Jesus Hates Jamie Thomas

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She never used to wear sunglasses cause she claimed she liked “to see colors”. She also said that they made people look like insects when they wore them- like how the mirrors all vacuumed up their eyes.

There was something else too that she would talk about that I don’t quite remember- but basically, she equated not being able to see people’s eyes with unaccountability and popular opinion being that sunglasses look cool, Heather said, was direct evidence that we placed value on some certain type of uncertainty.

And there was that one time I still always think about, that one late evening sitting on her mom’s screen door patio porch couch, when we were watching television and Heather just kept making fun of that video cassette interview footage of middle aged Joan Baez. She just kept heckling her and going on, commenting on how Joan’s short hair neutered her- that now Joan probably cared more for her stupid cat than for any type of new romance or  “cause” and how now she played a parody of herself, like played parody of that poetic young promise her woman self projected and how that promise was left unfulfilled and invariably condescended everything she ever did. Heather was funny though when she did that, and it was all just hilarious and that one time there, she so reminded me of myself- like reminded me how I was when I watch my roller boarding montage cartridge documentation   (like how I myself said that Matt Hensley’s media was his subtle way of coming to terms with his head skin white pride, how one could tell Hensley skating in Doc Martens was basically Matt’s way of saying:” I hate niggers”).  And that one observation of Heather talking shit about Joan Baez, that one day, years ago, out on her mother’s porch, way out in the Menthol Mountains, near Beer Cooler Creek, she so charmed me and in the end it kinda ruined me.

“We are the music makers and we are the dreamer of the dreams.” Continued Bastien hypnotized, deluded- as he was half jogging in place and twirling his pointer fingers in arcs on each side of his head, as if he was casting a spell on himself.

“That is why I need you! And you’re beautiful and we’ll do this together because it needs to get done and were gonna get it done! And its meant to be, so lets go!” Ordered Bastien, as he jumped up in place and then un-clicked and opened the stall door of the unisex bathroom, revealing two girls impatiently standing, waiting on the other side.

“Oh, that’s so hot.” Said the one with the white buzz cut condescendingly, it now obvious why Jay and Bastien had been holding them up.

Bastien and Jay broke out the bathroom and back into the hard reality of Surf Expo. The masses were still quickly multiplying- California was sinking and no one seemed to be aware that things were getting bad: baby’s mommas were there and still wanted to fuck complete strangers, with dudes with thick wrinkled necks and overly self referential tats that which all basically meant nothing, and then the endless glitter on everything that suggested endless impossible wonder on any surface and the more flip flops decorated with faked jewels, more irresponsible sweatpants, and entitlement hats, and also those young young sons with unjustified long heavy metal hair which blew heroically in the breeze from the exhaust of the indoor wind surfing demonstration.

And they were all off time, back on the tamed land, like bored tribes with really nothing else to do, here and there, where the rock was wicked and the liquor bad, the drugs stepped on too much, and the sex horrible and the beats only just seemed to degenerate and get worse with each subsequent looping.

Now walking so fast, he might as well been jogging, Jay looked out near, past the veranda and actually thought he saw the ghost of the boy Josh Swindell and Danny Way beat to death, but he still couldn’t be too sure if he was just hallucinating from all the Merc.

Jay and Bast walked past the Mentality both and also past that corny Volcom Winnebago that was somehow parked inside and also at the other booths- the ones that were simultaneously trying too hard and not trying hard enough.  Jay wondered why smart ideas seemed so hard for people to adopt, why it seemed everyone wasn’t really able to recognize what a good idea actually even was and why the fantasy factories in this area of Southern California seemed to operate under the notion that everyone lacked the same certain something that was needed to make meaningful decisions.

Everyone still acted like they didn’t pander to ad copy, but they all still did. The giant cartoon turtle in a top hat smoking a cigar was printed on a giant banner which stood stapled onto the top of the booth and the grownups were still there, but they were all pretty useless, still just all obsessed with the cartoons- the grown ups, who had Transformer logos stickered onto their cars and pretended their automobile was a giant toy robot and there were still so many logos everywhere and they all really meant nothing.

