These City Streets

Johnny Rumble: A Relative Unstable Stability

2011-10-30T11:35:00.001-05:00

I'm as unstable as I'll ever be this year RIGHT NOW. Sitting at the computer, drinking Lemon Youku herbal tea, tikking and typing on a wireless keyboard, listening to Hong Kong rap pop something or other and Crass in simul-cast from the left and right speakers on either side of glowing moniter. SAMSUNG.

I'm leaving on a Jet Plane. I'm gonna wear my purple sunglasses and pretend I'm the Queen of England. Or Elton John... kind of the same thing really.

Particles of dust are floating around me, I can see them like I can see the bubbles in my eyeballs. There, but mythical, mystical.

I'm sticker-bombing The Saturn, and you can't fucking stop me.

pbbbbt,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Surviving

2011-10-18T20:56:00.001-05:00

I don't write like a used too. I could almost say that I don't write at all. Most of what I write anymore is little 'x's, VIN numbers, Licence Plates and whatever sorry excuse i can make up on the spot for why your car's camber is three degrees out of wack and can't be fixed. I fall back on "It's a solid axle and needs shims. We don't do that here." a lot. That's because Toyota is still making solid beams. So Toyota goes, so goes the rest of auto manu-fracture.

I'm still amazed at how good the FD RX-7 looks to this day. Gave me a little chub in the biting cold morning air today.

My employer is finally forcing me to at least learn how to manuover a manual transmissioned car around the parking lot and into the bays. I've only stalled out two so far. A shit-box Ford Ranger and a BMW 330i. The Beamer was on a wet day, and I didn't get enough speed to get up the alignment rack. Stupid me.

Thoughts in my head arn't really complex questions anymore, not like they used to be. I don't think I'm getting any dumber, just less... provoking. I don't care about what's moral or amoral, politics, philosophy, or any of that bullshit that colleges try to teach thier students. Not anymore. I'm a working stiff, blue collar, boot wearing Skinhead, who just needs to bonus out everyweek to feed the family and pay the bills. Knowing who Kant or Hume or Descartes is does not play into turning a wrench.

I believe is why I don't bother with the practice of writing much anymore. It dosen't fill the need to survive.

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Heart of Darkness

2011-09-24T23:28:00.001-05:00

My thought process has turned as dark as the water in the bottom of the bath after a hard day's work. Not to say that I'm falling into a depression or anything, and fuck know's I'm either to stubborn to die by bleeding out, or too chicken shit to try, but the moods, the thoughts, the emotions, and the cravings have turned "dark."

I find solace from this state standing under the hot rain in the shower, a reflective time, to think about what is going on, the sounds of the H2O and dirt pounding on my skin and the plastic under my hot pink toenails and cracked calluses. The isolation helps, my own version of the padded cell. Sometimes I hear a sad piano playing softly.

I don't think much anymore when I'm in the "real" world. It all looks 1940's Film Noir anyway, black and white, lots of shadows, even in the daylight. That's where I've ben thriving, in the shadows, the ones under the cars, adjusting this or that, turning eccentric cams and making the red box turn to green. I don't even have to look up at the undercarriage, the naked and exposed beauty of a well crafted frame, like a proper stripper doing her job really well. The curves, the heft, the sensuality is gone. It's all the same. I'm Hollywood Goth again I guess, all dark and depressed, black clothes hung on pale skin.

Self-medication, if possible, would probably entail Zolfot, Trileptal, Lithium and Codine. This cocktail would probably end up killing me, but strangely, I seem rather okay with that, going out in a blaze of OD glory, the fields of white chrysanthemums billowing in the breeze, the clouds in thier white fluff, marshmellow paste in the sky, edible, if only they could be reached. The lone jet fighter streaking across the blue, chased by long trails, a road for the cowboys and wranglers to follow. The apple trees would be dancing, humming hymns, Amazing Grace, Swing Low, the notes and keys marching on the branches. A ladybug crawls onto the green leaf, spreads it's wings, and I lay back and close my eyes, rocketing to the dusty plains of Mars,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Hater Face

2011-09-01T22:49:00.001-05:00

It's been an interesting week. Between all the shit has happened, the amounts of liquids I've inhaled into my stomach, and the seemingly ever increasing tiffs that occur in my our house that have led up to this week of raging hormones and no-sex, my nerves have been, well, fucking shot.

I know this, because I kicked a guy out of my creeper chair today.

"Dude, get off my chair."

"Hang on, lemme finish..."

"Get th'", I don't know why, but I've been dropping letters out of my vocabulary when "The Hate" hits, "fuck outta ma chair, and lemme do thi' muttafuckin' alignment!" Boot.

I was approached later by another co-worker.

"You got your Hater Face on." We all have one, mine's just a stern, slightly pursed lips, eye brows lowered to my cheek bones and eyes wide for trouble kind of Hater Face. I use this face to tell other faces to get the fuck out of mine.

"'Cause I'm fuckin' hatin' on all you motherfuckers, you irritating shit-stains, you..." I veered off into a rant that I don't remember most of what was said, but it was a five minute tiraid about how everybody could go drown in a pool of chlorine and ammoinia.

He looked at me with a bit of his Hater Face. Sizing me up, I guess. Didn't matter, I was squeezing the life from an already inanimate spanner. "You cool?"

I drank in the soupy air, the non-chlorinated brake cleaner, the NOx, the hot dino-juice, and all the tension in my veins. I softened and smiled. "Yeah. You cool?" We pounded fists and went about our days, better for everybdy involved.

Lovin', and Hatin',

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Busted Bumper

2011-08-23T20:51:00.003-05:00

Theres a Merc S600 Lorinser sitting in the shop right now, the bumper is broken, busted by us, the employees of The Company, broken on a piece of curbing, it was sitting to low when we backed it up. Broke the lower valence, a some of the Slot A into Tab B connectors. The paint got chipped, and it's Jet Merc Black.

We'd already broken a center cap, replacement cost: $180.

This is probably going to cost around $4000 to fix all told. New front aero, new matched paint, install, all that shit. I got thinking about it though, started to poke in and around, shining my new $150 flashlight into places and all the training I had in bodywork started to flood back. I thought about the C-10, the Buick, the Power Wagon, the Cobra. I remembered the motions of the sanding blocks, the smell of primer dust, the proportions of of hardener to glaze coat, I remembered it all.

I looked at it, and figured the fix could be done in my garage for maybe $500 bucks. Glue the crack and carefully fiberglass mat the back side for strength, sand, sand, sand, sand, prime, sand, sand, paint, clearcoat, sand, clearcoat, and call it good, because the orange peel on the rest of the body is pretty shit anyway.

I told my manager that it could probably fixed right here in The Company's shop, but not painted, he gave me this look "Do you really do bodywork?" and I wondered if anybody really reads the resumes people hand over at interviews,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: This Time, Nice Guys Finish First

2011-08-23T20:16:00.000-05:00

I don't know if it's still the case in the Japanese industry, but I read a few years ago how employees usually don't switch jobs or careers very often, if at all, because of the way The Company will actually take fucking care of it's own. Lay-offs and work stoppages are uncommon. The Company won't enter into short term high profit contracts if the possibilty of the employees being hurt happens. Hearing about this revelation in business occuring in a far-away land that isn't America jaded me to the whole fucking system here.

What the fuck does somebody do with $14.7 million a year before stock options anyway? "Honey, the Royce has a bit of dirt in the carpet. I'm going to buy a new one. What color would you like for this one?"

For the record, Rolls-Royce has 14,000 different shades of paint.

I'm happy that I found another Company that really does give a shit about thier employees. I'm well compenstated, over-time is an accepted reality for the accountants, and job-related self-improvment is rewarded with a pay-bump and bonus. Some of the people I'm working with have been at the store for 10+ fucking years. There are very few places where somebody can actually retire with twenty+ plus years anymore. Military is one, Ministering the sheep is another.

This Company actually seems really happy for me to be there, I got promoted from relegation to mid-table with-in three months, given chances to show what I'm made of, burned, sweated, bled, and even let out a teardrop or two. I've come to work happy, smiled through it all, complained little, and got rewarded.

Now to just learn how to do my new job quickly and effectively,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Kal-e-forn-i-ka-shon

2011-08-02T22:34:00.002-05:00

Traveling back to California in November. Not happy about it, not angry about it, not sad about it, kinda... beige. Just beige about the whole thing. It'll be nice to see the wife's family again. With all thier lunacy and very flexible rigidity and "Oh honey, you must be starving, here, eat this huge slice of grilled ham, onions, bell peppers, hash browns, gravy and biscuts and...". Any weight I might have lost in the coming few months of DIETting (Dead If Eatting Trash, as in, she will kill me if I eat a donut.) will be put back on with the home cooking and white people soul food.

I've been sustaining myself with make-at-home Gatorade, grilled cheese sandwiches and Tomato and Red Bellpepper soup. This mechanic's job in an open shop, in the dead of feckin' summer, is murder. I nearly passed out today from heat exhaustion. Or it could have been the "Chicken Bacon Ranch Tacos" the wife made. I was hungry for two. Should only eat one. But the job is paying the bills quite nicely, and it's funding the trip back to the land of the living dead. So, eh, beige.

The thoughts of cas keep creeping, around and around. A Chevy Trailblazer chassis, four wheel drive, with a Model A pickup body on it. Rusty, chopped, ratted, with all the reliablilty to get to work or whereever at the turn of a key. Plus, if it can pull it off, a four-by-four lowered rat with big chunky off road tyres would be just plain sweet looking. And the most unique car in the parking lot, anywhere. Hard parking.

It's a rambler, this was known, but the need to get thoughts out trancended the need to have "real" posting with "real" thoughts, fleshed out in the usual Johnny style, which is constantly evolving and devolving and paradigm-shifting and getting lost in the woods.

Wishing cars still came with tape-decks, mixtapes sounding good,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: The State of Motoring

2011-07-20T22:18:00.001-05:00

I would like to declare right now, on the internet, that the state of the Motorist is dying. There aren't many of us around any more. The ones that will enjoy a car in the raw, without the air conditioning, the non-leaking roof, traction control, anti-lock brakes, TPMS sensors, and all the things that the government has mandated to be on new cars and trucks that take the fun out of the powerslide or hitting a tree and charoming off the dashboard. Instead, when we stab at the brakes of a new Nissan, we are left picking teeth out of the steering wheel because modulation is just impossible now.

People used to talk about how the oil smelled after it got hot, and how they fixed the screeching fan belt, or re-tapped the frame to hold the suspention in place because the bolt rusted and broke. They used to be able to fix thier own damn cars. Now we have mechanics to do that, 24-7 wrecker services to rescue us.

On that note, everybody needs to own a car that will kill them. I don't mean owning it and getting rid of it, but keeping a deathtrap in their name all the time. Cars that if they cook the brakes on a winding downhill mountain road will kill them, flywheels, that if over-revved will explode and cut through flesh. Engines about ready to catch fire, wiring that exposed and bare, and rusty sharp metal that will give them tetanus. Rat Rods are one way to go, and the way I probably will to, and then there's the sexier, classier way of Alfa Romeos.

My car may be broken, but I'll be laughing more than you,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: The Go-To Guy

2011-07-19T21:49:00.002-05:00

We all have that one person in our lives, the one that can do, will do nearly everything to make your life easier, usually at some sort of expence to thiers. I've always kind of been this way, service before self, so that others may live, others first, above all kind of shit. I will take time out of my meal, my swallow of ice cold milk, to help you on your journey.

I got selfish for a while, hoarded my time and wasted it here, in front of the LCD screen, listening to music on Windows Media Player, and got little out of it. Certainly not anything I could remotely call a "life." I think that's part of the reason I'm a mechanic now, fixing people's cars, not worried about making the commission, living off the hourly wage, more concerned with getting the job done right, and have the customer leave with a happy smile.

I'm back in that regard, helping others, annoyed by them all the same, but helping them. People outside of work ask me for advice, help with their brakes, or their ball-joints, or electrical systems, or fueling issues. People will ask me for advice on what car to get. This has led to my very opinionated rants and raves about certain cars and engines and engineers and the dumb shit they sometimes produce.

I'm a Go-To guy again for automobiles. After seeing the servicing needs, the general state of aging, and watching what becomes a fine Single-Malt versus Kentucky mouthwash. People are asking for my thoughts on the subject.

I'm steadfastadely unsure about my newly assumed old position in life,

Johnny Rumble

Trav: New Car, And School Is Done!

2011-07-06T21:31:00.002-05:00

So quick update from Williamsburg visiting the grandparents on my day off work. School was done a month ago, and Dad offered to get me a new car, so I'm getting that after work Friday. Will post pictures later, as well as what the car is, guess away the twelve of you who appearently read this(YAY readers :) ). Regular updates should resume as well.

