ivan

6/3 - day 16 - sweet green first peaking from the new berms of the road-cut west of ozone - a throaty breeze when work is spent - the day beams brightly, i jet down the well-worn highway - apples n' ass-ended hits n' horrid cigarettes - jimbo in the house, somewhere high up the hell-side, waging war on moss i'll warrant w/ that nefarious Other Feller - a raucous ramble up the boring old way - teens on the summit w/ their elders, teeming w/ the airs of methadonia unleashed - tails grown tepid, they rocket down the rock to the grinding of gears, knees shivering in the sea-gale "and, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright; The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light, And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout; but there is no joy in Beatardia, the south side is still closed out"

but that's like letting the cancer metastasize! not that anyone cares for my opinion, but should they wish it, i see no problem in folks replacing every single bolt at beacon every single year, assuming it goes in the same hole and is filled w/ equal or greater quality materials (and would be very happy if joe did this for the entirety of stone soup, should he be bored and find the time on his hands )

i am a meat popsicle, and we're all pink on the inside

5/31 - day 15, 9 dayz this gentle may - heartbreak for days gone by - memorial day weekend at tieton a near total bust - communiques pist upon for tr's w/o pixels - a week with pouring rain and occasional piercing sun w/o rainbows ain't seen mike since a far long time it seems - set out in the afternoon for a ramble up the spike route, him not having had it he said - the base gross n' baking - thick drip and damp on the rock like it'd been sprayed w/ horse-semen - genesis after nearly shitting a kitten on the klutchy-klutchy start - mike made p2 not so sad, but like me needed to stand on the anchor bolts whilst thrutch-fucking into the danky mcdankerson pod there dug leading the 3rd pitch spike-part proper, but this time w/ a stout old black cock of static death to bat-man on up the slab beerz n' gut-laughing n' music up in the woods - mike does p4 and dislodges a big old panel to come whiffling down my ways - i do the last bit up to the trail wading through thick-glades of oak, oily and fresh and full of fear bongos at the summit, guitars n' young ones yodeling - jesus-harold-christ, children I Know up there doing god know's what - ruins my summit celebration, but what can you do - wizened age equals patience equals wisdom? rolling rock n' reefers on the ramble on down - the new Man meandering around, tending the meters in the lot - don't seem like too fearsome a feller... "something seems wrong w/ our bloody ships today!"

"Bill liked his e-mails to be short, pithy, and not written by a complete moron. This was a surprisingly tall order on certain days."

"but our antics are cheeky and funny - your's are cruel and tragic"

that which has never lived, can not be killed

who dat jugging up stone soup in da dark?

is bullshiting and baiting retards and housepets considered gaming?

Pics Please!!!!! Even better add a video! just toured the results of "tub girl" google image search for use here and...just...couldn't...pull...trigger

goddamn genius

off to take massive shit - tr forthcoming!!!

dunno, as pictures go, thought that tr had a fine one...

good to know - wherezit?

shee-it, don't bother me in the least - i got roomfulls of teenagers to rake me over the coals 180 days a year on a serious note, and in order to stress my none-godness, my camera is fucking broke and i can't even afford two-ply teepee these days, so not much chance of replacing it anytime soon - if you want to make a small, tax-free donation i promise to throw you some more...uh...bones

inspector closeau woulda been far less interesting w/o chief inspector dreyfus though!

like porn w/o cumshots, eh?

was thinking about that on the drive back - couldn't think of a way to make the deadhorse worse but to slowly fill it up w/ cloud filth

the wikipedia entry on memorial day suggests a pre-War of Northern Aggression origin