Jay looked over there near the roped off media space, at all the women on the side in all their summer dresses (most of whom were too lazy to wear dresses). There were all those top tier girls there, who if for a second, one would easily be foolish enough to hastily misinterpret and buy into the promise their soft voices effortlessly exuded – could be instantly cast off within some micro-casm orbital world in which their womanish decisions would seem as an ominous, un-welcomed judgment by some minor deity.

 Jay stood there and couldn’t help thinking to himself: some girls are bigger than others.

Their names ended in vowels too. Those vowel sounds on the ends seemed to refer to some future hypothetical sweetness their parents might have envisioned on them before they were born, but would only end up kind of being mocked out by all those chick’s personal brands of soft brutality.

Those irresponsible muses stood off over by the black waxed rope, predictably shaking their shit-tanks, encouraging some less than mediocre beat- you know, like everything was all totally fab.

And there were no reset buttons there, and even if there were such, Jay would have probably been too scared to even hit them.  But, Jay still could hear those girls laugh out loudly though, though he wasn’t too sure what exactly they were all laughing at. There was talk about the public mood, talk about zombies, about the ever increasing randomness in LA, about being able to see the violence heat emanating off the land from satellites in space, about vast chasms of misunderstanding.

One girl stopped off to herself prematurely, leaned down and adjusted her sharp boot, almost kinda glancing in Jay’s general direction and Jay thought he could feel the same stupid naïve grin coming on that he always accidentally made when he was put on the spot; the same foolish grin that could probably be seen in the flash of a camera where he had too much time to pause to pose or it could also be seen maybe in some random photo in the back of Thrasher, like where he had gotten accidental background props at some stupid bar on the Inland Empire. Jay knew that very same naïve grin would surface again though, maybe sometime after another fifteen thousand dollars, or maybe in another ten months, and Jay’s naïve grin would persistently and futilely continue to exist outside of every pair of unused, yet to be used panties in LA. This unwelcome flinch would still sit there, would still float isolated from all those untouched pristine panties that had those tiny prize bows. And Jay’s naive grin would announce itself in the same tiring, familiar way, away from them all. Jay- he so irrelevant and outside of it, would be completely separated away from the possibility, from the promise of all that future panty side lace that would still yet to line and decorate all that Californian pussy. Jay cast past that same pussy that which had been keeping things going the whole time- that pussy that would continue keeping things going and Jay thought again to himself how this ugliest body part was also the most sought out thing on the land.

Hypnotized, Jay could feel the flat bar inside his pants getting flatter- it guiding him with it’s divining nature in the general direction of those women- even though it was more than one hundred percent guaranteed that Jay wasn’t getting laid today.

“Mike Ternasky was some glorified bully.” Jay randomly thought to himself, inwardly announcing the un-canned frustration he kept stored inside himself.

But Jay still just kept walking with Bastien, silent in his mind, furious from the spectacle, frustrated about what was right in his face, yet still couldn’t have. Jay was sick of the same sole tech reality he was confined to and he then thought affirmed to himself: “Jesus Hates Jamie Thomas!”

Jay and Bast passed past the Stussy booth, and he was filled with a nameless dread when he heard the same, tired predictable Craig Mack song, “Flava in Ya Ear”, coming out of the invisible mounted frame speakers.

Jay walking around in a coma, was going on this second decade of still getting his ass kicked on the daily by the same damn scene. Jay’s sensibilities were mocked by all the gauge holes in those kid’s ears, mocked also by the stretched holes that  had their gauges taken out and looked like tiny ear assholes. And all of those ear holes vacuumed up -sucked out all kinds of possibility, and Jay thought repeated back to himself again: “Jesus Hates Jamie Thomas!”

“I’m kickin a new flava in ya ear,” blurted Craig Mack again, idiotically.

“JESUS HATES JAMIE THOMAS!”

                               

                                        

“ JESUS HATES JAMIE THOMAS!”

 “Jamie Thomas, that fucking nigger!” Jay, snapping out of something and now being fully brought back into something else.

Jay paused for a minute -still walking, coming to the very imaginary end of some imaginary rope of reference.

