Download => Are You Available For Some Party?

Boom! Deal with it!  Got a great new mixtape.  Some recycled artists, but all in all a real classic.  This one was made for Charlie “I’m Smelly” Ertola.  WEST UP!

Parades Go By – The Magnetic Fields
Based in England – Lil’ B
In Town ft. Nate Dogg – Dr. Dre
Black and Beautiful – Michael Liggins
Little Ethnic Song – Dinosaur Jr.
Road – Nick Drake
Fenugreek – MF Doom
Sister of the Moon – Fleetwood Mac
My Rims Dancin’ – Gucci Mane
Drive All Over Town – Elliot Smith
Für immer jung – Bushido
Superstar – Sonic Youth
Vampire – Antsy Pantsy
I Wonder ft. Hassan Chop – King Geedorah
Me and Mrs. Jones – Billy Paul
Wait a Minute – Eddie Ray
Cold War – GZA
Shoot Me Down – Lil’ Wayne
You Were Good In Your Time – Morrissey
Da Bumble – E-40
Boredom – The Buzzcocks
? – ?

http://trevorgilley.com/

Dear My Friend

Track List:

Women – Cameras
M.H. – STATIC
Dragging an Ox Through Water – Aces
El Perro Del Mar – God Knows…
Martha Reeves & the Vandellas – Jimmy Mack
MF Doom – Charnsuka
CSS – Move
Awol One ft. Dady Kev – Rhythm
Busdriver – The Troglodyte Wins
TLC – Creep
Nelly – Ride With Me
M.H. – STATIC
Cat Power – Satisfcation
Chromatics – Running up that Hill
Iggy Pop – I Wanna be Your Dog
David Bowie – Moonage Daydream
Fiery Furnaces – Here Comes the Summer
Talking Heads – Sugar on my Tongue
Sleater-Kinny – Youth Decay
Modest Mouse – Wild Pack of Family Dogs
Manishevitz – Word for the Cause
Anna Karina – Roller Girl
Amelie OST – La Redecouverk

Well, enjoy.  The track list is strong and I am thrilled to bike around listening to it…oh…oh track 7 just came on and I am really feeling the groove.  Big ups to Portland, OR!  See you in late May!!1!

Here is the markup:

<div class=”back-to-top”><a onclick=”window.scrollTo(0,0); return false” href=”#top”><span></span>Back to top</a></div>

No big deal.  We have a wrapping class an a tag an empty span (better to include that with JS, but whatever) and some text.

Here is the CSS:

.back-to-top {   padding: 0px 50px 0px 0px; text-decoration: none; margin-top: 20px; margin-bottom: 20px; }
.back-to-top a { position: relative; float: right; padding: 0px 0px 0px 20px; height: 15px; display: block; text-decoration: none; font: bold 11px Arial; color: #4c4c4c; }
.back-to-top a span { display: block; position: absolute; top: -1px; left: 0px;  height: 15px; width: 15px; background: url(”../img/tech_specs_2/back_arrow_up_and_over.jpg”) 0px 0px no-repeat; }
.win .back-to-top a span { top: 0px; }
.back-to-top a:hover { background-position: 0 0px; }
.back-to-top a:hover span { height: 15px; width: 15px; display: block; background: url(”../img/tech_specs_2/back_arrow_up_and_over.jpg”) 0px -15px no-repeat; }

/* standard float clearing…not important */
.back-to-top:after { content: “.”; display: block; height: 0; clear: both; visibility: hidden; }
.back-to-top{display: inline-block;}
* html .back-to-top {height: 1%;}
.back-to-top {display: block;}

The money here is I put the image with CSS sprite rollover in a span tag and apply a .win class to the a tag.  This allows me to just modify the positioning of the span tag for Windows (you can figure that one out on your own).  Works perfectly: cross browser and cross system.

