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From the winters of new england: Writer. Musician. Foxfires. Bmx. HC. Video Games. Bruins. Veg life.

@Joshachusetts
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Oct 01

The woman stopped and pulled a long white cigarette out of her soulless black purse.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” she asked.

“No, of course not ma’am,” the cabby responded, grabbing a cigarette of his own from his faded plaid shirt pocket.

“After my great uncle passed, the house just rotted out there.” The woman exhaled the words through her teeth like a swirling bit of smoky death. “I think it might be time for a bit of closure.”

“I’m really sorry to hear about your uncle’s death…”

“He was a bastard,” she said matter of factly, cutting him short. She fidgeted as she took a long drag from her white cigarette, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation.

“Anyways, ma’am, I still can’t figure why you would want to come out here so late at night.”

The woman stared at his face through the rearview mirror, examining each eye with potent depth. She took the cigarette from her mouth and turned to look out at the inky black forest rushing by.

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Sep 30

(Source: justtrynachill)

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Reblogged via, weareallrob0ts

Sep 25

I am in another level of depression this evening as the weight of my bike being stolen is beginning to sink in with its grey finality. This post will be entirely self-serving, wordy and probably a little hard to follow, but I feel like I have to make it, if for no one but her and I.

xxxx

I’ve received a lot of scars over the years. Anyone who has seen me naked (I’m sorry) can attest to this. I think my favorite is the large v-shaped scar on my chin. It is thick and you can only see it when my beard is trimmed. I never minded it, I earned that. I got this scar at the tail end of an east coast BMX trip with some of my best friends. I met some of those who would become life-long friends on that trip and I made some memories I’ll never forget. At roughly 19 years old, when we looped up from Southern Florida and finally arrived outside of Philadelphia, I almost threw up knowing that I was about to ride the Little Devil Clothing warehouse. We got in a lot of laps that afternoon, and in standard fashion, at the tail end I came up short trying to take the spine/hip wide and caught my chin on my stem. It tore me open and I had to get my face stitched back together. I never frowned in the emergency room, I was grinning ear to ear. I had earned this and I would never forget it. There was a little piece of skin that had several ginger beard hairs stuck into that Shadow Conspiracy stem I had been given while visiting that company’s warehouse while down south. I never scooped that out, I left it there. I had earned that.

Both of my shoulders arch up wildly halfway to my neck. Over the years–and all from riding–I have torn each rotator cuff, broken each collarbone and separated each shoulder 3 times apiece. I look lopsided and funny and when I play guitar or wear a backpack, the strap/s fall off. I never cared, I had earned that. I called them my angel wings and would laugh as hard as I could whenever someone brought it up. To this day I will get these weird phantom pains and have trouble if I move them quickly, but it was always worth it. The last time I separated my shoulder was from riding that frame you took from me, I got caught at the top of a vert wall and fell a little more than a story to my head and side. The EMT in the ambulance that kept me conscious on the way to the hospital told me he had never had such a high-spirited patient and we talked about tattoos. I asked if my friends got my bike. I still see spots from that concussion, one that came after a half dozen others while I rode that frame. But, I didn’t care and every time my vision goes blurry, or I get dizzy, or can’t remember something, I laugh. I earned that.

My favorite movies have always been the Evil Dead trilogy. Since falling in love with the first movie in High School, I was obsessed with Bruce Campbell. I followed every movie he ever made and watched “The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr.” obsessively. From my sophomore year, I always said I would name my first born son “Ash” as an homage to his character. I never made up my mind as to if I would use his full name and risk ostracizing this poor unborn little guy. A few years ago I had one of my best friends tattoo a leg sleeve filled with Evil Dead trilogy references. My favorite part was the laughing, mounted, deer head from Evil Dead 2. I overshot a jump at our trails last summer and those gold pedals this stranger is standing on right now tore a deep gash from my achilles up to my knee-pit. The skin heeled crooked and there is a thick line that looks like fleshy smoke that runs about eight inches. But, I was never once sad about that. I didn’t care, I earned that.

I could tell one million more stories about that bike, but I won’t because I’ll get too sappy. Very few people will get the connection that 21.25” frame and I had, but to whoever took her from me, I hope you truly enjoy her. We had a lot of great memories, but if I can’t have her back, give her a good home. Take her out in the woods and spend a lifetime learning how to lay her over and years building something out of dirt and sweat to ride her over. If nothing else, she’s earned that.

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Sep 24
Looking for help locating my bike. It went missing off my porch some time today. It’s a black and forest green spray painted mutiny burlish with green subrosa bars. It has gold odyssey pedals, a odyssey back wheel, a Hoffman front wheel, a “trails rule” and “no falls no balls” top tube stickers. ODI grips, shadow conspiracy stem and an odyssey seat. Anyone that knows me knows that this is the only possession in my life that I give a shit about, yes there is a lot of money invested in it but more importantly this thing has more memories tied to it than I can count. Any help is HUGELY appreciated it. If located, please feel free to contact me and I will gladly sort the thief/thieves out myself. #bmx

Looking for help locating my bike. It went missing off my porch some time today. It’s a black and forest green spray painted mutiny burlish with green subrosa bars. It has gold odyssey pedals, a odyssey back wheel, a Hoffman front wheel, a “trails rule” and “no falls no balls” top tube stickers. ODI grips, shadow conspiracy stem and an odyssey seat. Anyone that knows me knows that this is the only possession in my life that I give a shit about, yes there is a lot of money invested in it but more importantly this thing has more memories tied to it than I can count. Any help is HUGELY appreciated it. If located, please feel free to contact me and I will gladly sort the thief/thieves out myself. #bmx

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Sep 21
Missing a few rad dudes from this photo, but the Massachusetts crew had a great time riding, camping, hiking, boozing and talking shit in Pennsylvania this weekend. Catty, Posh and one more sesh at Dialer’s to round out the weekend.   #bmx

Missing a few rad dudes from this photo, but the Massachusetts crew had a great time riding, camping, hiking, boozing and talking shit in Pennsylvania this weekend. Catty, Posh and one more sesh at Dialer’s to round out the weekend. #bmx

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Sep 18

If you combined every piece of advice you ever read on Tumblr

–and tried to adhere to those rules–

your life would spiral away from you,

you would go insane

and you would die.

In that order.

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(Source: slobbering)

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Reblogged via, bananasam

dclip54:

When I’m taking a bubble bath and the gf sends a sexy text

phenomenal.

dclip54:

When I’m taking a bubble bath and the gf sends a sexy text

phenomenal.

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Reblogged via, intheeyesofthelord

Sep 16

Favorite movies of all time.

(Source: ultimatemoviefanatic)

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Reblogged via, wevelivedcoldlives

Sep 14

This is fucking me up right now.

(Source: pierregrassou)

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Reblogged via, wevelivedcoldlives

Sep 11

"We are born empty, to later be made full."

Perhaps, but, full of what?

Who maintains possession over that click-clacking skeleton finger, a steely arched digit pointing toward the heavens only to skillfully–artfully– direct it laterally back down and across the circumference of this green Earth to make that ultimate decision?

At what point are we too full of a mish-mash of right and wrong, mostly thrown together over a mid-afternoon fricassee, to allow our cerebellum to ventilate a swirling of desire and destiny and form our own sort of internal treaty?

There is no you. There is only you.

There is no we. There is only we.

There is no now.

Would if we could wretch up those violently self-serving considerations and shit out those misrepresented ideals, only to achieve a sort of mental bulimia that fills us with the hollow “doom-doom” of an aching unrest.

We binge on what ails us and we purge the rest.

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Reblogged via, saveends

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