javs blog

preface:

whenever i tell a story about something that happened in my childhood, i always start with “when i was ten…”.
i dont know why. its an arbitrary number. i could have been eight. or eleven. i dont know. i always just say ten.

when i was ten, i was spending a month with my uncle Ronnie and aunt Cheppie (real name josephine, i dont know how she got that name) in Yuma, Arizona. i was born in yuma, and a lot of my family is there. a LOT. i was the 52nd grandchild. i spent several summers in yuma. why i spent the summers there, i dont know. maybe cause i didnt have school, but its really fucking hot in the summer in yuma. im talking like 124 degrees in the shade some days. people die from the heat every day. i did spend a could christmas vacations there. i think cheppie was my godmother or something. they couldnt have kids, and so their nieces and nephews were really important to them.

anyway, one day ronnie and i were cruising around the city, as we tended to do, since he was retired. ronnie had been a helicopter pilot in viet nam, and recieved a purple heart. he was the smartest person id ever met and he taught me a lot about the big world. he’s the reason im interested in conspiracy theories.

we were driving and something caught his eye and he pulled over to the side of the road alarmingly fast.

“come on, quick”
“what happened?”
“just come on. be careful”

we dodged a little traffic running across the street and came to a scene that has haunted me ever since. a man was lying on the ground, face up, staring blank into the sky. he was awake. conscious. his legs were shaking.

i looked to the left. a black pickup truck. camper shell. black bubble glass on the back hatch. 12 to 18″ hole…

motorcycle on the ground back and to the right. red and white. dirtbike.

i dont remember seeing a helmet anywhere on the ground.

people had started to gather. a woman was kneeling by the man. rubbing his head. the ambulance hadnt arrived yet. i grabbed ronnies hand.

the man stopped shaking. his eyes looked like glass. he was gone.

when i look back on this event, i think it affected me profoundly. when i see death and violence on tv and movies, it doesnt bother me. ive become desensitized. but at least it was a real life event that made this happen, and not the “media”.

death is the only certainty.

today i start back working at my old salon. it will be my third time working there. the owner has taken about two months to agree to let me work there again, and i am only doing like two days a week.

its a rad salon. a lot of people that work there complain about it because the owner isnt exactly the most dilligent businessman. but i think he’s rad, and no matter what he is my boss. i have to stand behind him or i shouldnt be working there.

the best part about me working there is that one of the girls that works there thinks i shouldnt work there because my work is sub-par and the assistants shouldnt be seeing that. wow. im not going to say im the best hair stylist in the world… but ive been working in a SCHOOL for four years now. how can you teach people how to do hair if you cant do it yourself? not to mention that for the past year or so ive been around some of the best hair cutters/ stylists in the fucking world. DJ Muldoon, Takashi… Robert fucking Cromeans. these people are legends already. so.. whatever. she can talk all the shit she wants. im just there to do hair in a cool salon and make a little money.

i need to play music more. just sayin.

blog. cool. guess its kinda like livejournal. i do have a lot of stuff to say, and now i can say it in an almost public forum. ive never really understood that, about myself or anyone else. why do we say stuff, not really speaking (or writing) to anyone in particular… but just putting it out there in the universe.

what a fucking stupid hippy i am sometimes.