Chris Nieratko Interview

Same goes for the interviewer.  You are pure trash.  Anyone trying to interview him for that matter is ignorant and sympathizes with racism.  Here is another interview with someone who tries to claim his sponsors “dicked him over.”  Pathetic:

Modern Fix Interview 2

Never even heard of these ^ losers so I won’t even bother talking about it. Point being. Do not purchase the new Transworld video Right Food Forward. Transworld is a total shit show corporation and doesn’t deserve the money and the people that associate themselves with Corey Duffel do not deserve to be highlighted in a film. I mean, Bobby Worrest? Not surprised he would be associated with Corey Duffel.

It’s sad to see these skaters molded by the industry to sell a product. I remember when I first saw Dustin Dollin. It was at Alameda Skatepark. He was wearing a button up t-shirt and had a nice hair cut. He popped one of the sickest airs I have ever seen. I mean like, John Cardial up there style, true story. 2 weeks later I see him in all black leather studded out like he has been on streets and adopted punk culture…weak as fuck. You are a fraud and an embarrassment to skating.

Shame shame shame so much lame in the game.

end.

Let me tell you a story of how my life changed once I started doing hallucinogens of an unknown power prepared by people that are not trained and have no understanding of the chemicals they are administering to people.

The time was 4pm. I was of course preparing for my evening shamanistic session when my phone rang.  Now, I was supposed to be entering a contemplative and meditative state so that my journey to the netherworld of my inner mind would be smooth and valuable.  I mean, have you ever shown up to the River Styx without a shilling to cross with? Awwwwkkwwarrdd…so i answer the phone expecting to be derailed from my quasi introspective state and in fact I was.

A man asked me to show him a house that was a great distance from my comfortably expensive Williamsburg abode.  I struggled with the decision, but in the end, I am a real estate man and real estate is my business.  I arrived groggy from the shweed (sweet heady weed), but prepared to fully engage this youthful and wealthy man looking to “get away from it all” by moving 5 minutes outside of Manhattan.  He enjoyed the space and asked if I needed a ride back.  His limo and super model wife were parked outside and could deliver me back to my dingy carpet of zen where I can be at peace with my instruments and pitbull פנים יפות (translates ‘pleasant face’).

When I slump in the car I immediately begin to feel a vibe.  I won’t go into any details on the kind of vibe because I wouldn’t want you to take me for one of those weirdos.  When the man chats me up about his travels I am compelled to stupidly say I am going to be “traveling” myself tonight.  Oh? He says.  Yes, I say…traveling with a shaman.  Oh, you know Trevor? He says.  What’s this?  I think…how on earth could this man possibly know my shaman?  Magic.  Now before you judge me kind reader hear me out.  Mr. Bored Moneybags here is telling me that tomorrow night the session is being held no where else but his current house.  Good god, what an uncanny magical moment.  I have to go home and meditate on this I think.

That night as I drink the divine wine of the gentrified shaman I remember I have a story to tell.  I borrow the ear od the assistant to the shaman and begin to tell him the story when he stops me.  Go no further! He says.  But why?  Slim.  He says.  I live across the hall from that very room you were showing.

end

It turns out that I end up leaving my bed at iSlim’s apartment and have to go back for it at 11:30pm.  He is of course enraged that I could possibly disturb him at this hour and throws my bag at me.  The probablem with escaping reality is that there is no such thing and eventually you have to come crashing back to deal with the real world.  Sorry Slim, I needed my laptop back.

How I came to be in the presence of wasted potential greatness is not important.  I walked into a funny situation and found myself face to face with a funny man, his ironic brindle pit bull, his eclectic assortment of world instruments, his curious smells and even more curious wall mounted drift wood “art”, a text book on yoga, an ever so slightly too large collection of jazz standard piano books, a number of furniture items that stick out cause they were clearly not purchased while stoned and of course, the sweet smell of that shtickity wahickity ickity gangsta gabalaba green goblin.

iSlim has a lot of things to offer the casual consumer of non-FDA approved medicines, but more importantly he has stories from home and abroad…as well as a legal blend of seven hand picked herbs that will answer any question you ask it before inhaling it into your truth-smoke-holding virgin lungs.