Trip: Tieton - An Autopsy of Awful Wedder Date: 5/25/2013 Trip Report: devil dylan, you hateful troglodyte, how is it that i can never quite grok the gist of your message until i too have tholed it? "i started out on burgundy but soon hit the harder stuff my friends said they'd all stand behind me when the game got rough but the joke's on me there was nobody there to even bluff i'm going back to new york city i do believe i've had enuff!" 4 day weekend, plan set a long time since for north cascade glory - forecasts gone fucking sideways as the days appeared, we tried to suss out some sorta save - tieton, eh? sure, what da phuck, never done darkened that crag, might as well ruin my good name there too drunken packing after a long week, take this, fuck that - pissed n' passed out but roused for a road-rage at dawn - the Proud Highway to the East, a grand gallop at battle speed through the gorge, a fortuitous tailwind forcing me o'er hill and dale as i screeched out janis joplin songs (revised: "oh lord, won't you by me a flat screen tv? honey boo-boo is trying to find me - i wait for delivery each day until three, so oh lord, won't you buy me a flat-screen tv?") - hood river, the dalles, burgundy for breakfast - cut rate oregon cancer stcks simultaneous rendezvous w/ our man-from-seattledam - up a trail riddled w/ rattlers, their tails baby's toys yet to be - a goodly concentration of climbers to set the scene - crackman for fuck's sake and his whole camas crew didn't know it was international take-your-hot-girlfriend to the crag day, but dog-bless whoever instituted it back when blondies walked the earth - i know kevbone's just trolling for photos, so this one's for you boy-o yes kev, they did look like that - all half baker's goddamn dozen of them - and they could all climb 5.10 too wine by the box, butts by the pack - gut laughs - gesticulations - the jam exam, which i musta scored a D on (but hey, a D's just a B that took his belt off!) camping up the oak creek road - crowds - pressing on - switchbacks and mud - supply run to naches - indian relations - olympia comes in orange now i see, and tastes brighter for it - the orb setting, luna rising - a glorious goddamn bonfire - the national tragedy of lara croft's bosums discarded into a common dumpster discussed of - the mystery of night dispensed with and i pass over to the other side in a baby-puddle by the roadside rain in the half-gray of dawn, i grovel into the driver's seat to sprawl, hazy and wizened as the storm grows and i get ever so much less joyful what to do once the day was full upon us? we wander into naches to find a gazebo and have a fry-up - white devil! spam and brown sugar - camels and cans of american beer - michner's space - colonel clagett killed, so uncalled for - "professor liebowitz keep'em dreaming down there" - friendly cat, froward dog the sun breaks out, we gallomp on back to the crag and gear up - climb up the hill even as the clouds roll back in - it's pouring as we rack up - i retreat to the bushes and my beer and pat says why bother and rambles on back to the automovat "the sun ain't yellow, he's chicken" we settle for an afternoon hike up the elk preserve, soaked to the tits - cliffs n' swallows nests - herbivore hoof-prints in all directions - 3 million square feet of manure, a most manly calculation another night, as the weather breaks again - no rain - a raging fire of wine-boxes n' damp wood - pat off to lala-land 'fore too long and i finish my book, crammed into the cab of an econo-asian cumstain awake early to a gunmetal sky - grits and a greasy shit - mother nature tended too - literally as we roll out in reverse down the retard track we'd rambled up the rain returns and we curse and cuss and wonder whatdafuck?!? a couple hours in the lot - total loss of all reason for life, the last smoke smolders out - gear sorted and we Make the Call, fuck this memorial day! we part and pass into dreams - me rambling three hours through incessant torrents, the desert soon made lovely by the sins of today - dylan screeching, screeching, screeching...

at the least, i suspect target has been able to sell some folks a few new pairs of underwear my question: did the truck that struck the upper-supports escape, and if so, why?

i smoked a joint w/ this far-out guy in talkeetna once - he had a cool dog and i was crazy drunk, hepped up from the glory of a month on denali - my buddy comes over - "dude, that's jim bridwell you were hanging out with!" - "oh, yeaaaaaah - well....uh...who's he?"

meh. a teenage girl asked me this week who The Doors were (a shame really, i'm sure jim woulda really liked to show her) "let he who can achieve glory before death when a warrior is gone, that will his best and only bulwark"

adventure!

the state has hardly managed to pay its teachers the past 5 years and has more on less totally given up on its parks, hardly a surprise...