Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Sweet things...

There are cool things about every day.
I spend most of my nights at a friend's house, and she has three alarms she sets.
She's like me. It takes forever to pry me from dreamland.
She has this one alarm like the cartoons, skull sized with two bells. When we stay up late she turns it on. It's the last resort. The saving grace.
The thing about it is that device is from a forgotten generation these days with digisnoozers.
I can't turn it off without re-enacting the classic mouse cartoons, with my hair sticking up, struggling then slamming.

Treat Street.
I love you. 24th to 20th, on the way to work. The morning sun and a coffee in my hand.
My pink skateboard sings your name.
We dance, those four blocks.
I practice my kung fu stance.
I truss you up with laces from my wheels.
I can't stop smiling.

You might have seen me, at Broderick and Haight, halfway there.
I had a huge smile this time too.
It feels so good to kick my legs on my bike up those slopes.
I get off on it.
Halfway through you can tell I've gotten myself into something good and haven't finished.
I reach Buena Vista park and switch up gears. A block for ultimate climax.
Up to waller, dead on like an arrow until I've reached maximum velocity. Then I slink up the hill, embodying the sidewinding snake.
I slither up the hill rapidly, one step back two slinks up.
Then one block downhill to the granite steps of the stoop.
I felt on top of the world.

The Skatepark.

Oh how I love sitting on the hill and watching all walk of life ride the concrete waves and dance upon its fray.
The little buttboarding kids, the helmetkneepadelbowpad kids. The old men rejuvinating their childhood. The sexy bearded booksmart boarders who I have a crush on. The random generator shows on the labrynth. Little black kids playing their skateboards like guitars.
Each kid that wanders up tries it. Only a few get it realistically and the others look to them for leadership.
The skateboarding family. Mama MissShelley, her son and man who all skate to and from the park with their pitt as a team. The kid can rip it on the pavement.
What a great melting pot.
Everyone's united in the pursuit of hurting oneself.

A couple of times I have slept on the job. There are these 72 gallon bags that we put in recycled packaging. Empty they are perfect for sleeping. It's like a plastic nest. You need a protective layer of soft stuff that will pad the stringy plastic parts. I am lucky to have my sleepingbag from traveling still there. I have curled up behind the old backstock magazines on my lunch break, waking myself up with my own snoring. I took some awesome "myspace" photos laying in a pile of magazines. My mind is allowed to wander at work. It rules.
One time I curled up in the shelves next to my nearest co-corker before he had arrived. He came in and I was right at his ankles and he had no idea. I stayed there, in silent sleep-like motions. He didn't notice me and it had been ten minutes. I was in!
I make a small breathing sound. Kind of ghost like.
I see him look around and then shake it off.
I am choking my laughter.
I make it again and this time go for his ankles.
He jumps so high I can't believe it.
I get out, dust off, and go back to work.
Don't tell my boss, if you know what's good for you.

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