“You know just because you’re good at skateboarding, doesn’t mean you can be good at everything!” Jay interrupted back at Bastien as he kept following him through the throng.

“Whatever.” Said Bastien, still on Mars-  distracted, probably concentrating on where they were headed.

“No, not whatever. Like, ya know just because you lack the insensitivity that prevents you from putting yourself in dangerous situations, doesn’t mean you have the sensitivity to actually write some real songs- like write real lyrics!” Pressed Jay.

Bastien continued walking, not saying anything.

“Like, you can’t have it all, Bast! You can’t win at everything!” Said Jay, now stopping walking.

Bastien continued for a second and then delay-noticing Jay not next to him, turned back around, mechanically, like some short hot-wired robot.

“Jay, I need you right now, we gotta be somewhere. Come on!  Let’s go!” Said Bastien, un aware of anything else, with the same selfish air of unjustified urgency.

“No, I’m not going anywhere! And you know you’re just gonna end up like playing guitar on Ray Barbee level, ya know.  Stuff would be no better than a Muska beat, because basically, you know you don’t know shit about music!”

“But- I am learning?  Don’t you think- “ pleaded Bastien,  instantly revealing that Jay knew how to touch a very sore spot that Bastien kept stored inside himself.

“Naw, fuck, that.” Said Jay as he started walking in the opposite direction.

“Jay!” said Bastien, now his usual overly loud, dramatic self, hands gripping his dreaded locks like he was pulling weeds.

“Come on! Come with me, I need you!” said Bastien, now following Jay.

“No!” said Jay gruffly, turning his head sideways, looking over his shoulder.

“Look, like I hear what you’re saying and all and we can talk about it later, but I really kinda need you right now!”, pleaded Bast.

“You don’t need anything from me!” Hissed Jay back.

“No,  No, not true! I do! Come on, let’s get back! We need to be over where they’re holding the flag ceremony, anyways. Christ, the color guard must already be done!“

Jay said nothing, walking with slightly faked indifference.

“The demonstrations are bout to start! I’m saying were gonna miss my routine slot! Come on now, man!” Bastien, emphasizing his skateboard he was holding, by recklessly waving it around by one wheel.

“Au, au- I’m not going!  Man, now you’re just making like about as much sense as late period Rocky Erickson,  ” Jay lamely trying to make a point by showing off with some irrelevant, almost worthless piece of trivia, which barely made sense.

“Come on, Jay! I like need you there!” Bastien, pleading.

“For what? What are you even talking about?” Jay also overly dramatic, but some how also seemingly still justified.

Bastien paused, contemplating his worlds, his approach.

“Well like, I just like wanted you to rollerskateboard in my routine slot for me, that’s all.” Said Bastien, significantly, now stopping walking.

Jay turned and stopped, looked back at Bastien, paused for a long moment in contemplation finally saying, “Naw, fuck that!”, turned around and continued walking out towards the doors.

“Jay!”

Bastien continued walking slightly behind him, now at a loss for words, lost in thought, looking down onto the convention center floor,

“Hey, Jay”

“What!”

“Hey, Jay.”

“What!!!”

“ ‘Ruby Baby’”

“What!!” said Jay, through tightly clenched teeth, stopping in place and turning around.

“ ‘Ruuuuby Baby’” said Bastien, quizzically, off the subject friendly- overriding Jay’s hostility.

“Dude, not now!”

 “Come on Jay, ‘Ruby Baby’?”

Jay automatically let out a scoff that came from quickly sucking his lips against his teeth

and continued to fill the negative space silence until he could no longer refuse.

“Donald Fagen – ‘The Night Fly’, 5:39, Warner Brothers” said Jay finally,

 then abruptly resuming walking away.

Bastien walking behind Jay, “ ‘Jail Break”

Jay saying nothing.

“Say it!” pressed Bastien.

“’Jail Break!” Bastien pressing again with furrowed brow.

“ Thin Lizzy - from the album ‘Jailbreak’, 4:02, Mercury,” Said Jay with a tone of authority he couldn’t quite resist inflecting in his voice.

