"Ya Throw Trash, Ya Raise Trash!"

We had just enjoyed a wonderful day of rock-hoppin' up on the Rocky Broad River. Meself, W.B. Morris & Libner, Jonas & Lil' Joners, a young Davey Durphy and Eric "The-Deal-Closer" McDouche. I think Libner was in a photo class at CPCC at the time and that was the pretense for all of us city folk breaking away for a day in the rivers in the mountains. We passed most the time rock-hoppin, jumping from one slick rock to the next for miles up and down the river which im still gleefully delighted to report that Eric was horrible at simply for sake of being a pansy. Never the less, we had taken full-sun photos (which if I can find ill scan in at a later date, sorry) and were wrapping up a day of biological fun when suddenly, out of the woods appeared the fabled North American Redneck. . . hu, oh my. . . with offspring! (I have to admit, thats Billy's terminology and im openly ripping it.) As we watched this fascinating species operate we were stunned to see that it was going to teach its youngling a lesson about rivers, physics, and waste management. In his stuck-in-the-bottom-of-a-barrell tone he said to his daughter, "Wachh'ees, wiin Eye throwin this'hur cayyn N-2 thut wrrrrtur sitsgouna paup'up'in bee-hine thayt uther rok'n'yander." We watched as he limply took one more slug of the Budweiser and chucked it into the biodiverse rocky river. His offsprings eye's shined with the awe of magic as the aluminium can did what her daddy said it would and went ploop under one rock and appeared FURTHER DOWN RIVER behind another. Mystified. Dumbfounded. I felt myself choking for air before anything because somewhere in the transfer I had begun laughing so hard that I wasn't breathing. That on top of pure blood-boliling rage. As I looked for air to fill my lungs my ever-aware/brilliant origional first travelling partner Jonas stood at the ready in his tight Deisel jeans with one hand cupped to amplify his voice and he bellowed, "Hey, Buddy, Ya Throw Trash, Ya Raise Trash!!!" Lets just say air never found its way to my lungs. The sad, real-lifey, consequental part of the story was the She-Redneck-Mates hushed eye-contact pleadings to please not provoke the dominant male. We gladly obliged and packed up the vehicle and made way back for the QC. Eric was scared the entire time.

Which brings me to a few points. I did some math/research today. . . just a few clicks, really. I just wanted to bring it to the attention of readers, especially readers in NC, that we have the third most landfills out of any state in the Union behind Cali and Texas. On top of that I would like to point out that one of those landfills is called the BFI-Charlotte Motor Speedway Lanfill V. And guess which one is consistantly the most packed? Uh huh. The racetrack. So think about this math addicts, that track is functioning on a business plan and doing what it is supposed to do, and by doing that very function is creating millions of tons of trash a year. In your water, in your lungs, in your offsprings genetic code. So, next time you go to throw something away, try to really conceptualize where "AWAY" is. Is it, ploop, right under one rock and, HUH!, right out from behind the next?

Heres the numbers. Total garbage in tons from 2001 to 2007 recorded in North Carolina (think about all the missing particles) is. . . fourty-five million, one-hundred-seventy-three thousand, four-hundred and sixteen. 45, 173, 416. Tons. Thats 90, 346, 832 lbs. of actually recorded trash. That is a lot to expect to just go "away". Here, look for yourself.

*Oh Dear God. I just realized upon reviewing my math that it is wrong. Right. That first number is in tons. Which is 2,000 lbs. Which means that when i jumped from tons to pounds i shouldn't have multiplied by two, i should have multiplied by 2000!!! that means the real number is 90,346,832,000. Thats 90 BILLION pounds. Now im scared to publish this. WTF?!?!

What is IT?

"for more than half a billion years, evolutionary processes have constantly generated variations on themes established in the Cambrian explosion. it was a time of unmatched evolutionary innovation.
Homo Sapiens came into being at a point in Earth history that boasted virtually the richest diversity of life forms that has ever existed. we may be the highest expression of life's arrow of evolution.
sentient species that we are, Homo sapiens is able to understand the shape, extent and value of Earth's biodiversity. indeed, we have a responsibility, as well as a self-interest, to value it."
---Richard Leakey