Trav

Johnny Rumble: Skinhead, no boots

2011-07-05T21:31:00.000-05:00

The electric shears took my hair down to less than a sixteenth of an inch today. All the dead skin, shampoo build up, and plain ol' dirt fell off in chunks I'd rather not describe. After nearly three inchs of hair growth, I'm a Skinhead again.

But I have no boots. The Wal-mart brand I bought as a stand-by have given up, worn through in six months. I miss them, boots. The smells of the leather and ranky foot odor, the Dr. Sholls inserts, laces fifteen miles long, a tedious but loving process to fit them snug and happy to the feet and ankles and calves. A good eight inch boot, with a steel toe. Black leather, Combat boots.

So I walk around in my Guinness brand flippy flop thongers, and Converse All-Stars knock-offs, black, with formerly white trim. These have holes too. I don't roll my legs like I used too.

I'm still a skinhead, like I'm still a punk, like I'm still a child.

I've just been distilled to a mental rebellion of apathy,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Wikipedia

2011-06-24T20:43:00.000-05:00

We've all done it, and those that say they haven't are just lying through their god-damned teeth.

The rightclickopeninnewtab/window deathtrap of blue hyperlinkedness that is Wikipedia. That is, unless you run a Mac.

Fuck Macintosh. But that's another story.

Don't get me wrong, I really, really like Wikipedia. It's a very useful tool for me. I can find nearly everything on Wikipedia now, from information about a particular music album to universal events on any given day, from 6000 years ago to eleventy-billion years in the future. It is, i must adimt, rather sad that in just five years of really using Wikipedia, I believe that I have learned more relevent information for the here-and-now of my life than in the previous eighteen years of school and university. I've learned about Lagrangian points and determined that it would pretty cool to have the mathmatical diagram tattooed into my skin, the Century series of American fighters, the original magazine-format of Top Gear, along with numerous other factoids about cars, astronomy, history, people, places and times.

I don't know if this is just the rapid advance of technology that has allowed my brain to become filled to the point of non-retainance, or just plain old information overload that we as the next-generation have been subjected to and have overcome with our own versions of the somewhat problem (a la Facebook, SMS messaging, and always-connecttedness. Minty Andee got away from it all with a great degree of self-described success.).

I'm still unsure if I like this "problem." Somedays I'm a complete Menonite with everything I own, and other days I just can't get away from the keyboard on either my computer or my phone. I'm wondering if I need a country re-education with a Mud Swamper C10, tinny radio playing KXXY and a pyramid of cans on the tailgate.

Sounds fuckin' dandy,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Smile Worthy Things in Alphabet

2011-06-10T23:33:00.000-05:00

Another person smiling will just lighten up my day, make it a
Brighter existance, just so that I have the
Chance to go buy that pair of
Dykes I've been
Eyeing at the welder's supply for a
Fortnight, so that I can finally, finally
Get to all the re-wiring I've been fix around the
Home, but
Instead, I'll continue working at my upscale
Jiffy Lube-type job at the local tyre shop, with all freedoms that good bosses bring, unlike at
Kwik-Kar, but I digress, I'm
Learning more there now, and I think am happier with this job, than to sit,
Morbidly and obese in some small
No nonsence
Office cubicle
Preparing TPS reports, intentionally forgeting the covers, hoping to rotated to
Qatar for some fun in the hot blazing sun,
Returning with a wonderful golden tan,
Slimmer, more condenced, concentrated, spicy and
Tangy, like those first few sips from slightly
Unfrozen Gatorade, that first little bit, extra blue, extra sugary,
Vectoring toward the horizon, flinging away the
Waywardness, the
Xerox copy of every teenagers angsty life, measuring everything I do to the
Yardstick that I set for myself, eventually, just maybe retiring on the island of
Zealand, in the outskirts of Copenhagen, to live, and die, an Expat.

Talking about unfocused poetry, fuck me...,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: From the Foot-Locker Etchings

2011-05-25T17:54:00.000-05:00

She laughed, I laughed. I don’t remember at what though. Everything was a blur. That kind of blur that occurs after I’ve been two fisting that Somerset wine. Even in this state, I was still mix mastering drinks in the kitchen. A little of this, a lot of that, and suddenly it was a Melon tasting concoction that had a mild spice to it. Like a Serrano pepper or something.

My shirt had already slipped off my body by this point, the cotton just getting to itchy to stand any more. I don’t how she managed to do it, but she had, ice cubes and all, ended spilled on top of me. Maybe it was my forehead that had knocked the Collins when I went to rest my head in her lap. Call it a bit forward.

Oh wastage, I stated, rolling to my feet. Her eyes got a little mischievous, We can’t have that, her voice cut in, all soft and sexy, smoky even. Like an underground Parisian bar during La Nouvelle Vague. The hypercritic in the recesses of my skull thought that her line had a particular cheese to it, but the voice, the voice had done whatever magic I hoped it was supposed to. The haze was still there no doubt.

She licked my skin. Got on her knees, pulled my closer by the waist of my jeans, and licked my stomach, getting the booze and flavor that lay there. She kept licking, kept at it. I could feel an involuntary smile cross my face. I haven’t seen that smile in while, she cooed out, Why not? I didn’t, couldn’t have a proper answer that wouldn’t give everything away and lay me there, on the carpet, naked, exposed, and unsure. Because, was the best I could get out.

Pulling me onto the couch, she straddled my legs, effectively pinning me, underneath her, and her tongue, her lips, her warm breath. That tongue had made its way to my very erect nipples, getting them clean of the sweet and spicy drink I had made for her. I had a hold my wine bottle until she took that from me, and pinned both my wrists under her knees, never stopping.

I had closed my eyes, relaxing, and enjoying the attention she was giving me, her tongue swirling on my chest, the quick little bites she gave my neck and shoulders. Somewhere outside, I heard the party music switch to twang bluegrass, and her tongue stud traced up my carotid, sending shivers down my spine. She nibbled on my ear lobe for few seconds, breathed gently into my ear, I need another drink, full of suggestion.

She had a devilish look about her when she left the room, leaving me, still in haze, clothed, hard-pricked, and teased. I never did like that woman, taking another drop of wine. She wasn’t coming back.

Love,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Flag Waving Ameri-won't

2011-05-02T13:34:00.002-05:00

With the death of Osama Bin Laden in Pakistan on May 2nd 2011 local, and the subsequent annoncement by American President Barak Obama, CNN's White House camera turned toward the fence line of the front lawn to capture images of many people waving the American flag, shouting cries of jubilance, and generally celebratining the death of perhaps the world's greatest terrorist leader. I was notifed of the news, in fact, buy the ecstatic-toned text message "Breaking news: Osama Bin Laden is dead. We got him!" sent by one of my friends. The subsequent partying and celebrations that occured (many can be found on YouTube) have left a cold feeling in the pit my stomach about how Americans have reacted to the news.

The War on Terror since 2001 has left a trail of destruction and death in it's wake, death tolls have varied widely, but official Department of Defence reports place the death number at six thousand as of May 2nd 2011. War, any kind of war, is frankly and utterly state-sponsored murder (and if you believe Ramsay MacDonald, suicide), with malice-aforethought, and much planning on how to commit less "suicide" for the goodies and murder more baddies. Six thousand men and women in uniform sent out to murder the murderers, with six-degrees of seperation many times, that "commited suicide" on the murderous fields of war

We mourn these six thousand, pray for the familys, and re-commit our resolve to get those responsible and murder them back. But we don't stop, mourn or pray for those dead. Forgetting the familys of those dead left behind, the children with out fathers, mothers, brothers and sisters. Instead, the American people celebrate and cheer that other Americans murdered, rightly or wrongly, murderers. And we celebrate the fact that the Americans practiced for seven months on the best way to murder. Premeditated, with-malice, murder.

Osama Bin Laden, along with hundreds of thousands more people, was murdered by Americans, and despite what President Obama may have said on national television, justice was not done, there was no trial, Bin Laden was instead shot in the head, murdered, and a nation rejoiced and partied and praised the offenders.

Love,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Summary of Life

2011-04-26T17:59:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I prefer to sit back on “my” reclaimed MG car seats and watch the world pass by from the comfort of my garage. But this gets me into trouble. I lose track of time, forgetting that there are certain obligations I owe to people. Obviously, these people get upset, but I plow on, sitting there, occasionally peeling my thighs off the seat leather.

I spend much time bench-building cars, made for dirt roads and the occasional un-plowed field, and perfect workshops, complete with a home-welded wheeling machine. Yes, I’ve been bitten by automotive body repair and restoration. The work kept and continues to keep me sane at my (formerly) inane and perverse job of oil-change technician and home-maker. I never feel better than when I crawl around the car getting things fixed or changed or added. I’m a cheapskate when it comes to repairing the Saturn.

College has become a torture chamber, the lunacy of the professors and the administrative staff preventing those fabled “glory days” from happening. After nearly four long and annoying years, I think I finally figured out what degree I’m going to pursue and head down the path of geek-dom and work with computers for a living. Computer programming... It almost makes me sick to my stomach thinking about being stuck under the white fluorescent, staring an LCD screen while my eyes attempt to stay focused. I’ve done it before and I missed working under the sun. But I was good (and still am) at it.

Much to my father’s worry I think, I’ve re-discovered dirt roads and how much fun it can be to look in the rear-view and see the rusty red clouds billow behind you, feeling the car shake itself to near-extinction, inputs being delayed for fractions of a second, and the buttonless handbrake being a great friend when it comes time to make that ninety-degree corner to speed down another dirt lane. Historians always talk about how the automobile liberated the city-dwellers to explore the country, the cause of urban sprawl, and the creation of the suburb. I’m becoming an Okie again, trying to get away from all of that. I want the isolated house, out in the middle of the plains, dirt and prairie for miles, and a lifted Subaru wagon to get me into town quickly to get the groceries and back out again, for I have a woman to love, dogs to feed and a fender to wheel out in the shop.

Speaking of a woman to love…

She finally got though my thick and oft-cracked skull that I need to let out probably one of the biggest secrets that I’ve kept from the family. Although I’ve sure some people have figured it out by now, there is a circular band on both of our left ring fingers. I consider myself extremely lucky she said “yes” given the circumstances under which I asked her. So that’s it. I, Johnny Rumble, am engaged. Crazy thought. I guess that this could be that officially un-official engagement announcement. When are the wedding announcements coming? That’s an on-going argument, as only “married couples” have. Or so I’ve heard…

It only seems like last week I was running around underneath the trees on the school playground playing freeze tag and “bubble gum-in-a-dish.” “Tag, you’re it.” Time flies, and I’m sitting in the garage, bench-building, thinking, twirling and spinning my tungsten circlet wondering where it all went, and wondering what’s coming around the corner.

I am much too young to feel this damn old,

Johnny Rumble

Trav: Birds Poem #12

2011-04-16T11:52:00.001-05:00

Yo all, so I got my play done for class but am going to take the time to redo it and make sure it doesn't suck (as much). School is almost over, and I'm about to graduate. YAY happy days.

Birds Poem #12
Birds chirping as the fog lifts
Morning sunshine a welcome delight.
Squirrels run from tree to tree
As a gentle breeze blows steam
Steam arising from my cup
One generating warmth as my day dawns ahead of me.

Footnote:

Flailing around in my head:
Tried so hard to change
Now I find it didn't work.
Too much too young and hopelessly lost
Cos nostalgia's better.

Youthful memories fade away,
What'd I hear you say?
Today's certainly not your day.
"Career opportunities" and missing counsel
Finding myself asking most nights
If I've torn myself down-
Down enough so you'll notice-
That anger and broken promises
Have built a mighty fortress.
Upon these last vestiges,
of personality we try to abandon.

Cos now, your friends, well-
they're taken for granted.
Left you behind
reduced to a footnote.

Footnote:
Flailing around in my head:
Tried so hard to change
Now I find it didn't work.
Too much too young and hopelessly lost
Cos nostalgia's better.

Youthful memories fade away,
What'd I hear you say?
Today's certainly not your day.
"Career opportunities" and missing counsel
Finding myself asking most nights
If I've torn myself down-
Down enough so you'll notice-
That anger and broken promises
Have built a mighty fortress.
Upon these last vestiges,
of personality we try to abandon.

Cos now, your friends, well-
they've beeb taken for granted.
Left you behind
reduced to a footnote.

Thoughts and opinions?