“’Light comes down’”

“Not now Bastien, Shut up!”

“’Light Comes Down!’” said Bastien, tenderly.

“No.”

“’Light Comes Down’.”

“No, fuck okay, Nazareth – ‘Boogaloo’, 3:31, SPV Gmbh,  and Steamhammer in the UK.”

“’That’s Not My Name.’”

“The Ting Tings – ‘We Started Nothing’, 5:11 album version, 3:45 UK radio edit, 3:28 US radio edit, 3:17 international radio edit- God, this is too fucking easy!”

“You forgot something” said Bastien stopping walking.

Jay stopping, turning climactically, “ No, I didn’t.”

“Uh, yeah bro, you forgot something!” Said Bastien with an overly unnecessary tone of accountability.

“Oh, no,yeah,Columbia, okay!”

“Come on Jay! Rollerskateboard for me during my demonstration routine! Please!” said Bastien, finally.

“And Why!!!?” said Jay like he was talking to a child.

Bastien said nothing, looking down, embarrassed- probably for the first time in his life.

“Like you know, I haven’t even skated in…” continued Jay, at a loss.

“Jay!!!”  Pleaded Bastien again.

“…. And I’m not even wearing my blue shoes.”

“Look, If you do me this Jay, just this once, I will owe you solid - like I’ll owe you solid if you do me this.” Said Bastien waving around his tiny hands for emphasis.

“But-“ said Jay pausing, not knowing what to say or how to respond.

“So Called Friends” said Bastien.

“Dude.”

“’So Called Friends’!”

“C’mon!”

“’So Called Friends’, say it Jay!”

“No!”

“Say it, goddam you! ‘So Called Friends’!!!”

Jay waited way too long for over emphasis, and then let out a puff of air through his nostrils.

“Group Home…” says Jay finally, exhausted.

  “…that one song from Tony Ferg’s part n’ Goldfish- I don’t know the rest because I don’t listen to rap- Okay?” continued Jay.

 Jay gives Bastien an unnecessary, significant look for affect,“ All right, I’ll skate for your demonstration routine, but you owe me big time!!” Jay saying seriously, but somehow accidentally sounding like Bastien probably didn’t really owe him anything.

“No, yeah, okay lets go!” said Bastien before his buzz was almost gone, as if this slight detour never happened, as if it was all just a small aberration, and now they were back on again, back on Bast’s agenda.

Jay could hear the blaring, inappropriate within a crowd context pop punk which featured some little whinny emo-mo waif who’s visible tats were visual confirmation that he didn’t have the judgment necessary for creating anything that has aesthetic value, and he was belting some chorus that only deserved to be a single line in the song over the PA and Jay wondered to himself why they couldn’t at least be playing something pleasant sounding for once like some Funkdoobiest or Arnette Coleman or even some goddam Pendeygrass.

They walked past the Mc Donald’s booth that was giving away free Obey propaganda, and the Chick Fillet booth giving away Supreme panels and Taco Bell giving away Diamond sweating shirts and ball base caps, and Jeremy Fish at Whole Foods and past all that, Jay spotted Rocco off in the distance. Rocco working by himself in his own little booth, talking up someone who obviously looked unimportant and Jay knew that was how Rocco warmed up to talking to people who more mattered; conversational arting with anyone was how Rocco got to the people who had stature and actual pull. Rocco, less selling rollerboarding equipment and more the idea of some abstract fragmented lifestyle concept that could be heat transferred onto future hypothetical rollerboarding prod, looked like he too was at the end of his rope, Rocco’s hospital haircut practically dominating his little scene there at the booth. And when Rocco came from around the table that resembled a bar surface, just from noticing the white anklet socks against the gap of Rocco’s khakis, just from noticing Rocco’s mis-attention to such a small detail, Jay knew that Rocco must have for sure been still smoking crack.  Jay remembered Rocco used to be extremely fashion forward, Rocco practically invented the whole “goofy boy” stez (which was later stolen and co opted by Tod Swank) in ninety one from accidentally ordering a gross of XXL jeans and still going with it because it had all been bought by mob money. Jay knew Old World Rocco would never have worn white socks with dress pants. Rocco, the first to wear cheap Amway flat billed ball caps before anyone and Truckers before Templeton, affected how hundreds of thousands of ravers in Europe dressed by practically inventing that whole party referee in Ibiza look.

