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This is a part of me, this could be niagra falls in about 50,000 years.

When the place you stand sings in the same rate of motion you are living through, there is only silence and that is what they mean by silence being golden.

It’s important to be alone sometimes to feel like the world is giving you something


Because then it wouldn’t be worth it…
What if you shied away from something like art?
The beast with its back arched in your mind, hovering like an alien mothership,
you, unknown of its intentions.

How practical and reasonable that would be?
Like making breakfast because you’re supposed to eat in the morning.

How deformed and malignant are we? How destructive is what
we hold down for so many years in our expansive mind
cause for intellengencia celebre?

It’s only a thought, right? A birth into the deep chasm of unknown relinquishment.
What you may have thought was once yours is only ours now.

Be it as it may, it’s horrendous. Being gutted in front of the choir singing
the line-by-line of our own collective narrative.
You put on the makeup for tonight’s show.

My good friend just got back from a month-long trip through the Colorado Trail.  One of the places he stopped was a tiny town called Salida.  He sent me some pictures from a beer-festival he attended there.  By coincidence I have also been to Salida.  I was there with one friend after another friend had left me and my buddy Patrick in Boulder which is another story for another time.

Salida proved to be one of the more memorable experiences of my young life (I was 21.)  This is what I wrote to Mike this morning:

I was in Salida with Patrick and Cat after Kevin Bourque left us in Boulder.  Cat picked us up and got us out to California via Salida, Durango, AZ and Utah.  Cat knew some heads in Salida and maybe even lived there for a while(?)  The heads that she knew were all snowboarders that ripped Monarch in the winter and worked all summer.  One afternoon we went to this party up on the side of mountain where one of Cat’s friend’s had property.

It was barely a road up there and Cat explained to us that the guy who owned the property was named Kenny and he had AIDS.  Kenny got AIDS from an infected blood transfusion when he was young.  The hospital had paid Kenny money for their error and he bought the property on the side of the mountain to live out his days.

There was a fire going, even though it was the middle of the day, and we dug a hole in the ground and packed it with ice and a keg and just hung out.  Kenny was gracious, kind and easy going.  He had his woman, dogs, lots of weed and it was maybe my favorite day of that cross-country road trip.

It was also a constant reminder of how fragile life can be.  There we were with Cat because Kevin had essentially lost a hold on reality and we were kicking it with someone else who was living with a terminal illness, enjoying the afternoon in southern Colorado.  It was a real beauitful day, but there was a stark contrast that I’ll never forget.  We never saw Kenny’s house.  From what I heard it was an A-frame, really cool.  We were all chilling out on this little spot where there were no roads, no buildings, no noise except from the conversations and laughter of the afternoon.

If I had met Kenny at a restaurant or in town somewhere I’m sure he’d still leave an impression on me, but engaging with someone in the natural world, away from the distractions and hype of civilization is a very peaceful way to get to know them.  It is letting a guard down whether you realize it or not, it is a softer version of life.

I’m not sure what Kenny’s situation is today but I imagine wherever he is, he is at peace.

salida, co

I defintely try not to hype clothing purchases tooo much, it’s just not my style, however, this t-shirt is genius.  The good folks at Collapse Design, based in the UK, are selling these for a fair price, shipped to the states and all.

The documentary about Helvetica made a big impression on me and this t-shirt is a playful way of looking at the steady impact of one of, if not the greatest font of all time.  I wish wordpress would let me post in a different font because this post would be so much of a better homage to me appreciation.  Check the site, it’s a good one.


Held this year in the great state of Alaska.  I think this guy above has one of the finest, but that’s a matter of personal preference.  More pictures can be seen here.

Standing on a quiet city street, a cemetery behind him and a row of shops in front, he realized he recognized everything around him, but had no idea where he was. He looked at each object and spoke them out in his head, thinking “that’s the copy shop, that’s the convenient store, that’s the coffee shop.”  But he was paralyzed in his spot, unable to think where in the world he may have been.