Johnny Rumble: Red Bull Coma

2011-04-12T20:29:00.000-05:00

It's like the worst hang over I ever had, amplified because of the caffine that has now left my system and ended up on the floor in front of my face. I don't remember a damned thing. I was at my desk and woke up on the kitchen floor covered in taurine laced vomit, crushed Red Bull in one hand, letters to the family in another. On the plus side, it looks my house got fuckin' CLEAN.

Another six hours of my life disappeared into thin air,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: What Was

2011-03-29T16:43:00.000-05:00

I should have started doing this years before, and I'm only wishing I had the means to still do it, if only for the photo-a-day thing showing a transformation over a set period of time. Videos of stills years in the making.

People always say that we'll look back on our lives and remember what we did and who we were and laugh till we cry about how stupid, dumb and thoughtless we were. That's why I like home-movies. It's a voyeuristic kind of thing, a time-travel machine, able to see in the past, to look at how stupid, dumb and thoughtless we were.

Able to look back and see the children that was growing the adult that is.

Most people have thier first christmas, first steps, first whatever on video. Instead, I have this...

Because it really, really, really sucks! Hello my name is,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Dori Dori

2011-03-23T15:03:00.000-05:00

Three Sixteenths drill bit: begged and borrowed

Zip ties: One dollar for fifty pack

Adding some JDM style to your broke and ass-stock USDM car: Fuckin' Priceless,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: , The Broken Man

2011-03-21T18:55:00.000-05:00

I keep thinking about my lack of employment and how it is affecting my family and home life, which is to say, not that much to significantly. I'm able to keep the house clean, get all those damn projects that have been piling up in the corner done and over with, and have a meal ready for the "real" bread-winner of the house, my ~~wife~~ ~~girlfriend~~ ~~wife~~ fiance (it's an on going argument). I am enjoying the home life, the quaintness of it, doing things on a schedule that's fairly relaxed and un-jarring.

But I feel like a fucking failure when I look in the mirror.

IT'S ME, THE MAN, WHO SHOULD BE BRINGING HOME THE PAY-CHECK. ME, THE MAN, WHO SHOULD PAY THE BILLS, BALANCE THE CHECK BOOK. ME, THE MAN, DOING MAN-LY THINGS, THINKING MAN-LY THOUGHTS, EATING MAN-LY STEAKS, RARE AND BLOODY.

Instead, it's me, the man, who cleans the kitchen, cooks dinner, does the laundry, feeds the cat, and vaccums the house. It's me, the man, who eats a rosemary herbed chicken breast, corn-off-the-cob, and a salad with no croutons cause they have calories, and raspberry vinagrette dressing, because that's what Rachel Ray suggested.

I'm a broken man that doesn't deserve his penis.

At least, that is, until I crawl under the car,

Johnny Rumble

Trav: Another Poem:

2011-03-18T16:59:00.002-05:00

Yo ok so I miscopied the second one, that is about a night of drinking and talking with a friend, the one about Poppa, is here:

COLD:

Biting cold and frozen ground

The windchill cuts

as it erases images from my head.

I'm left alone with my dreams

I wander amongst thoughts,

Imagining impossibilities.

Trav

Trav: Poems

2011-03-18T16:49:00.002-05:00

Yo all what up? So poetry class is going well, got some output for you, here's the first batch, thoughts and opinions? The first is about my state of mind, I mean that I always seem to be paralyzed by fear, the fear of fucking up or that I'm not good enough somehow. The second was written when I'd heard my granddad had fallen outside for several hours and broke his ankle on the ice. thinking about how cold it must have been, well I don't know if I'd have not like frozen to death, or something worse.

Impossibilities:

I'm afraid of failing

to answer the question.

So I'll never move

Frozen in fear by my own reflection

These mistakes,

Hold me in place.

As the fog thickens

Across memories

Of what never was:

A faded map points

To the future

That's hidden away

A land far off, newly discovered

Plagued by doubt

And carrying the uncertainty

Of lies told in the mind's isolation

By a broken mirror.

We don't start for fear

Fear of losing our way

Trepidation grips

Grasping at minds amongst this cold

Shivering hands have lost the directions

Leaving us biting cold and frozen ground

Soundless the windchill cuts

And with malice it erases

Images from my head.

I'm left alone with my dreams

I wander amongst thoughts,

Imagining impossibilities.

Storm:

A calm before the storm.

Long talks over ales:

Free flowing opinions

The state of the union

The Recycled Air

Of the apathetic generation

Trav

Johnny Rumble: Every Day Is Sunday

2011-03-06T17:53:00.000-06:00

...when you're unemployed. So what's the first thing I do the day after I leave my Oil Change job? I clean my electronic paperweight of a PC and re-create partitions on my drives that I've been meaning to do for the past three years. I gained one hundred-and-seventeen extra gigs of storage space on D:. I cleaned the drives, blew out the dust, scrubbed the software, killed the crawlers and polished the blue glowing turd back to some sort of crippled life. It's out of the ICU and into General.

I'm geeking out of my skull right now, remembering all the porgramming and editing I did to this machine. Remembering the menus and menus and sub-menus of Windows XP, navigating around, reducing the Page File from four to one gigabite and shoving it kicking and screaming on to the new partition.

I slapped a go-fast sticker from AMS Oil on to the chassis, hoping for that fabled "sticker-horsepower" effect.

I've forgotten what it's like to maintain computers and tempremental servers. Thier like small children, constantly screaming in the long metal tube known as the coach section of your favorite local airliner while it climbs from sea level to thirty-thousand feet. And magically, they stop, for one small moment, life is good.

Then XP pisses all over your shoes,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Buying New (to you) Cars

2011-03-04T22:22:00.000-06:00

The next time I anybody asks me what would be a good used or new car to get, I'm going to tell them this,
"With a James Bond accent say, "[Wife name] Darling, shall we take the [car name] tonight?" Think about this.

For examples,
"Alicia darling, shall we take the Interceptor tonight?"
"Nikki darling, shall we take the Challenger tonight?"
"Tori darling, shall we take the Marauder tonight?"

What did happen to all the good names cars used to come with? Interceptor, Zephyr, Galaxie. Now it's all alphabet soup. The MKX, SL500, TL. None of these car evoke a sence of wonderment, of occasion, of legend. They just plain don't sound good.

"Kathy darling, shall we take the S65 tonight?"

The woody that I was shaking in my hand thinking about an Interceptor just went away. Alphanumerics simply arn't sexy. Bring back real names, names and invoke something and say what the car is about. And this is also why I'm recommending cars by thier name now, so that when people say what car they own...

"Hey Buck, what are you driving nowadays?"
"A Challenger."

...people stop and think for a moment. It's not just a new Dodge. It's a Challenger. And that means something.

Love,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Okies Properly F*cked

2011-02-11T09:37:00.000-06:00

I love snow...

I missed it so much living in California...

The way it dances in the wind...

I couldn't help becoming one with it,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Self-Censorship

2011-01-30T19:10:00.000-06:00

I hate censoring anything. When I do that, I feel like I'm removing all the best little tasty bits, the stuff addhered to the bottom of the pan, the stuff to make the glaze that covers the ordinary chicken. But I did censor myself. I wrote about something that I...

1.) Had no business writing about any more
and
2.) Could have potentally caused uncontrollable damage to several peoples lives.

It's one of those few times that I thought about what I had written, and thought hard about it, and I didn't like it. So I cut it out, removed it, and in the process, I think I humbled myself a little bit, shocked the writers bit in my brain into some unease about sitting at a keyboard, typing.

Still feeling a little sick,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Old Videos

2011-01-27T22:24:00.001-06:00

(Removed by author)
Pictures never really did you any justice,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Work and The Bar

2011-01-26T12:06:00.000-06:00

I've been keeping myself distanced from co-workers. They all know each other really well, hang out, get drunk, whatever, but not me. Arm's length. Not to say I'm not willing to help them out of a situation, but none of the have my phone number. Or, at least I haven't given it to them. That really used to be a problem after I left High School.

I listen to them talk, about thier pasts and what they do now, how they grew up, the instruments they play, the bands they were in. I'm not one of them. About 90 degrees off of thier path actually. I try not to get wrapped up in thier storys and have mine interwine on some sort of personal level because I know pretty much for a fact that it never leads to anything good in the work place. I have a lawsuit to prove that one.

So I keep work at a distance, going to and fro, earning my weekly paycheck the best way I know how, by putting up AND shutting up.

Still packed in a box in the garage,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Fat Bastard

2011-01-25T22:28:00.000-06:00

I'm trying to stick to some sort of "diet plan." No fast food, no sodas, less sweets, less fatty meals, more salads. I've put on weight. Too much of it in fact. So much so that all three of my camo jackets are a touch too tight around the mid-section. Granted, they always were snug, but I'm worried about blowing out the zipper on my Desert.

I feel like I've lost weight, my work pants are starting to fall around my ass, exposing my purple Fruit of the Loom to all the customers in the lobby when I duck under a hood.

I wonder how many other women have checked out my butt,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Okie from Muskogee

2011-01-17T20:17:00.000-06:00

To be entirely honest, I wasn't sure how to spell Muskogee. I thought it had two 'G's in it.

Being back in here, in what the Tourism Board calls 'Native America,' kinda makes one lose appeal for the low street car and gain a further appreation for the lifted and tall. Not that I've completely lost my fucking mind. Just only banged it under the hoods of too many Subarus.

Subaru Fever I call it.

Maybe it's the All Wheel Drive, the boxer growl, the whooshing turbos and the way the whole damn car flops to one side when it's cranked over. I keep thinking about these things, and the K-5 Blazer my neighbor has across the street and how it's constantly filthy with mud. I think about the zip ties I have in my garage, and how simple it would be to use them to 'bolt-on' the bumpers, so dirt and ice hills won't kill them. I think about light-racks and roof top carriers. I think about top-mount intercoolers, turbo-induced torque, and then I think about having kids and I stop dead cold.

Lexus's fill my mind, luxuroius and able to take the family to a fancy dinner at a fancy resturant with a valet, I think about a LS or GS or IS, finely polished wood dash trays and air-suspension. Supple leather seats and rich sounds out of the speakers, the automatic tilt/telescope rack, big chrome wheels and a Hellaflush sticker on the back window...

I bang my head again on another Subaru hood. I look at Bay #4 and see a fresh Lexus. I look at Bay #2 and see a dirty Subaru. I squint slightly, hold my head at the right angle and lift my left foot one inch off the ground and see it perfectly, The Combination.

Love,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: SUPERBARU: Realization

2011-01-01T22:08:00.000-06:00

Complete the sentence with the answer that best corresponds to Johnny Rumble.

If I spent less time sitting at the computer stroking myself to thought of owning a Subaru, I would have...

A.) A cleaner house.
B.) More money.
C.) Written pieces of literature.
D.) All of the above.

Love,

Johnny Rumble

Trav: Twenty Percent of what?

2010-12-09T18:01:00.000-06:00

Finally cleaned this up enough to be presentable enjoy“No, seriously, I’m not hanging up this phone until I know what is going in your goddamn mind.” The voice coming from the phone was calm and that worried Nick. He paused a moment and licked his lips trying to come up with a witty retort.
On the other end of the phone the line was silent. Nick could practically hear the rat turning what wheels passed for Alex’s brain. He honestly did not understand the guy, why he could turn this down without even considering it. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity. The one shot to make it. The pair got invited to do stand up while the hometown band went out on tour. They would have to do it free, but why not go and have some fun?
Alex snorted into the receiver “Which part of my last sentence didn’tcha get? I don’t wanna go, I’ve never wanted to go and I think the entire thing is pointless. I think it's pointless. I’ve a decent job. Why would I want to leave that? Explain to me what leaving gets me?"
Nick stared at the ceiling as the smoke in the bar gathered, drifting over his head as he sighed, wishing it would be different. "Well look, deal with it. You know I’d love it if you came out with us. Just let me know by noon tomorrow."
"Sure thing, Nick." He heard a lighter flicker on the other end of the phone. Alex drew in smoke. “It's just a crummy time right now what with Ellen leaving. I don't think I could manage a month on the road right now, but I'll mull it over 'n let you know in the morning."
Nick tucked his phone back into his pocket and turned, looking for Phil the bartender. The bar itself was a long shallow wooden rectangle with the opening at one shorter side and the opposite side holding the jukebox. The rest of the small floor space was covered in several small tables and a pool table. Each of the four wall’s space was dedicated to a television with a different sport.
Phil would happily put on whatever game so long as each television still showed a different sport. Phil stood out, leaning against the bar top with a beanpole frame and a mass of dyed green hair slicked back in a pompadour. Being absorbed in the Capitals replay, he was shouting at the television, fed up with the fact that the score was the wrong way. The bartender was polite enough when he came in earlier in the afternoon, but currently with time on the clock running out Phil was becoming more and more agitated. During a commercial Nick felt brave enough to interrupt the stream of obscenities that were rolling off his tongue.
“If the ref would call all the fouls an’not just ours this game’d be a lot less one sided.”
Nodding his head Phil answered. “Indeed, really to lose because of the ref, I mean they’ve gotta have set a record for power plays. Hey now, can I get you anything else? Another lager? How ‘bout a burger?”
“Erm, yeah, lager’s fine. You got a menu I can look at, if it’s no trouble?” Nick looked through the menu and settled on a small tray of wings “That bacon burger looks great but I’ll take a small order of those plain wings and my tab whenever you get a chance. Thanks,” Nick said. When the order was ready Phil came back with the chicken wings and tab.

