Tuesday, February 21, 2012

forever unending RIP Jim Jack

this life
goes by

blinking hard
refocusing on time
that slips away anyways

the things we do
you cannot fall
you cannot fail to see the danger

what makes us hungry
hurts us too

never disappears
from empty tables
fills them
with always

and I will never forget
friends that
aren't here anymore

Lost a friend this week up at Steven's Pass in an avalanche that claimed the lives of a couple other expert skiers.  These guys were the best in the biz.  They knew what they were doing, and knowing them, they knew that Mother Nature was still in charge.  Hard to believe right now but the truth will sink in next time I pull off highway 2 and into the parking lot at Steven's.  Rest in Pow, Jim Jack.  You were an inspiration to me and many others.  The first ski test you ever took me out on you were so nice to me I thought you were fucking with me.  No one could be that funny, that nice, and that clean!!  Thanks for the tips and tricks.  You were a light for newbies and old friends alike, everyone gathered round for a story, and no one told it better than you.  Whenever I shred, a part of me does it for you.  I never met anyone who truly embodied the freeskiing ethic of shredding hard and having fun as purely as you did.  Your passion for gnar shralping was contagious because it was genuine.  I never heard you ask how someone's day was without listening to the answer and despite being the best skier on the mountain, your humility was never more present than when following a new friend down a run you had probably already skied a million times with that perma-grin plastered on your face.  Not gonna forget that easily.  I'll try to keep smiling just for that...

It's gonna be weird going back to Steven's Pass knowing we won't ever get to lap Seventh Heaven again.  You are a legend forever.  RIP.

Wednesday, February 15, 2012


because the word implies justification
why asks the question
silence the answer no one wants
implications suspect to scrutiny

some day is for future lovers
I wish conjures nostalgia
until we know just what we want
forever we will wander

Monday, February 13, 2012

bury me in the garden

amongst some rolling hills there are
the secrets of starvation

land parched by drought and fickle winter
storms are not to blame
as snow can never stay

people tucked between fallow fields
and forest, in houses
we cannot see

creativity stunted by monotony
many artists find inspiring

when the rain comes and the
fields come alive

the prettiest flowers push forth
from the filthiest earth

and roots unseen for seasons
dug up and eaten

Monday, February 6, 2012

I think

starting to understand
time away from you now seems the same
hollow like the vessel you carry yourself in.

no weight to words that long for depth
polyphonic disharmony
honestly not harming me
I wonder bout the many others

can't even hear the music anymore
turned off so hard it won't come back
sound scratches at the speaker

time is not after us
worry not for that which you cannot control
time is not for us

seize yourself alive
find yourself with open eyes
dare to look at me

tell me what tomorrow brings
open seas are all I see
and deeper we can go

not empty on the inside
but feel like floating on
somedays it's easier to be
with nothing on the mind

Saturday, February 4, 2012

Nothing Happening Here

There's nothing happening here.  No one walks this way any more.  The streetlight flicker on and off with random passersby, light trails chase speeding cars away and off into the distance.  Never stopping never slowing down.  The bicyclist pedals uphill downhill flat land too unfolds before them never ending so long as they don't break the cycle.

Took a message on the phone from an unknown number.  Didn't tell me who they were, but they knew why they were calling.  I said I didn't care but couldn't figure out who they were.  We both hung up around the same time.  Frustrated for no reason about nothing.

When there were things going on.  Light on every mantle, inspiration overflowing like too many keys on keyboards which I so often wander- find myself stuck between the black ones and the whites (not that eighty eight's constraining so could be infinity)- have to get out with a new sound everything must be original must be new and not recycled undoubtedly it's all been done before so why are we even here?  To dare repeat the same atrocities of our ancestors?  Or to weave our realities with our dreams and hopes and aspirations so that one day new will be the breath that you exude.  Every breath.  Every breath providing and inspiring creativity and life.  Not a new way to breathe, but more a new reason.