Sep 29, 2017
These designs aren't going to finish themselves! #upandatit #coffeelover #boldloft #longdistancelove #myfuture #gettinafterit
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These designs aren't going to finish themselves! #upandatit #coffeelover #boldloft #longdistancelove #myfuture #gettinafterit
Only one in the gym and last one to leave work. Hard work pays off I’ve been told. Let’s see #GettinAfterit #gymtime (at Sparsholt College)
Make hard at it in the gym again tonight 💪🏼 it’s great being able to train regularly again! To hell with that chest infection 😀 #Humpday #Gymday #GettinAfterIt (at Sparsholt College)
“Nothing”
It was, is, or wasn’t The Fly, depending: the freedom of flight without the horrifying heights, the promise of functionality without the sharp teeth, and the annoyance of a gnat with all the perpetuity. The Fly had a smell. It smelled of weed, beer, unwashed bodies, and Mississippi spray, with enough green, clipped grass, and brown, rickety picnic benches for extended family outings, syrupy-daqs under the sun, or a tripped-out game of pickup. A blanket or twenty lay, and men and women and boys and children and someone’s grandmother lay listening, watching, preoccupied. The environment melted and morphed like a million Dali paintings before. The sun slowly dipped. The nothing-filled expanse would have shivered under the scrutinizing glare of the seersucker striped pants and whale-patterned tops, if nothing could woodchuck chuck.
The Beamer did not fit in, never would, a screaming murder. The Benz shone brighter, than “fitting in” allowed. The Cadillac frowned at the 2001 gray sedan: its dents were unbecoming and its boot unwieldy. Out stepped a trio of forward humans, driven, driving, drivers. The Developer and Investors cast a prospecting gaze, deciding.
When the lamp switches off and the ceiling lights dim, the cozy library is oppressive. Large books line; leather chairs recline; two glasses hold; one bottle pours; one boy listens; one man asks, “What have you done?”
“Done?” the boy replied.
The man asks again, “What have you done?”
“Ever?”
“It hasn’t been that long. Take a drink.”
The boy took a small drink. His father’s liquor was harder than the swill he mixed with Coke in basements while parents pretended not to know their kids were getting plastered and blasting shitty music and finger-blasting each other in cramped closets while their closest friends pretended not to listen to premature moans.
“I got into college?”
“Did you?”
“I got into college. I’m going to college. I, I did that.”
“We paid for that – what have you done?”
“Uhhh.”
“Do you need some help?”
“Yes, please.”
“Nothing.”
“I’ve done nothing?”
“Not yet, but you will.”
“What am I going to do?”
“That’s up to you.”
“So, I can do anything?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Oh no, boy, I took care of you for eighteen years, so whatever you do, wherever you do it, make sure it’s done by the time you need to take care of me.” Dad laughed, serious, “Drink.”
Boy drank again, the wheels turning.
Head pounding, boy flew away the next day, returning for Thanksgiving, Christmas, summer break, and for the next four years, the night before he left, inevitably, two glasses held, one bottle poured, one boy listened, and one man asked, “What have you done?”
Shit can kindle a fire.
Squinting, The Developer frowned and continued, “… changing this grassy plot into a soccer pitch, snack stand, and doubling the parking space. We’re taking this land into the twenty first century, form and functionality over the general malaise, infecting the neighborhood.” The Investors nodded and shared meaningful glances, strode forward, and sniffed loudly. Massive steamboats appeared out of thin air and passed through the bend, a passing reminder of economic costs, of waste, of forward.
A labradoodle, bathed in millennial affection, and a homeless man, grazed before sunset. The labradoodle lolled in the soft sun and ambled between groups of needy students begging for puppy-love, of all kinds. Neither the labradoodle nor the thick-dreaded homeless man held purpose in his stride.
Tim the homeless man had a meal yesterday. Jade the homeless woman slept under the park bench where Tim nibbled his lunch, a greasy Burger King burger. Jordan fucked Jade and she was still sore as she slept underneath the bench where Tim would eat his lunch. Mark sold them all heroin shipped from far, far away. Sometimes Tim blew Mark when he did not have enough money for a hit. Little labradoodle did not know about Tim, Jade, Jordan, Mark, or the men far, far away who shipped the heroin, packaged by women in underwear, under a hot tin roof.
Feed me; Love me; Feed me; Love me; Feed me; Love me; Feed me; Love me; Touch me; please, please, please, Feed me; Love me; Feed me; Love me; Touch me, please, please, please, anything?
A thick-stick of a boy, roped neck, small forehead, swollen belly, burnt smell and crossed-eyes, laughed. The homeless man finally settled onto the bank. He smiled. Behind him the noises of life droned on, but before him lay a quiet sunset, and drugs were in a baggie in his pocket. People do drugs.
