#gregjackson

[joehutsko]

#onthestreetsofphiladelphia #thenewyorker #greenstreetcafe #kindle #gregjackson https://www.instagram.com/p/CWmEL5VpdZLKKutJe3nz32J4v0TDZFaKqTBkMY0/?utm_medium=tumblr

[liliberniwrites]

A Typical Cliff Encounter

It was early afternoon when we’d docked, the mainland miles off the coast entirely out of view now. The salted air turned in and out of our nostrils with each breath, and the occasional waft of something fried found its place in there as well. The sky above was a cloudless blue, and the ocean below was dotted with an array of multi colored dinghies, catamarans, and yachts. The scene seemed to frame the red roofed casino on the horizon in a spectacular way, but it was the tightly packed overnight bag slumped against my back housing the sandwich bag of edibles that actually conjured images of what one might call beautiful.

We traversed the pebbled streets lined with bars and souvenir shops that catered to the leathered and mahogany toned patrons who teetered the line of geriatric, despite their platinum blonde dyed hair and exorbitant Hawaiian print tops. We paused a moment to marvel at the taffy machine at the end of the row, but quickly found our path up the precarious steps that led to Cliff’s home, which was perfectly situated away from the mecca of aging excursionists. A slight stick settled onto our skins and it was as if Cliff heard our parched voices growing louder up the steps because upon reaching his front door we were greeted with a toothy grin and three amber colored bottlenecks dripping with sweat.

“You guys made it!” he said, passing us each a beer and helping us with our bags.

“You’re a madman walking those steps every day, dude. No wonder you’re an adonis.” John said this and was mock flexing in a way not unlike Cliff was apt to do.

“We come baring gifts.” I said in a playful, yet covert voice as I referenced the special brownies in my back pack.

“Dope. Let’s do it to it.”

The dry and brittle chocolatey cube tasted as if whoever made it was smoking a cigarette and flicked their ashes into the pot as they cooked it. Still, we ran our fingers along the bottom of the bag, bunching the remnants for a last bite sized morsel, never daring to waste a crumb. Philosophical conversations ensued, ranging from the vilifying controversy surrounding the nerf gun in Australia, to the misunderstood aesthetics and highly nuanced differences between metal core, grind core, and death metal. The aforementioned of course being littered with the occasional obtrusive cackling and reeling over sideways in the kind of laughter that tries to escape but emits no sound.

But it was somewhere between deciding to leave and the restaurant did my trip suddenly become distressingly tenebrous. The salmagundi teeming in my gut seemed to flip and shift, and a literal wave at my waist enveloped my torso. My eyelids vibrated uncontrollably, their veracious and metaphorical weight a sudden war ensuing thought.

“Ya okay? Ya hungry?” John’s voice trailed out of his half opened mouth in an idle and serene sort of way.

In front of me was the bowl of white clam chowder I must have ordered, or maybe was ordered for me. I laboriously dipped a silver spoon into the bowl, the piercing act and disappearance of the glimmering silver into the mucked cream colored wet cement substance  begged for the notion of alarm. I focused on the content of the spoon as I drew it passed my lips for a methodical chewing, the russet potato heavy with starch and grit, the clam chunks tenacious with a persistent gumminess that plastered itself into my molars. The cream and now gray colored slosh I had to jerk from one cheek to the other, as if the action of swallowing had left my abilities, but the acute awareness that actually eating might quell this feeling of discontent entered my body. But how? I saw the artisanal communal bread and reached for a plain beige roll. Stripping the buttered top, I smashed it into the back pocket of my left cheek, praying it would absorb the slop. Again, I applied slow methodical chewing, but the act more than successfully absorbed the slop, my mouth now a barren and infecund land housing a bready clam chowder spotted boulder too large for the awning of my esophagus. I had never been more in fear for my life than eating this clam chowder and bread roll.

[coach-rd]

ONE OF THE MAIN REASONS I COACH 💪🏼💪🏼💪🏼. #animalbraininc #animalbrainathlete #powerlifting #weightlifting #bodybuilding #strongman #football #mma #baseball #soccer #basketball #track #westsidecertified #strengthcoach #westsidevstheworld #conjugatestrong #conjugatemethod #coaching #helpingothers #gregjackson #nutrition #success #combatsports

[kasumicat-blog]

My Chibi-Onision drawing ^-^

[phantrashazoid-blog]

Onision: People on the internet dont love you...

Me: *sobs intensely* YOU LIED

[blakcalexandria]

Fuuuuuuck😭 #onision #onisonspeaks #uhohbro #gregjackson