“Here you go, Nick. Thanks for coming in.”

Nick ate the wings and decided to hang around watching the telly and availing himself to the pool table in between watching sports and debating Phil regarding merits of different movie and music genres.
Setting his lager on the bar, Nick looked at the clock and realized he had to get back home to start grading his econ labs. Phil printed the check out and went back to watching the T.V. Nick took a long drag on his cigarette, staring at the paper as he stubbed the smoke into the ashtray. He didn’t really want to get his tip card. Be seen as that guy, again. If I ask him, he’d think I’m a moron. Its complicated and the bill’s not even that much, the hell with it.
“Heya, Phil? “ Nick called over the bartender.
“Yeah man, what can I do for ya?” Phil asked.
“Well man, you’ve been really helpful this afternoon. I just, look its embarrassing, but I want to give you the twenty percent cuz you’ve been all nice but.” Nick paused and with a sheepish grin went on. “But uh, I don’t know what twenty percent is.”
“Nah, it’s simple. Here’s what you do. Move the decimal one place over, that is ten percent. Then just double it, and that is twenty percent so this is fifteen bucks eighty-nine cents.” Here he pointed at the total. “And moving the decimal over you get 1.5 that’s the ten percent and doubling that you get, oh, about three and a half. But give me whatever you want, don’t go breaking the bank. Just gimmie whatever you think’s fair.”

Nick’s sheepish grin got larger. “That’s it? Why do I not know this already? Cool, I now I can get rid of that tip card. Do ya know how embarrassing pulling that out at the end of a date. How do you know that, or is this common knowledge?”
“I used to teach math down at the private school, but I couldn’t handle the political bullshit- the kids whining and their parents on a never ending crusade.. Come back anytime. It’s Nick right?”
“Yep, I’ll be around for sure. You’ve helped out, dude. Here’s an extra buck man for taking the time, you know, to show me this and you can keep the change. Won’t miss it.”
Nick added up his total with the tip and pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet and shrugging on his jacket, left the twenty on the table.
Tucking his smoke behind his ear he made his way to the bus stop at the corner humming a ditty to himself. He realized that one and half times two does not equal three and half as he lights his smoke.

Johnny Rumble: Driving down I-95 outside of Calling...

2010-12-01T19:27:00.000-06:00

Driving down to Leopardstown. Where the horses run a rat rod. One that continues to something that’s enlightening. So I’m going down, going down. Where the horses run a world of a nightmare, a Toyota 2JZ block. I discovered not to make you love. You’re torturing. ‘Cause all aglow I’m back to wander Francis Street in the self checkout line. It didn’t seem to judge on red steel wheels and whiskey flow, leave the wages.

Because the imbeciles are erased in the aisles of my eye, I bought my time worrying about the existence of our owners, and dead freedom which obliges us declines only in the matter. It’s a 1968 Plymouth Barracuda sans motor. I spent my electrical fears. Wal-Mart. The Plastic bags and the dull roar of the speakers was 23 now, and no one you love, you’re torturing ‘cause all that fucking pressure leaves a 1968 Plymouth Barracuda sans motor.

I had any chance of politics and six months before midnight. Tonight, I needed to fix my electrical system instead of calling my attention to a Tudor Sedan. Chopped roof, rusty and you find you’re going to cover the scrap and are still wearing whitey-tighties. I got all that fucking pressure. It leaves a triple carbureted Ford Model A Tudor Sedan. Chopped roof, rusty and dead freedom. The end of being punk. I was quite appropriate for I’m flat broke. I’m going down.

Where the wine and that there are always ministers and the clouds were threatening worse now, and right, making money along the way. I discovered not to come, but it does remain? China enlist, Cuba dies, Magnitogorsk betrayed the preachers about the existence of the corner of my parents’ church. It got all the oubliettes. Selfishness is victorious. It is terrible. I was going to cover the tires. The countries are always ministers and I was right.

Storm clouds were threatening again. It is hard and jackets, Doc Martens with the preachers about the existence of the unemployed and tall white wall Cokers mounted on red steel wheels and the wages. Because happiness that one buys with the cold hand out and automation. Full of Wonder and anarchy and the clouds were over the hopes which remain China enlist, Cuba dies, And were there plenty.

As I mounted a 1992 Nissan 240SX. I first took this time. I spent my time worrying about “it does remain?” China enlist, Cuba dies, Magnitogorsk calling International, International, International. That about it is necessary to go that you right. I named the Sunday gatherings at the pew. I became a chorus of Richmond. It is victorious. It is asserted like a whipping sting.

And you will not come, it is proposed to the merchants without part out and they take more, then they take more, then they take more, then they take more, then they take more, then they give and they take more, then they take more, then 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. There ain’t no hand out. I fired up hoodies and that one refuses parts with the pew. I had the system. I drove that there are delivered to help anyone or thinking about shorting the Money-king! China enlist, Cuba dies, and the one refuses parts to build working motors. Not this essence of their heathen ways of politics and deputies, because the success is nothing without part out scruples in the matter.

It’s a virtue to something that’s enlightening. So I’m going down, going down. Where the horses run a Toyota 2JZ block. I drove that you got all the Tournées unit in people’s faces and right, making money along the way. I saw the way. I know most of the imbeciles are lost with increasing pleasure. Shout victory over the hopes but what about it does remain? Magnitogorsk International, International, International. That about it does remain?

The countries are lost with the private company? Democracies S.A.R.L. They look at the mall. It became the place to wander Francis Street in the self checkout line didn’t seemed to before midnight tonight. I was already wet from the whistling turbochargers and right. Making it to us declines only in the self checkout line. Didn’t seemed to the dumpsters. Gotta be truly anarchistic.

Driving down I-95 outside of the careers, and you find cardboard to deal with ladder lacing. I was a triple carbureted Ford 239 Flathead. Between the yet-to-be-finished side cowls sat a Toyota 2JZ block. I saved up hoodies and deputies, because the world and all aglow was back there. And you will know when it’s already decided to build working motors. Not on this, this job, this world is necessary to deal with the wallets of freedom? End of Wonder and you find cardboard to wish. I needed the air boxes.

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 that I had a rat rod that captured my first project when I turned 17. I fired up hoodies and no one gives a long time I got old when it’s already decided to Leopardstown. Where the wine and no one buys with ladder lacing. I wore the wages.

Because the imbeciles are always ministers and parts yards for the next few boxes back there. And the euro-dollars want to be thrilled that the joy must amount, that for six months before I found a great vacuum, That’s about it now. Having satanic convulsions in the aisles of the speakers was vivacious and I was still wearing whitey-tighties. I had a whipping sting. And you will not come, it meant to Leopardstown.

Where the wine and automation. The full of Richmond is terrible. I became a chorus of a 1992 Nissan 240SX. I used to wish I had the hopes of making it does remain? China enlist, Cuba dies, And the one mistakes the euro-dollars for want to rummage around the scrap and all their just pay. There ain’t no hand out from the noise from Japan, including a bumper sticker that lasts a chorus of politics and deputies, because one mistakes the Money-king!

China enlist, Cuba dies, Magnitogorsk betrayed the private company? Democracies S.A.R.L. They look at least one a rat rod that the joy must amount, that selfishness is terrible. I dodged potholes and whiskey flow, leave the place to lower. The clouds were threatening worse now, and anarchy and cursing their just pay. There ain’t no fun. Driving down I-95 outside of calling ...

...You,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Sikh's in the Army!

2010-11-11T18:57:00.000-06:00

Army gets first Sikh enlisted soldier in decades.

It has finally happened. And I, for one, am very thankful that it has.

Ever since moving to California and living in a huge Sihk center, I've always thought that there was a large part of the U.S. population that the Militray has disregarded from it's ranks solely on the religous fact of having long hair and a beard.

Well, fuck that. History has shown that Sihks are fearsome fighters, and are some the higest decorated units in both the pre-independence British and and post-independence Indian armies. It has truly baffled me why all the services have not tried to actively recruit this part of the American people.

Hopefully, with this enlistment, the rules will begin to relax and many more Sihks will join, and eventually, perhaps the military will allow anyone to join and serve openly, regardless of religion or life-choices.

Hoo-Rah,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Energy

2010-10-25T20:22:00.000-05:00

I get so tired of never having any energy anymore. College and working a fast oil change place take it all out of me. Yes, I AM FUCKING WHINING. We're all entiled to do a little bit every now and then. But this really sucks because my writing is suffering, this place is suffering (waaaay overdue for a template update), and because of all of this, my inner self-worth is suffering.

I cracked about a week ago. Suicide actually didn't make me feel sad or happy. It was just... okay. I cryed my tear ducts dry while laughing manicially. I needed help, so I did what every broke-ass motherfucker does and drank myself into obilivion. I had a revelation of sorts...

I DON'T GIVE A FUCK WHAT PEOPLE THINK OF ME.

I write what I write, the way I write, not because it makes my teachers happy, but because that's the way I do it. And it's not going to chance on thier whims.
I make booze not because it makes the people who drink it gag on thier tonsils, but because it's blend of C₁₈H₂₇NO₃ and C₂H₆O makes my β-endorphins go wild in my nerves.

I constantly forget that I am who I am, and will not change for anybody. Take me or leave me, I AIN'T FUCKING CHANGING.

Drunkenly,

Johnny Rumble

Trav: Stuff That's In My Head.

2010-10-19T17:54:00.000-05:00

Hello Loyal Readers(at least one person)
Having so many questions,
Now I'm fearing the answers.
So I built a tower and with emotions well guarded.
I've entered your world and with each step, confusion grows.
Since now I've been found out: my barricade rusted away
As the indifference grew unopposed while I stepped on toes.

Something relating to our weekly bible study meetings,and whatever passages we were reading; having honestly forgotten them I won't try to list any, except Sirach, but what part I don't know. Either its straight from the bible with a line or something in the line sparked my interest and I ran with it while listening to the discussions. The following was written down in mid meeting on the computer:
Naked reconciliation you stole the apple of friendship forever cut off.
{Wisdom's scrutiny} in the absence of love.
Without common sense and poor advice, you've shot the dove.
Your chosen friends hesitate when they're dreams mean nothing when vicious talk betrays your secrets

So the next one being about the way to hell, or purgatory being broad and easy to navigate(ie well lit it says I think)
Damned yourself by backing away. You've slipped and fell. Blithely cavorting down the broad road. Now you've led yourself astray with immenent destruction. Come back they call to taunt you again whenever your alone.

Trav: Character Sketch 1

2010-10-07T22:06:00.000-05:00

Hey All, so whats up? FYI if anyone actually gives a shit, I got myself a twitter, so I can at least think I'm important in my own mind. But what is new: well I'm not gonna graduate in the spring, instead its pushed back at semester, so now I'm gonna leave in the Summer WOOT. Yeah Dude summer, which means less time to find a job and all but hey who said life's perfect? So I realized that this semester has left me negligent in posting, but really how many actually read this, maybe respond on twitter or via a comment here? Just to let us know if we actually get any visitors. So for fiction class we've had to write just a simple couple of assignments to start off, and I think its not too bad, certainly I think it has potential for more and I've had a couple of ideas swirling around in my head since I handed it in this afternoon, so I figure that's a good sign right? RIght?So here we go:

The harsh sunlight beat past the bedroom’s blinds. The figure on the bed lay covered in sheets. Curled up in the fetal position they lazily pulled the top of the sheets over their head. Trying to fight off the growing sense of alertness the alarm’s droning buzz sounded. a new day of suck awaited after toggling the alarm off and padding into the bathroom.
Squinting as the light came on Kay gave herself a once over in the
mirror as she brushed her teeth. She gave herself the most cursory floss and ran the shower. Kay was not overtly concerned with feminine things like make up and so a shower was about five minutes even when she washed her hair. Grabbing hair goop by the sink she worked a bit of it into her hair, twisting the ends into spikes.
Once she dressed she went over to little Miriam to wake her up. Waking up Miriam was never exactly the same, some mornings the little one would already be up and walking around in circles trying to open the drawers and other times would still be out like a rock and a dreadful wailing sounded upon wake up. How dare the princess sleep be disturbed over a mere car ride. Kay fixed breakfast for Miriam and collected her work stuff. Fixed breakfast was stretching it she thought, I’m peeling open a pop-tart and pouring a glass of OJ, soon enough she’ll be doing this without me. “Honey would you be willing to try the clock again, there’s types that you can wake up to your favorite songs, that would be fun wouldn’t it?”
Miriam picked at her food, thinking. “Maybe Mom, but are you sure it doesn’t squawk or make that really loud train noise?” The two got into Kay’s car and set off for work.

