It's a long way to the flat if you hang a rock 'n' roll.

AS MY BODY CRUMBLES TO ASH I still don't have the gear shift down. First I'm grinding the tranny. I push too hard. In the last month I've heard quotes like: "You're still alive? Still trying to be a teenager?" Man, my shit is flat. Broken glasses, lumped-up face, broken bones--yeah. I've got a troubled hand. And I left blood there. Like I give a fuck. I'm glad I don't get scared right off the bat, but the OZ-zy jinx is secured. I pride myself for knowing everything well. So then how come everything is so fucked? Because for me, if you're so great, how come it hurts so much? We come from the Heavens, but the Earth drags us down to the center of itself. From Heaven to Hell in one nanosecond. Who am I trying to fool? I had reservations before and now it's true. How appropriate, they had the Gay Games at the same time I was here.

My satellite trips go unaccompanied -- my sorry skate floundery goes under-appreciated. I don't know if I can do it anymore...oh shit.

I HAD NO DRUGS ON THE PLANE and was sitting next to a bunch of clowns from SF that raged like chicks. Buff steriod merchants gabbing like flamin' queens as my coiled string is unraveling. I thought about suicide for a minute and then realized I am committing suicide, only on the installment plan. Yes, I am God. If I am the one driving this beater into a pole at 63 mph, then I'm the one responsible for judgement day. Hallelujah.

I asked myself if I could do it. I asked my friends. They all had no answers. "Why push it so hard?" lam rough on things; been that way since day one. And sure to be all that on the way out too. It's hard sometimes thinking that you are simply going through the motions when in reality you are the only one legitimizing them.

I appreciate skating immensely--watching it done well makes me want to get some of my own. Riding in the team van with young people keeps me on my toes. There's no time for the old "yabba douche bag," harkening back to the days of yonder yore. It's people who like to skate that combine forces, and we live this moment repeatedly.

Both Appleyard and Caswell are amazing to watch. I feel kind of creepy skating demos and signing autographs with them, but we're the road team. Right off the plane we unloaded the gear at the hotel and they take us to a 14-stair that has a sketchy run-up and an even worse take-off. Caswell blew the joint out. He nailed a feeble, backside 5-0 and back Smith--beautiful as it is gnar. We rolled two photo guys, three filmers and one film student. Every video monger wants a piece of something.

AL SHOWS UP FOR THE SECOND DEMO. There was some bowl brigade and a pretty gnar rail attack in the back. Appleyard nollie flip crooks while Berry three flip lips it. The crowd goes Koreaonuclear. Parks under five-feet tall with two spines. We even saw some aboriginal skaters in the crowd who looked mighty 'core.

The next morning from Byron Bay we were going big game hunting. Adair casually points out the place he flipped his last car. "Click" sounded our seat belts. Where this mission is going I don't know. On demo day at Mourbra it's raining. Good for the drought, shitty for boarding. Regardless, there's like 25 kids standing in the rain wailing for the bullhorn to announce who was there. Being that Caswell could care less, he rips in the rain. The sticker tosses were funny too. Kids loaded up with the same shit. They keep the enthusiasm level at high speed. The system of down time between demos makes sense, because there isn't that everyday pressure to bust or get broke. Good bunch of guys. Just gnar rippage in the hot sun...

AH, THESE ARE THE DAYS.

RELATED ARTICLE: 30-FOOT CONCRETE FACIAL

THE MILES DRONE AWAY. MILEAGE IS SO OVER-MAXED-I JUST RUN WITH IT. KINDA STORAGE-THREE TRIPS ABROAD IN THE LAST SIX MONTHS. TWO HOME IN A WHEELCHAIR. I'M HURT AND IT'S RAINING. WHY IS IT THAT I ONLY FEEL ALIVE WHEN I'M MOST RECKLESS? LIFE. LOVE AND DEATH. ALL THREE IN ONE MAGIC ROLL OF THE DICE.

I'VE NEVER FELT AS DEPRESSED AS I DO NOW. MY MIND WANDERS BUT MY LEGS DON'T MAKE IT GO. I TRY TO SLEEP AND STAY FOCUSED ON THE MAG-MY LIFE IS IN THIS MAG. AND ITS LIFE IS IN ME. "YEAH. THRASHER, MATE." I FEEL DISTANT FROM THE SPOTS. SKATERS, AND SPECIAL PEOPLE I'VE KNOWN. MAY BE I'M TOO BURNT TO SLEEP. GOD THIS IS A WFUL. I LIKE BEING ALONE. NOBODY TO IMPRESS OR DE-PRESS. JUST MY CRUSE-EYES WIDE OPEN. "TRYING TO LET GRAVITY HAVE ITS WAY WITH MY SOUL. I SAW THIS PIPE IN SOME MAG AND HEAD TO GO. THIRTY-TWO-FEET... BIGGER THAN GLORY HOLE. RANGERS WERE NICE. FOUR HOURS ON A DIRT ROAD TO THE DAM, SNAKES... I SKATED IT. WENT FOR THE DROP OFF THE FENCE.

PULLED IT ONCE THEN HAMMED IT FOR THE CAMERA. GOT SERVED 30-FEET OF A CONCRETE FACIAL. I DON'T REMEMBER LEAVING BUT I DO REMEMBER GETTING HERE. 14 HOURS IN A PLANE AND ANOTHER EIGHT IN A CAR...