GENESIS

Editor’s note: in continuing to provide you the most up-to-date information in RT we also are committed to providing you the origin of the philosophies. Given this, much work is often excerpted from the decades of daily chronicles. The following contains opening notations dating back over 25 years.

Like a dream, pretty little shades of pastel bleed out from the black sky as I visit the long ago past…..

A summer’s eve, a warm breeze, the smell of honeysuckle or is it fresh baked cookies drift…lazily sitting on the porch swing. Time melts, rocking back and forth, my arm around her, not sure where the days and nights go but so it goes, so it goes…

A garbage can in the alleyway overturns, bottles crash and splinter around other shards. Up guard-dog fast from the sleepy dreams, out through the side, black ash 40 ounce in check…poised and ready… razor wire is clear, nothing, a vagabond stray, another lost black cat in these lost streets. Head back in to a sleepy, curled-up Sheena. Just another of those, too early to call mornings too late to call nights, start to the day. Patron cobwebs are doused under the cold tap, java brews while the rest of this hell sleeps.

There’s a slight chill in the air…a modest autumn morn, the kind where the cool ocean breezes drift comes ashore, that kind that is bracing, the kind that is never “inviting.” An axe, worn sweat stained handle sits cozily by the back door, a fresh logs wait outside for their demise. A paper cup is filled to them brim with the morning black as I head outside to begin. Placing the cup down on the old truck bed, the wood is lined up, cut, split and bound evenly and eventually sold off to the precious well-manicured peninsula types. Thirty minutes or so, it’s time to get to work.

….

Time flies by…but before the all too often comment of “the more things change, the more they stay the same” gets dropped…check back into reality, everything has changed a lot. Forget how the dirty little slice of heaven turned into a hell with all its beautiful spa trappings and soy latte swilling new found real estate exec’s…it’s all become a puppy punk tour bus, with its well positioned “manscara,” product placement ads and double horned salute to show off that oh-so-punk attitude and get the chart hits…being real, being hardcore has nothing to do with this era. And so as I sit and wander around this glimmering vacation wonderland…all the quaint shops that have replaced the beer ‘n shot joints, I simply realize it is a product of the times. Sure you can return home but damn if home ever looked like this…the soul, the substance bled out onto the streets and washed away.

Today’s “iron game” has ventured down the same little boulevard with its squeaky clean façade masking an empty soul. From the best seat in the house the players of the fitness game are now just well manicured lil’ divas waiving their little hankies at the adoring crowds. Pursed, precious and well shaved bodies mark the players and along the parade route is their ever present, no constant discussion of marketing avenues and business ventures. Tell me, please someone tell me when the hell did gym-rats want to discuss marketing as if they graduated Wharton or haven’t they figured out they are being marketed solutions by people who know how to market well packaged marking solutions to those without a marketing background because they were smart enough to actually formally educate themselves long ago. Oh hell yeah…I’m calling out the divas and their cute marketing forays on the unsuspecting public for the crap it is – ya’ gotta hear that apple-cart tumbling…

So I’ve got the solution…its real simple fucking solution. I’m passing on the whole game…have it, it’s yours…I’ve never needed the validation, I never rolled with the angels from the peninsula…a punk like me never could, never would. Let all the divas find their marketing solutions, let the pretty boys pose and primp for the mirror, let the sauced-up “strongmen” who hide from the public ‘cause they can’t move anymore, let the old men in the industries ivory towers yak about strength to their cronies but need to find in through a syringe and their little blue pills…let them all, let them have it all cause this is about being true to the core, to the source, the origin. With the bass thumping low, hard and fast now…that secret passage is right there, yeah right there and life is to be mainlined till dawn baby, oceans to surf, bowls to carve, mountains to thrash and I’m taking the whole fucking crew with me…

It may not be the answers…but then again it you didn’t even know the question, cause you never imagined anyone could do it and be lifted up, you never thought youth could be everlasting, you never thought life could be such a sweet dance…you never imagined life of purpose, a heart full of compassion, a soul, a body stirring with unbridled, unrelenting mmm…passion…a piece of imperfect perfection within the flowing shadows of life’s delicate dance – and so the final evolution is here, the circle is about to be complete, the genesis of R world is here…

Anarchy…la cara de caos.