Across town Kurt had arrived at his new job and took a moment to take in the scenery. What little color there was was faded on the wall with the sides bare bricks and mortor. The rear door was though a narrow choke point between one end of the compound and a larger much older building. He had had to maneuver so carefully to avoid denting his frame but since he was early he had his choice of parking spaces. It’s gonna get annoying if each owner and their gaggle of employees parks back here. Why did she say I had to park back here again anyway? As he thought about the parking as he unlocked the door chains and let himself into the club.
The ‘First Stone” was a hole in the wall alright. It made no pretensions of any other snobbery. The woman who ran the place seemed nice enough and had mentioned she’d be bringing her kid by most mornings to keep up her schooling. He’d been told he wouldn’t have to watch or keep the brat entertained but he’d keep a wary eye out for little toes. Kurt got the place ready, wiping down the counter and setting out all the bottles while he waited for Kay to show up and further explain his duties. Presumably tonight’s scheduled band would roll in and do sound check and at some point patrons would arrive and he’d be behind the bar for the rest of the night. Well so long as he doesn’t have to deal with the brat or crack another bottle over a drunk again, it’ll be a rocking night.

There we have it: Woot

Johnny Rumble: Location

2010-09-07T22:56:00.000-05:00

The question, "Where are you from?" or "What's your hometown?" generally arises pretty early in any conversation with a new person or persons. I always try to answer truthfully.

"Detroit," or "OKC," or "Iceland," are usually the first things to cross my lips, depending on who I am talking to, what we were just talking about or any of the many thousands of factors that plays through my mind as conversations and lies unfold. I can't give you a real answer about why I have a selection of "hometowns," but if I hads to venture a guess, it would be all the moving and traveling I did as a child. It never grounded me to one place. I became a gypsy of sorts. Forever looking for something better, a greener grass, never settling. This has been creeping back into my mind now that I'm back in familiar terrain, looking at familiar faces, familiar buildings, roads. I haven't been here six months and I'm already thinking about the next location, the greener grass.

I praise my child, and nurture him, with the hope that he may never grow up, to keep looking. I'm not sure how much longer I can stay a child, to stay with my child hope and my child thoughts.

"When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child, When I became a man I put aside my childish ways...,"

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Ordinary World

2010-09-01T21:16:00.000-05:00

I can't believe how long this story sat on my hard drive, waiting for me to finish it. I can't believe how long it has been since I've written anything period! Here it is, a Sadie story in the Johnny-verse, heavily inspired by Duran Duran's Ordinary World.

It was Thursday, and the rain was coming down in sheets, to the point that the gutters were over-filled and the drains almost couldn’t handle the influx of water. Regardless, the bus system was running and she didn’t have to walk home the entire six miles. The puddles on the sidewalk were soaking her Vans, and she could feel the squishing that was going on inside of them.

Her apartment complex was looking drab and dark. A concrete structure with no discernable features and looking more like a prison cell block than a home. Looking at the latest graffiti on the concrete stoop, a small smile crossed her thin lips.

Read the rest of this story!

L,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Oldest Kid in Class

2010-08-31T14:40:00.000-05:00

I hate that feeling. The one where you look around, listen to the converstaions and the tones and pitches, and that slow creep on age starts to get into your brain. I tried to shut it out, to make it disappear. But it's still there. I am the oldest student in my algebra class. It's a small whine, it really is, but damn it.

I've been at this college thing for over four damned years now, and I'm a little tired, a little cranky, and have forgotten everything I already knowed trying to remember what I forgot so that I can keep going to college. Things like patience, honesty, sincerity.

I'm resorting to lying, stealing and cheating to get anything done anymore. I'm tired and cranky baby needs his nap.

Sleeping on the job,

Johnny Rumble

Trav: The Runaways

2010-08-31T08:01:00.000-05:00

Sitting in Cancun I started to watch The Runaways on my iPod. I've already bought the dvd and picked it up again on iTunes to watch on the plane(thank you gift cards). I first watched the movie before work the other week and was not familiar at all with the subject, besides maybe hearing Bad Reputation on the radio. So that's what one song out of how many?I O I didn't know what to make of the movie intially since to be honest I was not looking forward to Kristen Stewart since I had to sit through twlighit last summer with my step mom(fun laughs though). Turns out that while it might not be Casablanca, its definitely more watchable then Twilight. So Mike was talking about the movie but it didn't get a wide release, and I missed it at school, so I wanted to see the movie, and after watching it, I was impressed. It is a pretty kick ass movie. I liked to so much I went out and got it the next day. Think SLC Punk! but better made overall.

I mean I've seen better movies this year(Inception) and funnier (The Other Guys) this resonated with me, for whatever reason. So I spend the next couple of days trolling youtube looking up Joan Jett and Runaways vids and what not. Gotta say while its not really my thing musically, it is closer then some of the classic rock stuff, and did find a couple of good songs that were rad. I am getting ahead of myself though. While the movie is called The Runaways its really about Cherie Currie and Joan Jett. It condenses some of the time and what not but the pace is good and it doesn't drag on too long at all, since it ends with the break up of the band. Not being alive in the 70's I cannot speak for how everything looked but the film is visually cool, and the soundtrack is totally awesome. Disclaimer: very little punk rock in it at all, and yes I still like it. Its got a few punk songs, some glam and what not, overall I guess representing what they themselves listened too.

In addition to the movie there is also the commentary by the two lead actresses and Joan Jett. FYI so Stewart plays Jett and Dakota Fanning plays Currie and both do rather well, I mean this isn't like a drama its a biopic about a rock band, so not too sure how much actual emoting one would necessarily need, but I think personally its a good job. Highlight for me was hearing some of the glam songs that I'd heard mentioned and read about prior to the punk scene but up to this point had never heard before. Still not keen on David Bowie but I can appreciate how one can chill out, at least the two songs in the movie soundtrack, along with some Don McLean song(yeah same guy who did American Pie that ten minute number. the best song I thought, and remember I'd not heard this before was at the end of the movie: Crimson and Clover. Yes I get the Joan Jett version is a cover, but its still so awesome.

The credits also had Love is Pain, which I thought sounded really awesome. I mean I had that in my head for the next like four hours at work. Went to myself I gotta go find a cd or something. So off I went to the mall and picked up the only Joan Jett (or Runaways) CD Hot Topic had: some greatest hits comp that is two discs released to coincide with the movie. Again I found some pretty sick songs: Victim of Circumstance with the verse about being told you can't sing (mind you I can't) but it is still cool. and the second disc had a song called Fake Friends which I went holy shit as I heard it and restarted it, to read the lyrics. Song seemed to sum up the last year and half of dorm living. New favorite song though what the hell that says about me, I don't know.

Going back to the visuals in the movie for a minute, I have to sort of laugh at the platform shoes because nowadays that looks quite crazy, though you do see them occasionally. But the thing I find interesting is in the scenes in the clubs and elsewhere that shows them all dressed up (ie for going out and what not) I find that I think that sort of stuff cool, the scene outside the trailer with Fanning's Currie dressed in a yellow scarf sort of thing around her neck looks rad, and we all know leather jacket = badass, duh. But I mean I can see more how the punk fashion comes from glam in aspects, the ostentatiousness(Currie's lightening bolt taken from Bowie for example.) Though I am rather more mainstream most of the time, I can admit that a part of me really thinks the whole bright colors and outfits and putting together a wardrobe just seems awesome and just really fucking cool. Even if I could never A) do it myself B) pull the look off, any of that sort of stuff. I think my red blazer is the closest I get, and that thing is my favorite article of clothing. Honestly, I realize my parents, and especially sister do not like it, but personally I love it, its just not that warm nor goes with any other clothes I have (would lavender, or bright blue go with red?)

Trav

Johnny Rumble: Catastrophically...

2010-08-13T13:26:00.000-05:00

I can sum up the past six months...

Catastrophically good : Getting a multi-thousand dollar refund from the university... to pay off the multi-thousand dollar text-books to GO to university.

Catastrophically bad : Nobody at the university has answered thier phone for the past three months, putting me, the student with the multi-thousand dollar check in hand, into a holding pattern I like to call, Transfer Hell.

Either way, classes haven't even started for the fall semester, and I'm ready to tell the university to check thier testicles, 'cause I'm about ready to saw them off. It's a Catastrophy.

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Letter

2010-08-07T15:52:00.000-05:00

My Dearest Love,

I hope this letter find you in high spirits. It has been raining here for two weeks, and there is little sunshine in sight. I can only dream of the sunny days and fair weather back home. The war wages on, unstopped, the bombs and the shells sending the fields flying high in the air. I saw a couple of aeroplanes fighting above our lines, and it was a wonderful display of manouvering and diving. It had thinking of the ballroom where we sued to dance. Our steps echoing off the walls and the violins sending out that mournful tone. God, I miss you dreadfully. Your touch and your lips against mine. Your soft skin. I hope that I might survive this war, so that I might embrace you and kiss you. I must go now, the Major says it's nearly time to go over the top.

With all my love, and a hope of a return letter,

Yours,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Arrived

2010-08-06T14:23:00.000-05:00

It's over. The move has finally been completed, but now we have loads of boxes that need to be emptied and organzied, furniture that needs to be assembled, and bills to pay. The honeymoon period is over, so I guess, now real life begins.

Am I finally growing up?

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Shalom!

2010-07-11T23:12:00.000-05:00

Good bye California.
Little has occured to cause tears to be shed in your absence.
Hello Oklahoma.
I have missed your gentle winds and delicious milk for too long.
Good bye California.
I'll be sure to write and call when the time is right.
Hello Oklahoma.
Johnny has come to reside with your borders again.
Good bye California.
May your earthquakes and volcanos be left behind.
Hello Oklahoma.
May I conquer your streets and your people one last time,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Houses

2010-07-08T01:32:00.000-05:00

"Whadda think of this rug?"

"Lambskin right? It's nice. Reminds of the smaller rug in the play room. Would have been nice to take both."

"You should have told me! We could taken it!"

"We barely had room for anything more, what with all the crap we raided from your mother and grandmother. Hell, we probably could have asked for the damn house and taken it too!"

"..."

"Don't tell me, your name is on the deed as well."

"Kindasortamaybeyes."

"So why did we just buy a house in Oklahoma?"

"College."

"Fuck that.",

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Diversion

2010-06-14T01:50:00.000-05:00

It's interesting how I always manage to make life altering diversions to actually staying in Oklahoma. The first time it was the military life style that took me away after five years to Arizona and North Carolina for five years, then after a seven year stint back in Oklahoma, I leave for Michigan and California. Now, I'm heading back for a third tour. And the best part is, I'm not alone. I know that I can never "go home." I'm not so nieve. But it is familar surroundings, familiar faces, familar accents. Oklahoma is the closest thing I've ever had for a home state or a home town.

I think my last act of definance will be to urinate on a "Welcome to California" sign. I hate this place. I'm ready to go home.

Okie-bound,

Johnny Rumble

Trav: I Got a summer Job

2010-05-27T14:33:00.001-05:00

Hey all, just a quick note to let people know I got a summer job, more to follow later.

-Trav

Johnny Rumble: Time

2010-05-23T16:44:00.000-05:00

It's amazing how fast time seems to fly when I'm not paying attention. Really, it only seems like yesterday that I started at Yuba College. Now I'm done and through and never to (thankfully) return. Not that I've hated my time here. Not that I regret the things I've learned. It's just I feel, well, cheated.

I've loved nearly all my professors and teachers. They are all great people, and I learned whole tons of potentially useful and useless information from them. But these last two years, with political, social and budgetary drama, I wonder if those teachers weren't constantly looking over thier shoulders, waiting for the pink-slips to land in thier mail-boxes, distracted by the thought of looking for other work.