can it be called evolution to stretch your arms out in a race? if you're faster now and so is your predator haven't you in turn turned into the machine that is helping evolve other, more complicated, more destructive and non-sentient things. isn't it a gift to be the peak of evolutionary forces, so much so that if we DJ-scratched the wax revolutions back wouldn't the free style be different? im not asking for church of god hymns here, im saying, we are in a period of unique and extraordinary luck. yet, we openly watch the auto evlove, the mansion evolve, the sunglasses and lipstick and styro evolve, yet about our own evolution we are happy to rest? you are that sentient monkey with a brain on a stem that looks like a rose. expectations? what expectations. did any of you expect to be a vertibrate, a mammal, a biped? these are wonderful things that you get to be just by being a part of the big ol' cosmic picture, so thank you. i dont need to see you posing next to anything to assess your true value, becaue as a species you're invaluable. and so is the bio-diversity that made us who we are: the lizards that bit our toes in the cold nights and made us sleep in familiar groups, the insects that thrived in the grass that made us live at taller elevations, the tectonic-plates that serve our terre-able dinners in the style of Great Rift Valleys , the 40,ooo types of potatoes that existed in Peru alone. Did you know that Rain Forests covered roughly 1/16th of the Earth's land surface and held 1/2 of the world's species? whats evolving more, the bulldozer or the ant? well, the ant may survive but some one person is still going to have to turn that bulldozers engine over to get it to "do it's job." so, my bets with the ant. and my bets with the Earth. and my bets with conciousness. it doesn't seem like it was ever intent on reaching a stopping point. we, however, may want to reach one and get back to doing what we were so good at doing for millions of years, allowing Life to direct us.

Weekend Roundup

Meet Andy. He plays in the band YardWork. He likes playing his glock·en·spiel in this fantastic folk-metal collaboration.
Meet J. Wade. He plays in the band Such Mad Hope. He holds desires to ghost ride his whip to the beach. John Stewart does too. I will offer any expertise I have to help them accomplish such. Really, "planning schmanning" is about as good as it gets for that type of thing, however. One day soon I will tell the story of "Jordy's Will: The Least Planned Out Adventure Story Ever Told." Start holding your breath.... now!





So this weekend brought a lil' sumpin called the Art N' Soul festival to the SouthEnd of Charlotte. Again, for nonnative readers, the SouthEnd is the closest group of old buildings to the actually big new buildings that could be turned into neat little things that neat people like to go to to do stuff. You know. For native readers a brief history of such will point out that a few years ago, in order to garner more tax dollars for itself, Center "Shi-tty" Partners annexed the SouthEnd and now makes sure that the ArtN'Soul festival is borning and bland. Its the perfect place to pick up a hand crafted leather necklace with a bead on it to make your soft seem a tad softer. Well, there was hope. Such Mad Hope, actually, along with some other amazing local musicians performing at THE HECK YE'SIR COFFEE HUB. The SouthEnd's filthiest cup of coffee with a brand new stage made of completly recycled materials. The affair was splendid and included such acts as 2013wolves, Andy the Door Bum (who played though his hand was smashed by an iron bar the day before), James K. Polk and the family friends, meself calling meself Jordie Moo, and many, many more. James K. Polk were these three amazingly sweet polite adorable little one's with filthy mouths taboot. Wonderful. And truly talented. Rumor has it there was whiskey in the coffee that day but I couldn't taste it. Anywho, plenty of the Rag Tag Armada peeps peeked heads in the door and it seemed like business was good. Just like life, huh?

So, as some a ya may have guessed im using a camera phone to get these wonderful photos. The header image was taken on Friday night when again, I happen to be the first on the scene of I guess what was a person's body shutting down in some weird way inside the governmant building on Stonewall. I made the image by getting right up on the emergency vehicles whilst they idled awaiting the human cargo to take to the hospital. Try to take good care of your bodies people. Ride a bike, drink Boot's Juice and try to read something besides a value menu.


Did I mention that Andy The DoorBum played... (click it, dont be afraid.)

Freak Out

I always know I've arrived before the paramedics because I'm going right towards it.

"Racing witht he rising tide to my Father's door."

Frank Sinatra-Stemmerman and the worst pool game ever.

Thats a mouth, a shirt sleeve and an ear.

For those of you who dont live in the QC and who aren't on your way here this is Larry. I always think Larry Majors would be this real mans real name, but he is legendary without such definable attributes. Here you may know him as Chilly Willy Billy. A phrase and a name in one, Chilly as he's also known, will gruffel in his sea captain's wafer a call as you roll by at once announcing his own presence and encouraging yours. "Chilly Willy Billy!" You may know him by another name. You may call him Freak. Per his request thats how he asked I know him the first 40 or so times I've met him. The other night I called him Larry when I asked him if I could make this photo. It was a human to human transfer in the most basic of senses. As I crested the hill of one of our Uptown streets being operated on by municipal bonds and human hands I saw Freaks tattered figure standing lean in the wind of construction. Standing holding the two fingers of his hand as a message while many sleep. In a downtown project people were confused and and ignoring the Elephant in the Ghost. I to was seeing it but I operate where confusion in order to undo it for myself.