Jay and Bastien finally approached the overly lit area where they were holding the rollerboard demonstrations and the course looked like some giant locus chewed up the vert ramp at the Mc Gill skate park and had puked it all up onto the cold convention center floor. Copping was broken and the trannies went no where and the vert was too abrupt and there was no way to get perfect speed and the DJ booth was inside the middle of the Pac Sun pyramid, like the DJ booth was actually inside of the translucent pyramid with the DJ’s head sticking up slightly over the top of it - perhaps making that booth the most dangerous DJ booth this side of San Demas.

Bastien jaded waved himself and Jay past security and was now jumping up to get a better view.

“Oh, I think Jimmy Chadwick is on, I think that means were up next.” Bastien said out loud, almost to himself.

“Baaaast! I don’t know about this!” said Jay gravely, spooked from having to go on way too soon.

“No, you have to now.” Bastien, for the first time seeming surprisingly calm, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“What about Fox, what’s he gonna say about this?” Said Jay, bending down slightly behind Bastien, trying to talk near his ear because it was so loud.

“Don’t worry. You just rep during my routine slot and I’ll handle the rest, you don’t even have to land anything.”

“Umm… not landing anything isn’t exactly what I’m worried about!” Jay, sounding like a melodramatic voice of reason.

Jay automatically felt the pageantry in the air that always went with the rollerboard demonstrations and Bastien looked up at the scoreboard above:  Richard Kirby, James Chadwick: 1:39, Salabanzi .

 Jay scanned the VIP section that he had to walk through to get to the street course- which by the way was a street course that in no way resembled any street, anywhere on the planet earth and Jay saw Shogo Kubo, standing next to whom he thought was that Puerto Rican girl in Kids- that girl that played the promiscuous “kid” who made Chloe Sevingy take the AIDS test with her. They were there standing against the makeshift wooden railing and David Mills bumped up against her, almost spilling his smart drink all on her, but Mills drunkenly waving his hand in the air at her seemed to resolve the entire situation as Shogo and Aids test girl from Kids were laughing at it all as if it was no big woop.  Erik Mckay, wearing a now defunct Pepe Martinez Foundation t-shirt just slapped Mills on the back as if such hi-jinx was a small price to pay for being in the presence of David Fucking Mills.

The VIP area was crowded with more T level celebrities one could shake an elephant wrench at: Eddie Reategui, Skate Master Tate, Cheyenne Magnusson, Walter Barnaby, Vince Duncan, soft core porn star Lisa Loveless, James Riff, Chris Branaugh, David Bertleman, Steve Olson (OG Steve Olson that is), Sergie Ventura, Tom Knox, Brandy Castaneda, Lester Kasai, Rich Cowell, Richard Jefferson, Audio Jeff Taylor looking like a total fucking idiot, Koston who at first Jay confused for Pat Chanitta and who was with his aggressively generic wife, Brad Gerlach, Mike Smith, David Reyes, Tina Ford,  Little Baby Ernie Torres,  Fake Indy Peter Top Ramendetta, Max Perlich, Craig Stevenson, Robert Owen Colby, Danny Montoya’s twin brother who never got any coverage, Vince Foster,  Chris Lambert, Clare Rojas sitting at her easel pathetically painting in front of every one, Vinny Vegas and Jennifer Hosoi- Jennifer Hosoi who was dutifully and over eagerly bartending the small cashbar like she had “made it”, “ somewhere”.

Jennifer paused and practically punched her diaphragm when she reluctantly saw Ricca Gentry walk pass the tiny cash bar.

“Ok, its real simple you have to walk up the snowboard A bank and then when they announce my name, I just need you to drop in and do your thing, baby. “ said Bastien handing his rollerboard over to Jay.

“Okay….” said Jay, his voice reflecting uncertainty in Bastien’s plan.