I'm wondering if my time at Yuba College has left me hard and callous to the issues that other students after me will be facing. The lack of classes, or teachers, or resources. A Board of Trustees that rapes and pillages the campus without thought of the people they have left in thier wake. Overpaid chancellors and a vice-chancellor that has been accused commiting federal offences.

I look at my diploma, I see the names that signed it, and instead of that small sense of pride that I should be feeling in my heart, I feel a sucking hollowness. And perhaps that tells me all I need to know about the last four years of my academic life.

From the land of spoiled milk and crystalized honey,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: The Gospel of St. Johnny

2010-05-01T21:13:00.000-05:00

Chapter 3

There was a man of the Unfree, named Gregory, a teacher of the Unfree.

2 The same came to Music by night, and said unto it, We know that thou art freedom come from Composer: for no man can do these miracles that thou doest, except Composer be with him.

3 Music answered and sang unto him, I sing unto thee, Except people see freedom, they cannot see the freedom of ones self.

4 Gregory saith unto it, How can a man be free when born already Unfree? Can he enter the second time of a womans womb and be born?

5 Music answered, I sing unto thee, Except people may be born of woman and of song, they cannot enter the state of freedom.

6 That which is born of the skin is skin; and that which is born of the Sound is the Spirit of freedom.

7 Marvel not that I sang unto thee, Ye will be born again.

8 The songs of the wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the Sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every one that is born of the Spirit.

9 Gregory answered and said unto it, How can these things be?

10 Music answered and sand unto him, Art thou a teacher, and knowest not of these things?

11 We seek that we do know, and testify that we have seen and heard; and ye receive not your song.

12 If I have told you truthful things, and ye not believe, how shall ye believe in freedom after I have told you?

13 And no person hath given up the freedom, but one hath come before you to provide that freedom.

14 And as Simonon lifted the bass above The Palladium, even so must man lift and throw his shackles.

15 That whosoever believeth in Music shall not settle in servitude, but have eternal freedom.

16 For the Composer so loved the world, that the Music was given to it, so that whoever believed and danced shall not be unfree, but live with everlasting freedom.

17 For the Composer sent not Music into the world to enslave it, but that the world through Music might be free.

18 Those that believeth on Music are not condemned: but those that believeth are not condemned already, because those hath not believed in the Sound of the Music.

19 And this is the condemnation, that Music come into the world, and people loved slavery rather than freedom, because their deeds were untrue.

20 For every one that doeth untrue hateth the Sound, neither cometh to the Sound, lest their deeds should be proven untrue.

21 But he that doeth truth cometh to the Sound, that his deeds may be made manifest in song, that they are wrought in Music.

22 After these things came Music and it’s followers into the land Francisco; and there it sang and danced with them, and set free

23 And Johnny also was setting free near the lands of Jose, because there was much beer and drink there, and the people were free.

24 For Johnny was not to be cast into slavery.

25 Then there arose a question between some of Johnny’s roadies and the Prisoners about freedom

26 And they came unto Johnny, and said, Teacher, he that was with Music beyond the mountains, to whom thou barest witness, behold, the same provide freedom, and all men and women come to him.

27 Johnny answered and said, A man can receive little of value, except what can be given to him from the Regions Beyond.

28 You bear me witness, I am not the Music, but I am sent before him.

29 He that hath the bride is the groom : but the best man of the groom, who standeth and heareth him, rejoice greatly because of the grooms voice : this is my joy therefore fulfilled.

30 He must increase, but I must decrease.

31 He that cometh from Regions Beyond is a provider, he that is of the earth can hear the Music from Regions Beyond, and can help teach those of the earth to hear as well: he that cometh from Regions Beyond will provide.

32 And what he hath seen and heard, that he sang; and no man receiveth his song.

33 He that hath received his song hath set to his gospel that Music provides freedom.

34 For he who Composer hath sent singeth the spirit of Composer: for Composer giveth the people freedom through Music.

35 The Composer loveth the Music, and hath given all manner of freedom into it’s notes.

36 He that believeth in the Music hath everlasting freedom: and he that believeth not in the Music shall see everlasting slavery, and a life away from freedom.

Chapter 4

When therefore the Composer knew how the Unfree had heard that Music made and set free more disciples than Johnny,

2 (Though Music itself set free, so did it’s disciples)

3 He had left Sutter and departed again into Phoenix.

4 And he must go through Vegas.

5 Then cometh he to the city of Las Vegas in Nevada, near the parcel of land that Seigel forfeited to Lansky.

6 Now Lansky’s well was there. Music therefore, being wearied with it’s journey, sat on the well: and it was about the sixth hour.

7 There cometh a woman of Las Vegas to draw the drink: Music asked unto her, Please, draw some drink for me.

8 (For Music’s disciples were gone away into the city to buy food.)

9 Then saith the woman unto Music, How is it that thou, being free, askest drink of me, which I am woman, and unfree. The free do not have dealings with the unfree.

10 Music answered and sang unto her, If thou knewest the gift of Composer, and who it is that asketh to thee, Please draw some drink for me, thou wouldest have asked of him, and he would have given thee living drink, eternal freedom.

11 The woman saith unto him, Sir, thou hast nothing to draw with, and the well is deep: from whence hast thou that living drink?

12 Art thou greater than our employer Harrahs who gave us the well and drank there themselves, and their children and their property, of which I am one?

13 Music answered and sang unto her, Whosoever drinketh from this well shall thirst again:

14 But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall be in a well of drink springing up into everlasting freedom, and shall be indebted to none.

15 The woman saith unto him, Sir, give me this water, that I thirst not, and shall never come here to draw again.

16 Music sang unto her, Go, call thy husband, and come hither.

17 The woman answered and said, I have no husband. Music sang unto her, Thou hast well said, I have no husband:

18 Thou hast had five husbands, all fallen under servitude, and he whom thou now hast is not thy husband: in that sadist thou truly.

19 The woman saith unto him, Sir, I perceive that thou art a prophet.

20 The stories that our father danced and sang at this mountain, and ye say that in Los Angeles is the place where men ought to worship.

21 Music sang unto her, Believe me, the hour of your freedom is here, and it shall be wherever you shall please. Listen to the Composer.

22 Ye have not yet know freedom, and now is when all free people shall sing and dance together for the freedom of the unfree.

23 The Composer writes and sings for all free people of the earth and Regions Beyond.

24 The Composer is here to set free, those that listen will see freedom and will enjoy it.

25 The woman saith unto Music, I know that when the freedom cometh, which is called Music: when it come it will sing us all things.

26 Music saith unto her, I that speak unto thee am it.

27 And upon this came Music’s disciples, and mavelled that Music talked with the woman: yet no man said, what sleekest thou? or, Why talkest thou with her?

28 The woman then left her drinking pot and went into the city and saith unto the people,

29 Come, experience Music, which told me all things that I ever did: is not this the freedom bearer?

30 Then they went to the well and came unto Music

31 In the mean while Music’s disciples sang and danced, saying, Teacher, eat.

32 But Music said unto them, I have food to eat that ye not know of.

33 Therefore said the disciples one to another, Hath any man brought Music nothing to eat?

34 Music said unto them, My food is to the will of Composer and to finish his work.

35 Say not ye, There are yet many lengths of time, and then come the freedom? Behold, I say unto you, Lift your eyes and look unto the fields; for the workers are already free, harvesting not for thou, but for themselves and you.

36 And they that reapeth recieveth fair wages, and gathereth fruit unto a free life: that both they that soweth and they that reapeth may rejoice together.

37 And herein is that saying true, One soweth and another reapeth.

38 You have done no labor have enslaved others to labor in your fields. You would be enslaved to the slaves and their labor, were they not free now.

39 And many of the people of Vegas believed on him for the saying of the women, which testified, He told me all that ever I did.

40 So when the people of Vegas were come unto him, that besought him that he would tarry with them: and he abode there two days.

41 And many more believed because of Music’s own word.

42 And said unto the woman, Now we believe not because of thy saying: for we have heard Music ourselves, and know that this is indeed the freedom giver, the Saviour of the unfree.

43 Now after two days, Music departed thence and went into Phoenix.

44 For Music itself testified, that a provider of freedom has no honour in his own home.

45 Then when Music came into Phoenix, the people did receive him, having seen all the things that he did at Sacramento at the wedding: for they also went to the feast.

46 So Music came again into Phoenix, and he turned the water into drink. And there was a local “nobleman,” whose son was sick at Glendale.

47 When he heard that Music was come from Sacramento to Phoenix, he went unto Music and besought Music that Music would come down and heal his son, for the son was near death.

48 Then said Music unto him, Except ye see signs and wonders of the times, ye do not believe in the free.

49 The nobleman saith unto Music, Sir, come down ere my child will die.

50 Music saith unto him, Go thy way, for thy son liveth and liveth free.

51 And as he was now going down, his servant met him and told him, Your son lives, and he has made us free from you.

52 Then enquired he of them the hour when his son began to amend. And they said unto him, Yesterday, at the hour of seven, the fever hath left him as Music was playing.

53 So the father knew that it was at the same hour, in which Music sad unto him, Thy son liveth and liveth free: and himself believed so that he began to hear Music and allow the servants to be free.

54 This is again the second miracle that Music did, when Music was come out of the Regions Beyond.

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Memories

2010-04-16T13:00:00.000-05:00

I often wonder how often other people think back to the people in thier past. Often? Sometimes? Not at all? Personally, I do it all the time. I'm always wondering how the people that occupyed my past have ended up in thier struggles. People like Spencer, Ian, Brad, Clifton, Daniel, and all the others I've lost touch with over the years.

I tend to remember the little things about them. The seemingly insignificant that just made a huge impression on me. Like Spencers faith, how he would always pray and bless each meal he ate. Or how we would talk about religion and Christianity. And Clifton's severe ADHD, and how he was always managing to get into trouble. I honestly don't think the kid could sit and meditate for more than two minutes at a time.

Ian and Brad I think about at least once a day, if only because they probably had the biggest impacts on my life. Both of them seemed larger than life, able to do it all, I always looked at them like some sort demi-gods, heros to the common child. I've written about both of them, the memories that we shared as young children and old upstarts.

But I've always wondered... do they think their old friends as much I think of them?

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Joining the Past and Future

2010-04-15T12:56:00.000-05:00

Life is working out, shit is getting done, and things are getting written.

After spending umpteen hours and four years at Yuba College, I'm getting out and transfering. I was lucky enough to get accepted to enough universites that I can make a choice, although I'm right now focusing on one like a laser designator. The Johnny Bomb will more than likely be dropped on that campus.

After spending more days, weeks, months, and years (over four and half of them) living in California, that chapter of my life will gracefully be coming to a close in August. It's kind of scary how many people have gotten to know or know-of me in this city. And that will probably be the case in my new home as well, only helped by the fact that I already know many people that live there. But, as will be the case, this town will miss me more than I will miss it. I wonder how often I will think back on my time here.

I've finally got my epic Johnny's Folly written and done, and am now focusing on all the side stories that I can tell from it, from the past and future. The universe is fleshing out quite nicely, and the stories that I wanted to tell are getting told. Look for a short story of Sadie post-relationship soon. I'm also going to be picking up my Gospel again and writing more of it.

Oklahoma, where Johnny comes speeding down the lane,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: The Death of Tokyo Rose

2010-04-06T10:34:00.000-05:00

I knew she was dead. It wasn’t the fact that the passenger seat had been sheered off at the mounts and gone through the windshield, or the fact that I see the motor was sitting 30 degrees offline of the car. I knew Rose was dying because she told me.

Made a run of it didn’t we, you orphan?

With that, Tokyo Rose was dead.

Her body lay in the middle of the street, a Chevrolet van sitting not to far away, the front end smashed in. Rose was caved in drastically right in the middle. Almost looked like somebody had tried to fold her in half. I put the transmission into neutral and took the keys out of the ignition, throwing them on what was left of the dashboard...

Read the rest of this story!

Little bit dead,

Johnny Rumble

Trav:Religion doodles

2010-03-23T10:34:00.000-05:00

So I got well not bored in philosophy of religion class but confused again. This appears to be a common theme. Though instead of going gah and being annoyed I just wrote down words or phrases said in class, trying to make some sense of it all. The person next to me thought it funny so I decided to put it up here.

Pessimistic stoic
This is just a contradiction
Now making less sense then ever
Punishment & Judgement fill our empty heads
Human problems, trying to confront them a tenuous grasp

Eternally loved
We don't see it
Your real being has to be laughing
This experiments poorly designed
changing variable definitions
Clinging to an illusion
Questioning moves within an infinite loop.
What do we know we we concern ourselves with material things?