Many people wonder if Freaks dead. It comes up every three weeks or so as a rumor around coffee shops and the Phat Burrito and Lucky Cycles and maybe among the management of every business on East Blvd. that Freaks dead on the slab in the mourge and we all wonder if theres a Potter's Feild or someplace where this mans bones and fur would be put if it were the case that he actually stopped pumping blood through his existing in the streets. He has stated that he would only "pawn" a house if he were given one. Theres been talk about how 75 people a month could use five dollars collectively to rent this man a room. Dreams of and for anothers existence in a world where I can only try to be my own. BE. Freak will stand as high as BoA's tallest tower in Car-Lot and BoA's highest towers will erect themselves only to the last fluffy hair on this grizzled man's mop.

It was windy when the photo was taken and I couldn't help but think about the warmth in it when Larry said he was cold, or that it was cold. It wasn't to me, but then again, I haven't been out there since the mid-70's. I bet it is cold, and tiring. It seems like its a matter of disappointment getting you down v. being something that you can enjoy for what it is because it is making you who you are and are going to become.

I have heard Larry play the guitar, three chord jungga's that reek of prison blues before he even begins singing the lyrics, "These walls and bars are driving me crazy." I remember the eve of 2006 sitting outside in a circle of friends and people collectively chiming in and singing the words to his ditty. Folklore. One hit wonder. One hit wander. One hit.

Larry is one of many of many. The way the top two percent of the top two percent have the bling, the many of the many have the experience of calling the streets home. I am always blown away by this man and do not fear for his or any others death transfer.

Who will teach the children?

We all will.

And who will the children become?

Us all.

Who will be students?

They will also recognize you.

Kismet IS The Right Word

My heads fallen over so im typing blind, but I should be ok. I've had to do this before. My head can't handle the thoughts. They move so fast.

Today on Ozzy Osborne's Crazy Train bucket's rode with pressed clothes and books, ipods and eyes that said. "Don't." Don't to the light. These people would cut you in half in the name of not being late for their four-million. People say prison is scary, at least in there you can supposedly trade cigarettes for kindness. Out here people do what they have to do to eat the other dog and win against the other rats. And they ain't got time to be messed with. When I got off the train this afternoon I did my best yeah-schools-out-lets-go-have-fun yell. It went right under appreciated.

This morning my plan for life was to drive 5.1 miles to the station, ride the el traino loco, work, and ride back to vehicle and drive the 5.1 home. this would be 10.2 a day, 51 a week/15ish a gallon 3.5 gallons a week = roughly $14 of burning this week {though next would be $16, the next week $20... but the end of this summer $60?} But for some reason my odometer didn't say 5.1 when I got out to run to the train, it said 7.1. Huh? DOO-WHA? Where the extra two miles, you ask? Well, fellow math addicts, I spent a good portion of the morning riding circles up and down three levels of piss-poorly-planned-parking-pods. I even follow'd a gent for a while who seemed to be on his way to his car, keys in hand and all, but then took the steps back up, so I went up the ramp back up and saw him walking about there. I rolled down my window and said something like, "Hey, are you leaving." "I would if I could find my car," he said and he walked around looking at all the cars. Then some guy in another car came up behind me and started honking which made the guy I was slowly following to see if he would ever find his car nervous? Eventually I bailed on this dude becasue I think his car was prolly stolen.

The entire time I was doing this the Diane Rhem Show on National Public Radio was discussing reducing carbon emissions. Yes, while I racqued up TWO MILES in a parking garage I had a discussion about reducing carbon emissions lowly playing on in the background. You know, it DID feel like getting kicked in the reproductive zone! Funny you should ask.

Thoughts on that: the real energy crisis is within. Align yourselves and the "garnered whiz-dumb that has never died" {that hyperlink will never, ever, get old} will speak to you and then a corporate plan of agression will not be necessary to fix the problem.

Then later in the day I got canned.

So much for my icicle messenger service career. Yes. Icicle.

If you are reading this blog in an attempt to gather information to help you collect a debt and for that purpose only please e mail all querys to Patrick Swayze at VeloCity Bicycle Courriers. Patrick, you are a man of honor and honesty and I appreciate the sincerity of your being and hope for total prosperity in your business. And whoever becomes your employee will be lucky indeed.

Well, sometimes the phone rings and you gotta go hang out with the Black Rebel Motorcycle Club.

G'dnight!

Long, Too Long America

LONG, too long America,
Traveling roads all even and peaceful you learn'd from joys and
prosperity only,
But now, ah now, to learn from crisis of anguish, advancing, grappling
with direst fate and recoiling not,
And now to conceive and show to the world what your children en-masse
really are,
(For who except myself has yet conceiv'd what your children en-masse
really are?)

- Walt Whitman

115-160 yr. old words.
Headline not Headline.