Jay put the rollerboard down on the ground and stood on it, wobbling violently back and fourth, “ Geez Bastien, don’t you ever tighten up your trucks?”

“Huh, tightening trucks, what’s that?” said Bastien not looking at Jay, it impossible to really pay attention to one person because there were so many people in the VIP section.

“You fuckin hippy!” said Jay.

“Naw, No, you’re good.” Said Bastien Consolingly, clearly not having heard what Jay said. Bastien not looking at Jay, put his hand on his Jay’s shoulder, “Like after this, I promise we can bounce.”

“I seriously don’t think I’m capable of even rolling! I feel like I’m gonna have a coronary. This is so stupid!” Jay, feeling the put on the spot.

“Hey- is there anything you want to skate to during your demo routine?”

“Like what?”

“Like some music, ya know? I might be able to get the DJ to play something.”

“I don’t know. Some Duke Ellington? Chet Baker? Anything off Chess? Anything before nineteen fifty?”

“Okay… I’ll see what I can do,” said Bastien, sounding like he was on top of it.

“But, what am I gonna do?” pressed Jay.

Bastien turned his head and looked at Jay with finally his full attention and paused, his mini dreads looking like they were slightly vibrating.

“You’re gonna gun and tear it is what you’re gonna do! You’re gonna gun and tear it baby goin down!” said Bastien perfectly to some imaginary beat, both he and Jay couldn’t quite hear but were still aware of. Saying this somehow punctuated the situation perfectly, as if that statement was a secret program that Bastien was remarkably aware of and surprisingly knew would set it all off for Jay.

“Got it.” Said Jay, dutifully, craning his neck, looking off into the crowd as if he was searching for somebody and he then turns around and heads straight to the stairs behind the A bank.

Jay Lee now all yacked out, well way past thirty now, all coke sentimental to himself, numbly climbed up the three stories high 2x4 stairs leading to the top of the starter bank and randomly thought about the pagoda Slap backpack that Heather had had the first time he met her in high school.  At that time, years ago, Jay didn’t even know Heather yet, but the acceleration he felt from seeing her almost decades ago with that same blue ruckus sack that had that Pagoda logo stitched onto the outer bottom pouch, could have seriously beaten the Dog-Town crap out of Jay Adam’s entire career. Like, Heather repping that bag pack was better than Gino’s entire part in Trilogy played in slomo, better than watching Hokus Pokus three times straight in a row, was absolutely the best thing related to rollerboarding Jay had ever seen. At the time Heather had obviously had had better gear than him (she probably inherited it from her last boyfriend or some cool guy she dated) and it was the most lethal combination imaginable for Jay- it, the most dangerous way he could ever have seen a graphic displayed. It was like watching a cartoon version of Jay being granted by the animators he was drawn by, a more evolved funky female cartoon counterpart version of himself- like almost. Almost, because Heather might have been way more ahead of the curve than what Jay was at that time, like lived on some hipper street on a cooler side of town than where Jay had been brought up. Heather had had more free hang time outside of class, more freedom from her momma to socialize with older, more eclectic people than what Jay was at the time time. Heather was the lyrics to the Liz Phair song that was out at that time; she had his favorite face.

Walking up the top of the stairs, he could hear the announcer mumble over the mike, and his stomach flop flipped when he distinctly heard him say “Bastien Salabanzi” and the audience slightly chatter responded.

Reaching the top, he could hear the crowd continue to respond clap as if Bastien had already started his demonstration routine, and in the background the DJ was playing “Ruby So Ho” and it seemed in some way so perfect to Jay that his rollerskateboarding would be reduced to this by the Expo – Jay reduced to this by the whole fucking industry, framing Jay with a song that always gave him second hand embarrassment.

Us being born came out through sexual politics, the sexual politics that guard the gates of conception. When we fuck we touch God together, politic infinity together, create  new flux together.

“What he got? Bast Salabanzey!! Bastien, where you at, man?” said the MC.

Jay got to the top of the bank and could see Bastien belligerently walking the course towards the DJ and MC- the MC, who Jay could see now was Dave Duncan or at least someone closely resembling Dave Duncan.

