an opening statement of sorts

And then:

2:15 in the morning. Or really late at night, how ever you want to look at it. All I know is that I just lived some more of the same ol’ bowshit, bowshit, bowshit, that seems to be my everyday now. I woke up at I dunno; a little before noon, and that is of course after waking up perfectly productive at 8:30 but deciding that more sleep was definitely the best way to utilize this free time.

So then there is laundry, auto repairs and of course Facebook before off to work at 2:00 pm. So then there is quite a bit of heavy drinking, short term stress and a chunk of change in my pocket before being freed from the public service of feeding/impressing the not so massive masses around 12:00 am, Only to dash to some other poor slob’s slavery and see if they will service/impress me at this late hour. Service was had, impressed? Not so much. Good people acting stupid to the sweet sounds of freedom in an hour long set of some other friends dream of making it. Little do most of us realize that this is it. We have made it. Our now is when and our present is always, but there is so much available to distract us, so as to avoid the controversy of living. So here I am having chosen to avoid the norm. Refuse to Work, Watch TV, Sleep, Work, Watch TV, Sleep, Work… You get the picture. So in nonconformity I chose to Work, Drink, Sleep, Work, Drink Sleep, Hike, Work Drink, Sleep, Work, Drink, Sleep, Hike. This alone is bound to keep me sane and avoid being another number in the monopoly of society. So now we go, go down that road we have all traveled. We explore ourselves. A wise person once said. You know who you are by observing your friends. This is so true. Enter the Crew.

Enos: Evan Ray, the Grand Jaywalker was a lanky kid with a beak on him and a mop of blond hair that the ladies seemed to go ape for. Bomb builder, Speed racer, Lady Killer Extraordinaire, had nothing on me.

C- Murder Grand Master C , El Blaxican` ruled this domain for the height of its domestic as well as international esteem. The Hub of Daleville and the true home of the DVC, we used to light that place up. If there wasn’t a boxing tournament in the basement, it was ping-pong, or skateboarding. An occasional celebration would be known to prompt a sporadic Bong Olympics. We might have been good-hearted juvenile delinquents, but we thought we were hard.