His immediate fear was that he was he experiencing a broad loss of brain power, or worse. He reached his hands into his coat pockets and fumbled with the random objects with his fingers, hoping one would trigger a moment of powerful re-drawing-in wherein he would then gain back whatever abstract loss of place he was experiencing.  As the train rumbled by he felt a vulnerability that was unmatched at any point in his life.  He was not afraid of being hurt, or being struck by lightning or  car or a bull.  He was the man he had always been, awash in a dimension he had never known.

Later in his life, there were moments of intense vigor where he stood alone, perched above a massive cliff overlooking miles of expanse in every direction.  The wind pushed against his goose-bumped skin, drying the perspiration of walking uphill for miles, across a broad ridge that people from their cars down in the valley below would wonder at, thinking “how can that be right there and yet I know nothing about it?”  With his outstretched hands he embraced without holding tight, the fluid of the world coursing through him.  He stood on the cliff delighted with himself, giddy with his detached heart, he sang without noise.

After a few minutes on the sidewalk with the cemetery behind him and shops in front of him he regained his sense of place, exhaled, and followed the route he had walked thousands of times back to his housing.  Still slightly aware of what transpired in his time of absence, he walked back tired and confused, but satisfied to be back.

The people in their cars continued to drive, flabbergasted.

~ The Mayor

I was having a conversation with a friend in a meeting yesterday and we were talking photographers.  She pointed out a famed rock and roll photographer who is now based in SF named Charlie Homo.  At first I insisted that this was a nom du guerre and he was part of the sexual revolution and chose the name to speak out against discrimination [boring normal rational explanation.]  This is not the case and in fact esteemed Charles is married to a woman.

In my line of work I see a lot of mailing lists with thousands and thousands of names and it’s surprising how many are just mind boggling upside down crazy.  Recently I peeped one Greg Gregory.  Dude, Greg Gregory?  Birth Certificate probably reads Gregory Gregory.  Related to the now famous Boutros Boutros Gali?  At least BBG has that last name to break up the redudency.

I’ve spoken with Dick Harry on the phone before, tough conversation to get through without breaking into song.  However, the Hoars are the worst, and they always seem to be women.  I remember walking in a cemetery when I was young and seeing the gravestone that read: Susan Hoar.  If you’re a Hoar or a decendant of a Hoar, life is not easy.  If you’re name is Mulva, life is not easy, so rest easy today.

One last note, I thought it was bad when I heard that my Dad wanted to name me Lisa if I was a girl when I was born.  However, the real sickness is that he actually wanted to name me Hyke (hi-key) for a little bit after a dominant German high jumper.  Luckily I came out a boy and someone in my family had sense.

There are so many things that make me happy in this picture.  Hill looking radiant!

Every once in a while, the folks over at SNL just kill it.

This past weekend was spent going deep behind Kirkwood to score some delicious spring conditions.  The skinning was ideal, the snow we skied ranged from dense sugary winter snow, to perfect corn and by the end of the day, skinning out on the resort at 5:30 (!!!) it was especially nice to not have to wear head lamps on our exit.  Daylight savings time thank you!  onto the pics….


We knew it would be a special day when we saw this guy and his zebra tights first thing in the morning.


Dave and I getting skins ready for the long trek out


our destination, the main objective was to ski the obvious chute looker’s left of the summit

However, as we made our way across the ridge we realized the open face looker’s right of the summit was chock full of dense winter snow and a sustained steep pitch into a wide open snow field.  We were tempted, and rewarded.


Me loving the big carve in great winter snow under the California sun.


Kelly on the boot pack back up looker’s right of the chute


Mouth of the chute, nice moment in the sun


This was Kelly’s project so she got first tracks in the fresh chute, nice turn.


Dave ripping up a nice wall ride on the inside


A nice line and a great day in the mountains with friends.

July 2018
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