“Bastien whaat up? Times burnin, main. Bastien Salabanzey can’t seem to find his board, folks!” said Duncan, in front of Tim Armstrong’s raspy voice futily singing in the background.

Bastien walked up the pyramid bank, jumped over the turntable table into the DJ booth, hunched down saying something to the DJ, his hand cupped into the DJ’s ear as if he was giving him some kind of instructions or secret play.

Record scratching off, the DJ fumbled over looking for a new record as Bast authoritatively stood next to him as mandatory music supervisor.

“What we got? Bastien don’t like Rancid! What!!?  You hear that, folks? Bastien aint even hearin it. Like a girl getting an abortion, he aint havin that!” Announced Duncan, sounding like a talking piece of garbage.

After an awkward pause, with the score board time still tock ticking, the DJ put on some record and Jay immediately heard the unmistakable first bars of the piano loop on that Gangstar song- the Gangstar song that was in that Kenny Hughes Third Eye Vision part, like when Element was still kinda dope and hearing it was surprising and Jay was surprised, surprised because it had literally been forever since he had been exposed to something dolled out by the industry that actually kinda got him a little hyped up.

 I'm gonna be on ti dop that's all my eyes can see.

Victory is mine. Yeah, surprisingly.

I've been laying waiting for your next mistake.

I put in work and watch my status escalate.

And it actually felt kinda cool, just putting Salabanzey’s board down onto where the top edge of the platform met the tilted masonite bank. Jay slightly invigorated, was actually excited having the unexpectedly good hip hop loop music supervised by some younger, hipper, more talented black kid from Lyons, who would help craft and tailor make what would become Jay’s demonstration routine. This reminded or at least somehow connected Jay back to the original abstract thing that first attracted him to rollerboarding in the first frickin place.

Jay’s chest was jump humping and the adrenaline clung to the cocaine inside of him and he almost felt like passing out but his lips and tip of his nose where still so numb and there was no clear moment designated for him to drop into the three story bank, the giant bank which resembled the side of a small down hill block in the Richmond and Jay now felt the full immediacy of the moment and decided to just  rest his front foot onto Banzi’s roller board bolts and stomp down onto the long, steep, ramp of death.

Though the piano loop did give Jay some courage, searing halfway down the snowboard bank he realized he was going way too fast too soon and by the time he got down to the ground he was hauling double maxx towards the DJ booth pyramid and instinctively power slid the buffed concrete floor.  It was surprising he could still hold onto the rollerdeck with the too loose trucks, but flight and fight took over and Jay skidded at least ten feet, only he hearing the rollertires screech- slowing himself enough to steer away from the pyramid.

Leave it for someone to always be around to try and distract your woman enough to take her away from you. With Heather it was just fucking ridiculous: everyone all the time always wanted her. Everyone always wanted to get into her pants. Although Heather looked unapproachable, she was actually the easiest person to engage in conversation with. Heather was addicted to Parnate, an antidepressant. It didn’t matter who it was, anything anyone could say always seemed to generate enough momentum to gain her enthusiasm. And she would always do that one annoying thing when someone would say something and she would be so into what they were saying that she would try to finish their statement with them.  It was awkward and annoying and it made me sick to just sit back for those long intervals, standing in public trying to look cool but not feeling cool, listening to her talking about something I wasn’t into and then trying to feign not being annoyed or upset and it would require all my energy to mask it when the person she was talking to eventually left.  I would be quiet- too quiet and not know what to say. Heather would ask: “What’s wrong?”, “What are you thinking about?”, “Are you all right?”.  And then when I would try to explain myself, I would skirt the issue and compromise myself by compensating with being fake pleasant- looking even more like a fool. When me and her were going out, I never wanted to hang out with other people, especially my friends, because I wanted Heather to myself.  If we went out to eat, she could easily talk to our waiter an inappropriate amount and one time she even innocently invited our waiter from House of Pies back to join us afterwards, when we had plans to go to her mommas apartment to watch a video cassette tape we probably rented or were about to rent. I would spend days looking forward to time with her only to be disappointed with some sudden a change in itinerary- changes always prompted on her part. Either our plans would be cut short, or get cancelled or post phoned or get delayed or she would invite other people along or include new people I really didn’t want to be around, she could even ride in the other person’s car on the way there.

