Posts Tagged "blood"
Man, it feels good to be alive and not debilitatingly hungover. Yesterday I endured quite the punishment at the hands of my liver for punishing my liver so badly the night before. Pretty much just spent the entire day shitting and sleeping, it was like being a baby again. So yes, a knife does seem pretty tender by comparison.
Now, I’m not one to brag about new tattoos, but blood on the other hand? Well that’s a whole other story.
To clear things up a bit: the tattoo is covered in a clear, water-proof bandage that almost acts as a layer of skin, and in a very short amount of time a rather impressive amount of blood started pooling in there. Basically, you’re supposed to leave it on for just long enough that you don’t get sepsis. Eventually, it started leaking, but that’s also a whole other story.
Hope you all enjoyed a weekend of grilled animal parts and drinking outdoors — I’m pretty sure it’s your civic duty, actually, considering all the people who had to die just so you could have yesterday off. Personally, my Memorial Day was bloody fantastic.
Just a flesh wound, and a dainty one at that, but it’s not everyday you have some real, live, human blood on a skull and crossbones tattoo, so it seemed wrong not to photograph it.
When it comes to orange soda, my favorite kind is Slice, and by now you should know I’m not one to say no to a slice of pizza, but this kind of slice? Now this is where I draw the line… in blood.
Had a dream a few nights ago that I had forgotten how to skate. Could barely even pop the tail. That can’t be a good sign.
Nonetheless, between that and the sudden, full-blown arrival of spring this week, I’ve been a pretty dedicated overgrown skaterat. In fact, so dedicated I went and made myself good and sore in the days leading up to today… the first 70-degree day of the year. If there has ever been a stronger call to go skateboarding than 70-degrees, I, for one, have not heard it.
Like a werewolf shivering at the sight of the full moon passing between the clouds, each drop of blood in its veins vibrating, ready to explode, my body tingles with longing, the sound of urethane rolling across the asphalt ringing in my ears… and yet, I feel like I’m made out of petrified wood. Even just taking the few short steps over to the bong seems like an impossible feat, so you know how serious I am.
Perhaps my dream was in fact a vision, a premonition of today’s skate session, where my heavy, sluggish legs flop around on the board like clumsy tendrils. Unable to even muster the strength to ollie properly… unable to do anything at all except fall all over the place, inducing an even more paralytic state of soreness. Or perhaps it was just a nightmare, my anxious subconscious wringing its hands because it’s got skating on the mind. Hey, there’s only one way to find out…
In case you even needed it, here’s some further incentive to never jump on the back of a bicycle again and stick to griptape-covered four wheel transportation which is, thankfully, significantly closer to the ground and involves fewer spinning parts designed to maim and rend.
I don’t pay much attention to the Tour De France, because the only bike I’ve ridden in the past five years was training-wheels equipped, a delightful shade of pink and had a bell covered in glitter attached to the handlebars. It is safe to say the fixed gear trend that burbled forth from Williamsburg’s hungover gullet never quite resonated with me. However, after the outpouring of brutal imagery coming from this year’s death race, my interest is certainly piqued. How Lance Armstrong won this shit without any balls is beyond me.
Several weeks ago I was at a bar and caught several thousand replays of this grueling crash on the establishment’s wallpaper of flat screen TVs. During the first stage of the race, Rider Maxim Iglisky clipped an idiot spectator who was standing far too close to the road, apparently under the mistaken impression that wearing bright yellow would help riders avoid her. A wrong assessment. A very wrong assessment indeed.
A pile-up like that is probably enough for any one bike race, particularly an unforgiving 2,200 mile one where riders routinely shit themselves in the process. Nonetheless, it can hardly be considered a “good omen.” Accordingly, later on in the race, The Netherlands’ Laurens Ten Dam (photo above) went hurtling over his handlebars — fortunately his face was there to break his fall. Now, if only I could wrap an ace bandage around my eyes to get that image out of my head.
At the risk of being gratuitous (and I think it’s probably too late anyway), I would be remiss if I failed to point out this other crash where a collision with a car sent a herd of cyclists careening into a barbed wire fence. Seriously. As if getting hip-checked by a car wasn’t bad enough. It doesn’t get any more unintentionally sadistic than that. This is about the point where the Tour De France appears much less inspiring and much more like a blood-stained nightmare that could only be attempted by somebody with a severely broken sense of self preservation.
Speaking of images I wish I could get out of my head… YEESH. This dude looks like he was assaulted by a gang of Wolverine clones. Surely, there must be better ways to earn a paycheck. Hell, there are definitely better ways to earn glory, if that’s all you’re after. You know dudes here in the states just eat a whole lot of hot dogs and people think they’re tough shit, right?
Being that we’re mere hours away from the Summer Solstice, let’s hear it for full spectrum light. And here’s a full spectrum of colorful photos to mark the occasion, because nice weather means I have one less thing to complain about, and I think everybody can agree that’s a very welcome thing.
Warmer weather also means increased levels of skateboarding-related activity in my day-to-day life, and that means increased opportunities to incur minor injuries that make my blood look like strawberry jam.
Speaking of blood… check out this bandage from a recent tattoo touch-up I had. It’s like the Shroud of Turin, only cooler because skulls trump Jesus.
It’s Monday — wake up and smell the man-eating alien flowers from beyond the moon.
It’s been a bang-up couple of days.
Getting tattooed: painful.
Slamming on rough concrete: also painful.
Scraping skin across rough concrete and missing a tattoo by a centimeter: painful, yet priceless.
For everything else, including the anesthetizing powers of a few cold beers, there’s MasterCard.™
Not sure what it says about me as a person, but any video that includes the phrase “I’m bleeding out of my fucking balls, dude” immediately flies to the top of my list.
It’s remarkable that skateboarding is one of those subcultures where failing spectacularly is regarded with almost equal admiration as great success. But a torn perineum is no joke — that’s the part that holds the front and back halves of your body together. You know, don’t let em hit ya where the lord split ya and all that. Whoever came up with that one was a really smart person.
This started out as a fun little warm-up exercise that ran wild somewhere along the line. I have a tendency to over-design things; indeed, I’d describe my style of perfectionism as “flossing a dead horse.” Necessary? No. Pretty? Often not. Fun? Fuck no. Fortunately, this horse had some life left in it and my flossing was not in vain. Dude could stand some mouth wash, though.
No real point to this one — I mean, on a relative scale of pointlessness, it’s even more pointless than most of the pointless shit that goes on around here. But it served its purpose… so I guess that means it wasn’t pointless after all? Wow, who fucking cares! It’s the freakin’ weekend, baby gonna have me some fun.
By the end of any given summer, pretty much every skateboarder worth his (or her!) wheels has some degree of leg fuckedupness — be it a full blown sprain, a tweaked ankle, or even just a heel bruise, everybody’s limping around a bit by September. So even though for my birthday this year, I got the gift of not destroying my knee like last year, I can still promise you I’m living up to my name…
New stickers are coming soon… I think. Don’t ask me, I just work here.