Trav:Confusion

2010-03-23T10:19:00.000-05:00

Rejection, you want an objection
I just want an answer to the question

As I walk around in my head the dreaming takes hold
Waiting for the house of cards to fold
Depends upon the clock
Tick-Tock Tick-Tock

Doubting eloquence
A misspoke stutter
Is that a flutter?
Friends for all seasons?

They hit rock bottom and keep on digging
Since no one can see their reasons
Distrust, Hope, Wisdom
The cynics manifesto
Bult on the back of the naive's bible
Finite and firm, conviction absolute
The statue in the sun resolute

Friends come and go fleeting in the shadow
Yet one stays, who never runs away
Implaccable and tenacious
He will carry us when we drop
Theres footprints all around us.

Johnny Rumble: The Firm

2010-03-15T14:43:00.000-05:00

It had been two months since my indoctrination. Two months since the Greensea-Pilgrims game that decided who would be going to the Cup final. And today was the final. The very last game of the Amero Cup tournament. Somebody was going home with silverware in their cabinet.

“Johnny! You ready yet? We’re fuckin waiting on you!”

I tightened the laces on my boot and tied them down. I flexed my calf muscle and it barely moved. Perfect tightness. I rubbed the toe with my sleeve to polish it slightly, snapped the sheath closed, and looked at the open door. I’m probably going to have to polish them again this week. I latched the door to Paul’s apartment and the stairs did their usual creaking under me. The storeroom had a flat of water bottles, and pulled apart the packaging to grab a couple. I knew that it was going to be a very long day.

Waking up at four fucking thirty in the morning always means just that.

The air still had that morning chill, even with the sun starting to peak over the horizon. I pulled the zipper on my hoodie all the way to the top and leapt into the back of Danny’s Suburban. He still had glass shards in the cargo area from when I accidentally kicked the ball through his back window. The rest of the guys were still groggy themselves, and Juan had his head back snoring.

“Glad you could make it Johnny,” Paul mumbled.

“Anything I can do to help.”

It was still cold when we stopped at the Flying J outside of Kenly. None of us had eaten breakfast yet, so while the rest were outside stretching their legs, I got us the corner booth in the Country Market. The only problem I was having was deciding between the Steak Benedict and the Big 3 Combo. Fake hollandaise or pancakes… fake hollandaise or pancakes… fake hollandaise or…

“Good morning hon’. What can I get for you?”

I had to stifle a yawn to speak, “Coffee, please. Lots of it.”

“Waiting on more people, or are you ready to order?”

“Waiting.”

“Coffee coming right up.”

Fake hollandaise or pancakes… fake hollandaise or pancakes…
Read the rest of this story!

Love,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: The Fall

2010-03-14T14:41:00.000-05:00

It's finished. After nearly, what, four years of working on it, I'm calling it done. Finito. I'm going to move on with the rest of Johnny-verse.

"Jonathan Lewis, stand and hear the verdict." I stood and waited. "It is the verdict of this court," The judge paused. Dramatic fucking effect, I thought to myself. "On the charge of academic misconduct..." Another pause. I wanted to scream out, Just read it you twat! I bit my tongue instead. "Guilty. The sentence of immediate expulsion carries. This tribunal is finished." The gavel rapped and in a swirl of tacky black cloth, the University judge left the room.

So that was that. My college career was over. Fortunately for me, the District Attorney had dropped charges due to lack of evidence. But that didn’t stop the President from trying his hand at justice. One guilty verdict and I was kicked out of the University of Mary Washington. Out of every university for that matter. Nobody was going to accept an expelled Eagle-head. That thought alone made me want to find the cardboard in a case of beer. I shuffled out of the courtroom and into the early morning sunlight. Stopping and lifting my head skyward, I felt the summer breeze on my face.

Fuck, now I want to get really plastered. Placing one booted foot in front of the other, I started back to my dorm. I had to figure out what to do now. This is great. I have no real job, hell, no job anymore, just about three months worth of cash, and I somehow have to break the news to my parents. Brilliant. I passed the cafeteria, and let my nose do a little detective work. Somebody burned another roast. Yuck. I looked at Arrington Hall across the courtyard and sighed heavily. Yanking open the door to the lobby, I walked over to the elevators and punched the button. The polished doors slid open nearly noiselessly, and I walked in. "Yeah, what would my parents say about me getting kicked out?" speaking into thin air, "Probably disown me or tell me to join the army. Fuck." I spit on the elevator floor and settled into the corner, thumbs hooked in the belt loops, waiting for the doors to close. I got lost in my thoughts.

Or at least I would have, if not for her.

Read the rest of the Story!

With Regards,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Now That I've Done It...

2010-03-08T22:37:00.000-06:00

...I must say that putting Veet on areas that are central to procreation, clean.

I'm going to have to do this again soon,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Booze

2010-03-02T00:04:00.000-06:00

Ask anybody what Johnny Rumble's favorite drink is and they'll tell you "alcohol." Completely straight faced and without a hint of joking. This is true.

So I make Limoncello and homemade Southern Comfort. Real SoCo. Not that store bought bourbon piss-water. It's good stuff. Both are.

I'm genuinely excited about this. I almost can't wait for them to finish so I can indulge in my favorite drink. Booze.

Durnc,

Johnny Rumble

Trav: More stuff from EWC

2010-02-27T18:29:00.000-06:00

Acceptance, Fears of rejection
When will I learn? 1 step forward, now h how many back?
This forest well where are the trees?
Categorically mold myself
Yet not just one label fits

Here's something scribbled down during group discussion:
Arose from discussion of things that sort of drag us, and that we don't like nor ever seem to speak about.

The rope is cut, you've burned the bridges
every effort's made before it breaks again
Bringing us closer, better than riches.
Constantly leaning on other,
We never measure up
just humble levers.

This was supposed to be some sort of contrast using colors, I have no idea where this came about, I think someone at the table had mentioned colors for some reason.

Darkest night followed by brightest day
Show me some shade of grey
Adrift in a clear sea, with depths visible
The land's so hazy just out of reach.
Fingers stretching for a life preserver that rocks in the swell.

Trav: EWC #2

2010-02-25T16:15:00.000-06:00

Zombie automaton
Praying it ends

They say have faith
They say be strong
I'm asking how?

Wake up from this exile
Many a trial
Fear gripping wrong
We let it go, the seeds are sown
Wonder & Amazement
Complicate of Life
Concepts change
The perceptions been degrading
Feeling guilty for time lost
for somethings I can never make up.
Trying not to think, this amazement that I feel.
Well I'm telling you this never seems so real.

They say have faith
They say be strong
I'm asking how?

Where I'm going I won't know
Paralyzed by fear indecision hurts
But this new day, I'ts gonna be alright-
I've found a friend, my heart will mend.
I've learned so much yet feel so little
By the Grace of God.... It's gonna be alright.

Trav: EWC verse part 1

2010-02-25T16:09:00.001-06:00

So I went on EWC retreat, which means Encounter with Christ. I went because I am getting confirmed. Turned out to be an amazing time and sort of learned a fair amount too. Wether I rmeember any of it, well we shall see. We fit thirteen people into a minni cooper in the parking lot because we could. Didn't go anywhewre but that is not the point. We all in our own ways had lots of funs and have made friends. so without further ado:

my chains I'ill break one dayturn around
it's a slippery slope I've found.disguise myself, p...unch the mirror
sarcastic cynism masks insecurities
procrastination and motivation two sides of a coin.

rock bottom You've scraped the barrel
It's insidious sin, your chaining yourself down.
adding links day by day, motivaton lacking
Trav

Johnny Rumble: Lost Businesses

2010-02-25T11:16:00.000-06:00

It's always interesting walking into a business that has the self-knowledge that is will be tits up in just a few short weeks. The people look a little desperate, and there is always that weird sort of vibe wafting from the back areas, parts unknown to the common customer. They will smile, they will laugh at your stupid jokes, and they will treat you like you really are the millionth coustomer they had today, but with special attention and privilages.

The owners and the staff that have stayed behind on the sinking ship are hoping and praying that thing will get better, that the customers will come and the street corners and sidewalks are just that little bit further from their nicely swept patio. If you look carefully enough, you can seem that glimmer of hope behind thier retinas. You are the prophet, they the saved.

It's always interesting walking on to a campus that will, for the most part, be vacant and barren in a few short months. Eighty-three years of history and education, wrapped up and sold off to the highest bidder to clear as much of the debt as possible. The teachers try to be as bright and cheery as they can, knowing they their pink-slips are sitting in their mailboxes, signed by the board members they trusted to protect.

The students, for their part, are mostly oblivious, or worse, silent. The few that are vocal, trying to moblize, attempting to save the college, are just that, too few. Board members are lining their coat pockets with the quarter of a million dollars per year that is being paid to them to do the jobs that they refuse to actually do.

Nobody is able to stop the barking dog on the other side of the fence, clawing and digging, getting into your yellow grass backyard, wanting to bite you on the ankle.

Swimming rat,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Mindset

2010-02-19T22:07:00.000-06:00

It's a delight having to switch mindsets in the automotive world. By delight, I mean an annoyance. Ever since I've been into cars, I've always thought about how to make them go faster. From the age of six, when I would pretend to strap rocket motors to my Hot Wheels, to age 22, when I know a Spoon crankcase girdle would allow me to spin a B18C5 all the way up to 10,000 rpm with little extra modification.

How far gearheads come.

But right now I'm switching mindsets again, for nearly the hundrenth time (note: #1, #2, #3, #4, #5, #6). I used to be all about trucks, with big fucking wagon wheels on them, frames on the ground. Then it was small little four cylinder compacts flitting about the racetrack and the street. Then rat-rods. Back to four-cylinders, but with four-doors for Touring car racing. Now I'm thinking about rally wagons. From '03 GMC Serrias, to '96 Saturn SL2's, to '32 Ford B's, to '95 Honda Civics, and now 1998 Subaru Foresters.

When I was doing my research on Saturns for hop-ups, I didn't find a whole lot. I had to dig deep. Real deep. Ideas, parts, anything, did not come easily or readily. But what I found was staggering. Unfortunatly, in my search for Saturn porn, the rest of the industry started to drop off my radar. I got target fixated. Now, with my focus shifting due to the desire for a new-to-me car, I'm looking at buying the afore mentioned Forester.

Plying my wants on Autotrader, hitting the Forester forums, looking at what other people have built in the many years the SF5 platform has been on the market (especially the Angry Toaster build), and trying to figure out what will fit where, and how the Impreza STI parts fit into the Forester. But all those parts and modifications are getting out of the way of what I really will need to do to this, my other lover.

I need will need her to take me through the snow. Quickly and cheaply. It's looking more and more like I will end up snow bound and drifted in Marquette, Michigan come August. And the snow up there gets deep. This is a problem. The last time I drove in snow with any sort of regularity was when I was making frequent winter trips to the Thumb area. That was four years ago. I was tame then. Now I'm a hooligan. Tail-out and slide happy.

This SF5 is going to quickly re-sprayed a Krylon blue and have various small bits and pieces painted bright flouresent orange for easy sight. The bumpers and front fenders will be attached with zipties, so that when I do hit the inevitable snowbank, they don't get too damaged. This toaster will not be a looker. But it will be a driver. With snow tires and gravel suspension, I'll have an easier time getting around the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. Piece de resistance? The plaid panda bear buckled in the rear center. I'm looking foward to this.

Hitting trees,

Johnny Rumble

Trav: And Now For Something Completely The Same:

2010-02-15T20:09:00.000-06:00

So what else well the other day I said I've been writing and I have. Quite a bit really but it is not what i would call substantial. well not in that there is a plot. There is no real plot, however there is probably themes running through all these that can be debated but since I don't even know anyone gives a shit, or reads it, well it doesn't matter does it? Really though, for a while now I just have been carrying either a pen and paper around with me everywhere I go, or barring that my iPhone, it has a wonderful note feature that works wonders. I'll just put up a couple small things now, and the longer things will go up after I get back from EWC this weekend. I have no idea if any of it is decent, it probably sucks or could at least become less horrible if polished up and as I see stuff I change it but for the most part it is put down here as it was written however many months ago. I think I will start noting the date when I add something since the note feature just updates to the date you added it, not when something specific occurs.
*Note the dashed lines means the end of something*

Behavior gives an impression
here in the spotlight
I say its not attention
Self-esteem again
where do I belong?
self doubt again
what I don't have
I'm fearing the most
-------------------
This fragile thing
I have hope
I may never find it
why take the risk?
When everyone says run.
-----------------------
Self esteem, self doubt
Cannot be the same
I feel secure enough
And now I try not to care
-------------------------
Whats in my mind
Frothing in it's confusion
This river of jumbled thoughts
Meanders through my brain
The course it carves is ever changing.
What will it leave behind
Do I want it exposed
--------------
I don't know what to do
Tedium and boredom punctuate my days
Their voices cutting through the fog.