Jay zagged past the DJ pyramid, conscious of holding up his posture and gave an old man push, but it still felt kinda good and Jay gave it a push again and then popped a front sided one eighty degree deck jump, where he banged the front tip of the nose off Bastie’s rollerboard and tried to do it like the one Gino did in twenty shot at the Raoul Wallenberg School.

“And What? Jay Lee? What? Audio Rollerboards. What? Video Blazed Jay Lee?” announced the MC, talking to someone away from the mic.

The land is slow moving and my love is all wrong. And I get all caught up in hypothetical. I get caught imagining her talking to him, bidding herself- the subtle ways of her not making her desire completely obvious, yet still finding ways to still expose it to him. The way they could both feign a type of obvious casualness while going back to his apartment under the ruse of some bullshit reason, like watching cassette tapes- though IT would both be on their minds. Them sitting close and the accidental brushes leading to the inevitable making a move. Them kissing. What her arms and hands looked like around him.  The logistics of finding condoms, if they used condoms and then the mutual release sigh from the first stroke that confirmed he was now inside of her.

Now going fakes, Jay didn’t quiet know what to do, so he just kept mongo swiss pushing towards the quarter pike over onto the other side. He knew it was probs taboo to the younger kids to switch mongo push, but it still meant something to him and he continued the sassy tech push till he reached that half of the half pipe and then stalled a back fakie smiths and ollied out of the copper good- extra good, accidentally- which technically made no sense because he was amazed he was still able to hold onto the rollerboard because Bastie’s truckfit was extra loose.

The time when I dropped her off at her student housing and she went out of her way to tell me that the guy from Florida fucked her there, in the same apartment I helped her move into and she making a point to tell me that they didn’t use condoms.

Jay coming frontwards now, could see a paisley swastika printed on the other side of the Pac Sun pyramid and rolling noticed Bastien with his back to him- Bastien bending down onto the turntable table, looking like he was straight huffing the yack Merc right in plain sight.

 Titus and a group of his over exuberant team of lackey security guards with shirts that said “Staff”, had now obviously figured out their stunt and rushed onto the course floor, dramatically jumping inside the booth, they- also conscious of the spectacle they were making and well knowing this  scene was being videographed and pituregraphed and they were grabbing Bastien heroically (but obviously not really hurting him) and they had their arms around him and group wrestle hugged him off the course as Bastien was fighting  against them. Bastien yelling all useless nonsense, as if whatever he was yelling was completely valid, being force lead off the premisies or God knows where else- Bast bucking like a horse being broken in.

“Party’s over, Bastien.” Announced Duncan, in a way that exposed himself looking double faced.

There was nothing left for Jay to do, so he just kicked the rollerboard away and it ghost rollerboarded across the course. Jay shivering- felt goose bumps wave under his skull, as he then noticed TNT not missing a beat seizing the spotlight, noseblunt grabbing off a rafter onto the giant snowboard bank and then Mc Twisting the DJ pyramid. The crowd cheered so loud which by contrast made Jay realize that he didn’t get much out of them during his and Bast’s demo demonstration routine and TNT looked like such a skate tool, rolling away, tongue out, head banging  and playing air guitar to all the fucking fanfare.

Even skating so chill, had taken everything out of Jay and wiped him out and he was drowning inside the performance anxiety, and his brain still shivered  goose bumps and the arc of his back was prematurely too sweaty. He was looking for a sign, any sight that said :disappear here, but he knew he still had to walk the endless expanse of the convention center  and maybe even search through the labrinthe parking garage for his friend. It was hard for Jay to be an adrenalin junkie when it just made him so dope sick and he could feel himself gagging and about to throw up, but he was able to barely catch back the dry heaving, he was still able to barely keep his composure and not completely, visibly lose it in public, and it took everything inside himself to do this, though in actuality no one was really much paying attention.