Posts Tagged: art

we can call it a friendly.

you can call it friendly

soccer, er, football has something called “a friendly” which is somewhat foreign to American sport fans who do not follow the game. imagine playing a game that doesn’t count for anything other than warm-up or practice, maybe as an exhibition or tryout even for some players. those are “friendlies.” problem is, most you compete in, watch or follow are rarely that friendly because when you keep score of anything, there’s a winner and loser and losing doesn’t make one feel very friendly.

 

they say, “it’s your birthday!”

WILDER is 20.

it cannot be possible that it has been 20 years since you arrived. where has it gone? where? i want so much of it to do again, just to get it just perfect this time. you were that “thing” that taught me what it was to really, truly love something. something that my juvenile, male mind just couldn’t comprehend pre-wilder. but i won’t hijack this with melancholy and misty eyes, i will just say that i miss you every single day on some level and you are becoming quite the man and that fills my heart with pride beyond belief. keep it up and here’s to about 5 more 20th year celebrations. live every set of them to their fullest, my son.

love, pop.

 

what happens next?

guess what's next.

you don’t have to be glaring into a crystal ball to know that if you work hard for something, eventually it will come to you…that thing you are always in hot pursuit of, will arrive at your feet. but can you possess it long enough to…

 

9/11, i wish it was just a date on the calendar.

Orlando Eagle

september 11 is an indelible smudge on the calendar. tragedy, horror, death, dirt, anger and the start of a slow, lingering move towards a new now. one of paranoia, fighting straw men and security, oh, yes, the security. we all wept for the dead and dying on that day, but little did we know that small parts of all of us were being laid to rubble, as well. metaphorically, for sure, and i surely know that is nothing compared to losing one you loved or knew–but our actual freedoms were given a bit of a sentence to die a much more slow and agonizing death. and the terrorists didn’t do that, we did it willingly. you know, for our own good.

but i am not going to use this day to grumble or to do more than remember those who passed on planes and in buildings and streets and leave it at that. oh, and recognize this as the day after the USA defeated Mexico to capture a trip to the World Cup. so maybe for at least a little while today, 9/11/13 can symbolize accomplishment not something more sinister.

you are bound to shine.

your money or your life.

being confident in one set of circumstances does not mean much in another set. finding it (confidence) in what you do as a whole is something that takes time, maybe a whole lifetime or maybe you are destined to always harbor shards of self-doubt. grass, ball, touch, and a sharp mind are protection from those shards.

now, go put a finish where you have made your beginning.

 

bring it down.

bring it down

settle, turn and get ready to use your left. if you aren’t stuck to deep, shoot with authority or put it back post, there should be someone on their horse getting there just in time…

 

 

make the most of your time.

the run.

when you get your opportunity, you don’t waste it, you make your run. hope you find a finish. soccer is life.

lafayette #19 runs on the corner kick.

 

After the Gold rush..

13 for one more day.

fun weekend of round ball on the ground, soccer in the Cincy area as the boys from Lexington decided to go ahead and win the whole damned tournament. in roughly 280 minutes of soccer, the allowed one goal and that was in the final to the current Kentucky State Cup champion Kings Hammer Academy…nice slice of revenge to beat them soundly, 3-1. but more importantly, an apt birthday present for a kid who has truly put in one hellacious amount of soccer work over the spring and summer. this shot serves as the final photo of year 13. a gold medal around the neck, a smile at the car door, a twinkle of something accomplished in the eye. what you can’t see in the photo is me, behind the camera, proud, happy for him and his team but with a twinge of sadness as the moments of boyhood continue to dissolve right before my eyes. he grows in every way, every day.

happy birthday to us.

 

thickfreakness.

the black keys

i have to tell you, big festivals are really no way to enjoy bands, music, beer, food, soil, water or casual sex. maybe i am just old but i find myself staring at the damn video screens instead of the stage, i just cannot connect to the bands. spoiled by a youth of booking bands, playing in a band, eating with bands, and generally being bored with bands before being blown away by bands who were literally sharing my sweat, spit and spite the whole festival thing ultimately leaves me a little cold. not that i don’t appreciate the whole overpriced flea market appeal of it all but $10 Sierra Nevada’s and taco truck lines sure ain’t for old punks. give me a draft, a chair and a band i’ve never heard of within throwing distance, in a room of a couple dozen enthusiastic know-it-alls and i’d be more tickled…you know, just how we used to see The Black Keys. i’m guessing, inside, the boys in the band feel the same way.

Patrick Carney @patrickcarney of The Black Keys on a video screen at Forecastle Festival.

and i woke up and my life had leaked out what i thought was my ears.

Lips!

Seeing the unseeable
Filling down the void,
We’re not what we used to be
We’re not really boys.
–Unconsciously Screamin’, In a Priest-Driven Ambulance, the Flaming Lips

somehow 25 years has passed and things have changed, and things have samed. there’s always been music that mattered, hidden in the cracks of existence, in the lowest, in the best and the most mundane moments that i have been. if you took all of it, shook it out, there would be bands and musicians who probably meant the most, who were the pieces in the soundtrack in the made-for-TV movie that is my little life. the Lips would be there.

Unconsciously Screamin’.
Turn it on.
Talkin’ ’bout the smiling deathporn immortality blues.
Five stop Mother Superior rain.