Posts Tagged: tread
After the Gold rush..
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.
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.
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.
as it crumbles around us, eat.
hey, i just heard that the US got beat by Mexico. no, not talking about in the Gold Cup or any of that. i am talking about for the title of fattest, most obese, most likely to belch then fall over dead. ironic how poverty now leads to obesity instead of starvation. explain to me again how fresh food is too expensive for normal humans to eat yet factories can pump out completely processed shit for much less than we can get it from a farmer? job creators to human cremators. makes little sense. sigh.
on the ball, you got to get.
Just address the object with your foot, towards the goal, repeatedly, with style, class and want.
treat yourself.
in times of stress, strain or angst, look for a mermaid, an open shop or a cheap t-shirt. guaranteed to help.
you may need an umbrella.
rain or shine, darkness or light, pack yours for recluse and potential weather of extreme-style conditions.
when you begin to see the separation.
in so many ways, he is growing up. in the air, on the pitch, on the ride home.
spring, to fall.
As Spring makes its less than subtle shift into Summer. So goes soccer, bypassing Summer with Fall as the goal. Club, school, new teams, new players the only constant is a ball, some form of grass, real or otherwise and of course, a boy.
magic? hardly.
Here’s the first post of the new photoblog. It saddens me to start over. But I must.