
New Semester.

Hiya all. Sorry I've not been around much I've basically been nowhere really, exept in irc- and even that I'm not chatting nearly as much as I used to. But now that the semester is starting up and ya know back at school hopefully I can get some of my ideas down. So oddly enough I've started to go to mass again. I'm not too sure whats prompted this, but i do sort of get a sense of I don't know lets call it contenment- when I go and afterwords. At least till I get back to the dorm and erveryones running around.

So for Christmas I got clothes, and games. I got some really nice sharp looking clothes. Boots, shirts and a trench coat. From Mom I got the shirts and coat are from JCrew and they look really good. Dad got me games, boots and a sweater from Finegans in Azerbaijan which for strange factor is a nice sweater for wearing around the house. Oh and my ipod is being obsinate so I get to yet again rebuild my music library you'd think by now I'd back it up...Note to self: back up the damn music already :)

Cheers
Trav

Friday, January 16, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
Corners and "The Corkscrew"

Whenever I get in a depressive, dark and down mood, I like to think about corners. Road corners. Finding the proper line through 90 degree bends, off-camber switchbacks, banked ovals and blind sweeping right handers. The kind where you don't what's five feet down the road. All I can usually hope for is that there isn't another enthusiast coming round that same bend, tucked on the inside, tires barely hanging off the side of the pavement and inadvertantly plowing head on into me. On the other hand, I would be a decent way to go.

But regardless of my ultimate fate, I think about corners a lot. There's on particular corner on my usual street raceway that has always plagued me. It's a blind sweeping right hander with six foot tall bushes on the inside and barb wire fencing on the other. I've never been brave enough to put my foot throught the floorboard and tackle the corner at full boil. Never done, and probably never will be able to.

I'd like to think I'd have the exact same problem at Mazda Raceway Laguna Seca. The infamous and terrifying "Corkscrew." Blind entrance to the left, blind apex, and one hell of a hanging-by-the-shoulder-straps drop off into a blackout enducing right bend. I should aim at a tree and hang on. I acctually slam my asshole shut and pray.

Twist and Shout,

Johnny Rumble

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
It's A Retrospective, Introspective, Foward-Thinking Moment

My sanity is fucking gone. Out the window, down the toilet, swirling around the drain gone.

I'm acctually concidering going through POST. Just to say that I have it on my resume. No intention of even being a cop. Just doing it. To say that I did it.

I'd be backing that up with EMT and Firefighting training too.

I've seriously lost my fucking mind.
___________________

Fortunatly, at least some of the grey matter managed to stay between my ears. I sat out in the garage on the cold concrete just staring at my car for about an hour. It was on jack stands, the wheels off, and the inner fender tubs removed. All the little nasty bits and pieces exposed, naked, for all the car geeks to see. TOTO was on the workbench radio, blaring thier little electronic tinny hearts out. They sounded like shit.

I reached out with the toe of my boot and just barely nuzzled the rocker panel, withdrawing it quickly, like I would somehow wake up a fire breathing beast. I was giddy, my heart pumping blood like I'd just run three mile flat-out. She was sexy sitting there, restrained and nude. I played the pervert. "You're such a dirty girl. Maybe I'll wash that dirt off today."
______________

I'm finally learning how to weld this semester. Just basic MIG welding. Something to use in the garage. I'd learn to TIG, but MIG is cheaper in the start up. And I'm broke. Books are fucking expensive.

"Eating words has never given me indigestion",

Johnny Rumble