“Bro, bro, bro, bro, listen. I can get these tabs for fifteen a piece. We can trip fuckin’ balls for, like, thirty each.”
“Dude, fuck that. What, is it fuckin’ Ed sellin’ that shit? I’m boys with Ed, tell Ed we aren’t buying a tab for fifteen. Tell Ed we’ll take four for forty-five. Tell Ed it’s me.”
“Ed’s not gonna do four for forty-five.”
“Tell him it’s me. Tell him I’m not doin four for sixty.”
“Ed’s not doin’ it. He told me the price. Come on, time is limited, bro. Let’s just pick it up, I’ll throw in ten for you – greedy bitch.”
“Nah, fuck you, now I feel bad. Fine, yeah, let’s grab those tabs. Hit the fly?”
“While we still can. You hear about those assholes tryna tear it down?”
“Tear down what? there’s nothing there.” It’s a bunch’a grass, ash, and roaches.”
“Fine, build it up, not tear it down, whatever. They wanna build, like, baseball fields and concession stands and shit.”
“Word, well fuck that. If they build it up, I’m shittin’ on home plate, like every night.”
“You’re a dick.”
“You gettin’ the tabs though?”
“Yeah I gotchu. Told Ed we’d be over in a minute.”
“Word, let’s go.”
There is a recipe for disaster.
The river looked like limitless ocean of purple and pink dancing daisies and fractals splitting off unimaginably. Thick-stick wanted to save the ocean. He wanted to nurture the ocean, to plant his own seed and grow a watery tree to heaven where all animals, of land, sea, and air, could climb together up ropey vines and long, hanging limbs, to join in heaven, at peace.
A Frisbee was love and Thick-stick sent love to the ocean, saving the Great Barrier Reef, freeing turtles choking, empathizing with the bottom feeders and lifting their spirits to the great heavens, accomplishing his goal. The Frisbee errantly flew towards the homeless man’s head, connected, and sent him tumbling onto the slick rocks banking the river. He split his skull, and as he slid into the river a dark red smear followed his body into a wet nothingness. He was a blind painter now, beautifying.
Thick-stick’s eyes grew wild with terror. He could not comprehend the contradiction: love could murder. It was too much. Thick-stick left, abandoned the labradoodle, the dead artisan, left the Frisbee in the labradoodle’s mouth, tail wagging, by the bank on the bend of the Mississippi river, under a just-set-sun.
The Developer and Investors saw the scene unfold; they were miles away within minutes, doing. Paperwork to be done, plans pushed through, bureaucracy circumvented, and no homeless man’s selfish death, nor a stupid kid’s trippy mistake, would stop progress. Far away in a dirty library an old man teetered into dementia. He needed his son to do.
The universe would do too. The universe would collapse inward, and like a sponge, the void would swallow and swell. Darkness swallowed and swelled as the swirling masses of remnants left by the titans long ago – burnt or burning stars, unimaginably far, dark matter invisible to the eye, the milky swirl which compromised humanity’s lost reality, The Developer licking his Investors and chewing the land, a mangy labradoodle sleeping in the Crescent City’s streets with a grizzled and chewed Frisbee, a homeless heroin addict decomposing in the depths, picked clean by bottom feeders, shellfish, and bacterium – was lost.
When the whole was swallowed, there was no one to determine if the sound was of vast unaccountable decibels or an accumulation of deafening silence. When the last star blinked and rested, why choose night/day?
When everything is gone and nothing is left, there is a paradoxical question of whether to call that nothing, something.
What have you done?
You are what you are in this world and my brother @djofficial is on...this 290 TRAPPIN w @bigtho is this season's mixtape...I can't wait until the next one. I'm proud of you homie!!! #Progress #GettinAfterIt #Hustle #LandHo!!!! #Focus #Determination @tipordienation #TipOrDie @vlivehouston @vliveno @vliveatlanta @vlivedallas #HancockHellraisers #GetYouSome #KNG
Competition Day #crossfit #crossfitlife #crossfitlove #crossfitters #crossfitchicks #crossfitcommunity #chicswholift #competition #gettinafterit
3 months off chest and tris.. Good to be back! Injuries suck! #injuriessuck #gymlife #gymtime #fitness #fitnesslife #fitnesslove #arms #tris #lifting #chicswholift #workinprogress #gettinafterit #gainz
My man Nolman. For a guy that never played a sport he catches on to everything I throw at him like a real athlete. He had to be a high level athlete in his former life. #gettinafterit #gettinbetter #ronniek #strengthtraining #fitness #fun #work (at Horizon at Wildwood)