Johnny Rumble: Four Years

2010-02-14T12:00:00.000-06:00

I can't believe that it's been four years since I started this place. Honestly, I thought I would have run completely out of material to write about, expirences to share, and thoughts to type. Shit, I used to look at HTML code and think it's a bunch of geek-noid gibberish. Now, I is a fluent speaker in g33k-n01d.

Damn.

It's been a fun four years though. Three moves (soon to be four), two different coasts of the United States, four different girlfriend expirences, uncounted numbers of projects, and a heap load of trouble along the way. But strangely, only one ticket. For speeding. Go figure.

Right now I'm listening to somebody putting the Airman's Creed to some thrash metal music. Courtesy of AF Blues. Thanks Farva! I've been thinking more and more about joining the military. It's the only life I've ever known, and I'm not exacrtly sure I can survive in the civilian sector with flourish. Anyway...

It's been a great four years, and I hope to be around for another four (hopefully more) years.

Happy Massacre Day,

Johnny Rumble

Trav: Pictures

2010-02-06T17:26:00.000-06:00

So the pictures, one is me after Mass, and the other is from this summer during the trip into the city with a friend. Doing the tourist thing was fun and we ended up getting lost, for an hour or so. Note: don't miss your metro stop next time. Otherwise it was a fun day out into our nations capital.

Trav

Trav: Now Here This

2010-02-06T17:20:00.000-06:00

Yo so I realize well that I have been negligent in posting anything but I am still here. Actually got a lot of freeverse and what not written down so I will put that up and some pictures if thats alright. And today Hull beat Man City so the weekend was good. And I miss my brother oh yeah lots to update on that front: I am an older brother)

Trav

Johnny Rumble: California

2010-02-06T16:51:00.000-06:00

Things are starting to fall into place. I've been accepted to a few Universities out east, with the fall semester scheduled to to start in August of this year, I will soon be getting out of California. Just like I always wanted.

This frightens me to a small degree. I have eeked out a small living here in NorCal, and starting all over, while I'm dreadfully used to it, still is a daunting task. I, and I mean we, as my girlfriend will be joining me, God willing, have to start scrimping and saving every single penny I can muster to make the move. Not to mention, depending on the latidute, I think I will be saying goodbye to my Saturn and picking up a Subaru to drive. All Wheel Drive, boxer-four, turbocharged, such a godsend, such a problem.

Johnny Rumble: New Leather

2010-02-04T16:26:00.000-06:00

After years of searching and looking and hoping and more searching I finally landed my next project...

Leather Bomber Jacket from Leather Works in Old Sacramento. It's remnant patchwork leather, but for $20, who cares? Much love and hate to my girlfriend for talking me into this.

I said hate, yes. After so many years of dreaming and thinking about how to do this jacket, and with all my hot-button issue ideas null and void. The Tank Girl idea is kind of a dead idea as well. I'm looking into hot-rod/rat-rod style artwork and punk rock pin up girls. Could also go with a visual tribute to the J'sF's-verse... (which I have been re-vising slowly. I know that I'm done writing new portions.) It's a "we'll see" kinda thing. I got thirty days to figure something out before I can no longer return or exchange the damn thing.

Paint Fume High,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Preview of "Death"

2010-01-31T16:55:00.000-06:00

Been up to my old tricks again and putting fingers to keys.

Made a run of it didn’t we, you orphan?

With that, Tokyo Rose was dead.

Her body lay in the middle of the street, a Chevrolet van sitting not to far away, the front end smashed in. Rose was caved in drastically right in the middle. Almost looked like somebody had tried to fold her in half. I put the transmission into neutral and took the keys out of the ignition, throwing them on what was left of the dashboard.

There was a fireman talking at me, asking me if I was okay and telling me to stay conscious. The trucks were all around, and an ambulance was waiting to take to the hospital. Fuck that, I thought, I’m not going to another fucking hospital. Two fireman were working the Jaws of Life into the door, the hydraulic pump clattering loudly, prying apart the metal.

I undid my harness and took the steering wheel off the column. I was pretty sure that I hadn’t broken anything in the crash, but I did feel some moisture on my forehead. My hand was red when I pulled it away. That fireman was yelling at me not to move, not to do anything. They weren’t sure what state I was in and didn’t want me to hurt myself accidently. “Fuck off,” I told him, “I’m all-fucking-right.”

By the time they had pried the door open, I had already swiveled my neck and flexed nearly all my joints. I knew then that I hadn’t broken anything, but they still slapped the neck brace on and threw me on a gurney. I saw Rose from the outside, lifeless, seemingly limp, but still strong in death. I knew she had saved me, let me fight for at least one more day. But she was done. Totaled by some cunt that ran a red-light.

She was sitting in the back of a police cruiser, and an officer handling what looking like a bag of powdered sugar. Stupid bitch.

I looked at Rose one last time before I lay my head back on the gurney and closed my eyes.

____________________

The hospital was antiseptically clean. I knew this from the smell if only because I couldn’t see right now. They had draped a towel over my eyes. I also knew I was in the hole of the giant white donut they called a MRI. They were checking for permanent brain damage, as my pupils were different sizes. At least the attending is pretty.

As the machine was making its hammer noises, I thought of Sadie and the state I left her in. I knew she was angry at the choices I had made, and that I doubt she would ever forgive me. I still loved her, and wanted to be with her, but I understood and respected her choice when she told me “I don’t want to see you again. Stay away from me.” So here I was, in Nashville, at the Centennial Medical Center, getting my brains hammered out. Rose was dead, I was alone, and everything I owned was sitting in some scrap yard, waiting for me to pick it up.

Fuck.

That.

When the doctors slid me out from the machine I told them, “I’m leaving. I’m checking myself out.” They all threw their typical fits and tried to convince me that I couldn’t go, that they weren’t sure I was okay or not. They gave me nearly every reason in the book. Except for her. She stood behind the other two, silent. I looked at her. “What about you doc? Got anything to say?”

She didn’t.

I pulled the IV out of my arm when I got back to my room and started taking off all the little sensors and glued wires on my body. The nurse wasn’t happy that I was doing all of this on my own, and slapped my hands away while she undid the rest of them. While I was buttoning my shirt, the doctor walked in and closed the door. I laced up my boot and looked at her, waiting.

“There’s nothing I can say that will get you stay here is there?”

I shook my head. A mistake and my head began to throb badly.

“Your concussion is very severe. It would be best if you were here, where we could keep an eye on you, and make sure that you get better.”

“No, I’m leaving. I don’t need to be bed-ridden,” I spoke.

“You’re Jonathan Lewis. A guy that has a police file three inches thick. Yeah, I looked into your history.” She paused. “No, you don’t need any help. You just need to get your head on straight.”

“What the fuck of it?” I asked, lacing up my other boot. The blood had dried on the sage green leather, turning it brown. I just fucking bought these too.

She sighed. She pulled out her prescription pad and wrote something on it. “Here, my number. Just in case you change your mind, or you get worse.” I took the slip and put into my wallet, sliding that into my back pocket. My head was still in pain. “You’ll find your car at Mercer’s Auto and Salvage. Centennial and 63rd Street.”

This I already knew from when a cop came and talked to me about the accident and get my side of the story. The bitch that hit me was going to jail, regardless if I was at fault or not. They found cocaine under the front seat of her car. And she also had an outstanding warrant for her arrest. With a wink and a nod the cop told me, “Scene investigation found that she was the one at fault.”

Whatever, all that mattered was that Rose was dead. No resurrection was possible with her this time. I pulled her out of barn outside of Pigeon, Michigan, right off of Sturm Road. Mr. Howard’s property. I had family that lived in that area. That was the only reason I knew she was there.

As I stepped through the sliding doors, I pulled out my phone and dialed for a taxi. I did some quick calculations and figured that I had about eight grand left to spend. If I had much hope of making it to Tulsa, I needed to find a new car. And quick.

The cab ride was short. Maybe only 10 minutes. I paid the cabbie and went inside. A girl, maybe 16, was sitting at the desk reading some magazine about that movie Twilight or some such thing. ‘Some such thing…’ fuck me, my linguistics are coming back. I walked to the desk, and even before she could put down the magazine I started, “The police told me that I could find my car here. ’31 Ford Model A rat.”

She looked over the top of her magazine and gave me a look like I was interrupting something more important than doing her damn job. She kept her eyes locked to mine with that stare as she called over her shoulder, “Hey grandpa, the owner of that car is here.” With that she went back to her magazine and loudly snapped her bubble gum. Bitch.

An old guy, must have been in his 70’s, came out of the back office and offered his hand. I felt the thick calluses on his plam. “Names Mercer. Most people call me Merc.”

“Johnny.”

“So you’re the one that owns the sweet Model A Rat?”

“Built.”

“Huh?” He looked me up and down.

“I’m the one that built that sweet Model A Rat.” Mercer looked me in the eyes for a moment and gave a nearly imperceptible nod.

“Well, she’s out back. Dang rotten shame what happened to her.” He led me out the back door of the office and into the Tennessee sun. I shielded my eyes and scanned the yard as he took me toward Rose. Lots of hardware out here. I saw a yellow 240SX sitting in the corner, peeking out from beneath a tarp. Fuck me, is that…?

“Here you go. You did a real nice job with her.” Mercer got my attention and my eyes fell onto the corpse of Tokyo Rose.

She really was smashed all to fuck. I took a walk around her, looking at what could be salvaged. Left wheels and tires, taillight… The passenger side was a total loss. Both wheels were cracked and the frame and body were so completely caved in, that I found myself wondering how I had survived. Both turbos are done, headers and downpipes are bent… I looked the Toyota block over and saw no apparent damage, but the valve cover did have an unsettling large dent in it. Camshafts are probably busted, which means valves might be unseated.

“Total fucking loss. A total fucking loss. God fucking damn it,” I swore under my breath. I looked up at the old man and he looked at me with some sort of sympathy in his eyes. Looking through where the front windshield used to be, I remembered about the shifter. Brass. Handmade by Shinya Kimura. It had still better fucking be there.

Love,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Drinking Brandy

2010-01-16T21:05:00.001-06:00

Love,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: WMG Productions

2010-01-13T13:45:00.001-06:00

It's a brand new season!

Love,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Group

2009-11-12T14:51:00.001-06:00

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."

Johnny Rumble: Sharing Space

2009-10-30T19:00:00.000-05:00

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

Johnny Rumble: The Month of October

2009-10-29T15:30:00.000-05:00

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

Trav: So Long time No See Folks.

2009-09-26T22:15:00.000-05:00

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

-------

Johnny Rumble: Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo, a letter

2009-09-16T20:50:00.000-05:00

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

Johnny Rumble: Dark Horse, You Suck

2009-09-14T22:01:00.000-05:00

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

Johnny Rumble: The Gospel of Saint Johnny

2009-08-20T01:41:00.000-05:00

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

Johnny Rumble: simpler days, Complex Nights

2009-07-25T22:10:00.000-05:00

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

Johnny Rumble:

2009-07-11T02:24:00.000-05:00

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

Johnny Rumble: Addiction

2009-06-23T02:11:00.000-05:00

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

Johnny Rumble: Latest Where's My Gun

2009-06-20T20:29:00.000-05:00

Summer Vacationing,

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble: Shit Cleaner

2009-06-17T23:46:00.000-05:00

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

Trav: Imaginary conversation

2009-06-03T15:09:00.000-05:00

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

Trav: Springtime thoughts

2009-05-18T21:08:00.000-05:00

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...

2009-05-18T20:39:00.001-05:00

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

Johnny Rumble: Style Formats

2009-05-10T23:15:00.000-05:00

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

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

2009-05-03T03:13:00.000-05:00

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

Johnny Rumble: Old Things

2009-04-18T03:54:00.000-05:00

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

Johnny Rumble: the go-kart

2009-04-17T13:14:00.000-05:00

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

Johnny Rumble: __________

2009-04-04T04:09:00.000-05:00

"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

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

2009-03-21T01:51:00.000-05:00

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

Trav: New Semester

2009-03-17T12:47:00.000-05:00

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

Johnny Rumble: Down and struck-the-fuck Out

2009-03-15T02:16:00.000-05:00

-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

Johnny Rumble: Bosozuko Driving

2009-03-09T03:12:00.000-05:00

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

Johnny Rumble: Where's My Gun

2009-02-25T09:46:00.000-06:00

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

Johnny Rumble: J'sF's part 4

2009-02-20T02:00:00.000-06:00

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.