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The morning sun glistened on my skinny white frame. Shirtless with droplets of sweat. The smell of morning dew and cow shit that was spread on the surrounding cornfields. Polyurethane wheels carried me up and down a janky halfpipe. The backdrop was a rural park where skateboarding street rats would hang. Impulsive kids who would fight and fuck. Last night we railed pills off park picnic tables and smoked ourselves useless. A young family sat on the benches where we ran from the cops just a few hours ago.

The only one at the park was me and Knuckles. The…


The Fence to the Asylum

The apartment was run down. 550 square feet of filth. Trash brown carpet and bugs that crawled out of the vents. Mold speckled the bathroom ceiling from the lack of ventilation and a busted water pipe. Cheap closet doors fell off the track long ago and were laid to the side. The smell of dirty cigarette smoke was a constant perfume in the atmosphere. Poverty, drug addiction and domestic violence were common themes displayed by the neighbors.

It was a six unit building in the poorest part of town. A two bedroom shithole that was falling apart. Our rent was…


We rode in a blue Oldsmobile Calais on its last legs. The old rust wagon was filled with junk to the brim. It looked as if someone was living in it. College papers littered the interior. Old pizza rolls were molding in the center console. Just a few months ago we were pulled over and the Girl went to jail. Myself, I was thrown in the back of a cop car and lied my face off. It was the winter of 2011 in Nowheresville. The dark days of late February and early March in a wet Midwest town. …


It was the summer of 2008 — tan legs, braces, bleached blonde hair and hour long make out sessions that nowhere. Long summer days and endless star bound nights. The smell of fresh pavement on polyurethane wheels. Blood, broken bones and dirty teenage sweat in the dog days of summer. Experiences of lust and love. Fucks and fights. Punk rock filled speakers, bruised knees and bloody knuckles.

We spent the afternoon at a mall. A place where teens would go to socialize. The days before a constant connection of the internet. Grab some fast food and cause trouble. We’d shoplift…


It was a warm night. The stars bounded the endless sky. The ground was filled with miles of empty cornfields that have just been harvested for the year. A bright light from the moon glowed on the empty road. Four teens raced down the road in a borrowed van from one of their parents. They were excited, nervous, and full of life. It was 2008.

I was just a punk little kid then — bleached blonde hair, a NOFX shirt, and a skateboard. I spent my days after school bleeding on the concrete and causing mischief with my close friends…


After graduating high school, I didn’t know what to do with my life. I didn’t get good enough grades to go to a four-year college, I didn’t want to join the armed forces and the job market was shot. I worked part-time as a lifeguard at a local pool but ten hours a week wasn’t’ enough to cut it. I graduated high school in the middle of one of the worse economic downturns the United States has ever seen.

I decided community college was the path I would take. Get the gen-eds’ out of the way then two or three…


There were massive grain elevators in the sleepy town I grew up in. The tallest structures around. A few hundred feet high. Old concrete pillars that were built in the 1950s. Brown and dull. A passerby would know the town was a farming community. A community where everyone knows everyone. One of those towns you can’t wait to leave — but hold all of your memories. An “Elm Street” type of town.

When I was a teenager, I was an avid skateboarder. There was a whole crew of us. Abuncha degenerate kids from broken homes. Outcasts who found each other…


We rode in a beat-up car that was running on its last legs. The kind of car that would give you anxiety stepping in it. Rust, the color of dehydrated piss, covered the cheaply made shell of the car. The inside smelt of stale cigarettes. Trash and empty packs of GPC cigarettes lined the back seats. Young kids — adults defined by status quo — filled the car. Their still developing brains were thinking of one thing — hard liquor and fast music. “Yo! Stop at the liquor store someone said.”

It was the junkiest liquor store in town. We’d…

EW

There is a Japanese term: Mono no aware. It means basically, the sad beauty of seeing time pass — the aching awareness of impermanence.

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