And so, my curious urbanites fighting the hardships of being slightly more wealthy than most, over educated and suffering from a lack of historically identifiable culture, next time on Bad Ankles -  The Story of Iwanttoaskya Slim: Drugs, Real estate and Multilayered Synchronicities.

end

“Grove Manor, in the Central Riding of Bushwicke, is desirous of an esteemed Lady or Gentleman to take up Residence. Commoners, if they be studious Scholars, or Practitioners of the noble Arts, will be most duly welcomed. All Roomes possess glass Windowes. Deliveries by Post occur nearly daily. Elevated Stagecoach runs regularly on the Broad-way. Tavernes abound, if you are in need of Victuals. Do provide Linkes indicative of your Station in Society, if possible.”

My response:

“While conducting an experiment in astro physics (I dabble).  I was propelled into the future and stumbled upon a writing machine capable of responding to your message.  I felt obliged to take full advantage of the opportunity and am thus expressing interest.”

Can’t wait to move in.

“Haven’t you been following the news?”

“Nah blud, I have been at a party getting squinked.  What’s good with the world?”

“There are riots all through the city.  I cannot drive you to your home as it is the butthole of the storm.”

“Word, well drop me off at a subway stop and I’ll take my chances.”

We turned down a one way street with two left turns approaching.  He passed the first one and we saw the subway stop to the right of the second left turn.  Just as he began to pull over a mob of 100 people came out of nowhere with bottles and torches.  He turned right to drive me into the subway, but missed to the left of it and drove down some stairs.  We were on the beach.  I saw the subway stop, but just as I began to get out of the car someone through a brick at the window.  I somehow got to the front seat someone started punching me through the broken window.  They were trying to pull me out of the car.

Someone shot the driver and I was thrown from the car.  The mob didn’t see that happen and I got up, dizzy.  A hand grabbed my arm.  It was a curly haired french man with a gun.  He was wearing a green and white one piece jump suit.

“Come with us.” He signaled to his partner.

We went straight, away from the mob and along the beach which was turning into a cliff side.  We were climbing up the cliff now, but the two french people were going too slow and I began to get frustrated.  I went ahead and came to the top of the cliff.  It was a beautiful wooden deck that went to a house and to the left was a dock.  People were boating and the sun was shinning.  There was a big ship anchored out far in the water and people were using little paddle boats to get to it.  A very plain man appeared wearing shorts and some sandles eating and apple.  He had sunglasses on his head.

“Can I go with them,” I said as a paddle boat left.

“No you cannot,” he said very matter-of-factly with a hint of a giggle.

“We went into the house and some people were on a couch watching the news.  Others were at computers and there was a frantic hum of chatter throughout the whole room.  A woman came through some doors and said hello and the apple eater went back to his computer.

The man was a hacker and had shut down the subways.  Apparently he was the leader of some resistance movement (the cohesion of the dream begins to fade at this point).  We talked about some shit and she told me where I had to go.  Some quest of sorts, but as she was finishing the lights go out and everyone freaks out.  I run to the kitchen and look out the window.  There is a group of people in black robs coming down the dock in rows of three.  They are holding knives.  As they approach the house to the left I see the same thing, but the people are wearing white and they are all women.

I find myself cornered in the kitchen as the two groups clash outside the window.  The girls in white come into the kitchen and I can see that their hats read “Church of Later-Day Saints.” (Just like this).  They approach me and ask me some questions and they say good, but then I say on my fruition, “but I am not with the church of later-day saints.” They began to slash at me with their knives and I end up killing them and running out of the house.  Some more stuff happens, but I don’t remember.

end.

WHOA… not the craziest dream I have ever had, but easily the weirdest in weeks.

One day, the woman gathered her things and prepared to bike home.  The sun was setting as she neared her home when she noticed a red mark on the ground.  Blood? No, a rose, but how?  The only roses that grew in her country were in her garden.  She brought the seeds with her when she moved there as a child.  She biked home.

That night she was tending to her flowers when she noticed a bumble bee taking a nap on one of her peonies.  Aw, she though to herself, a little bumble bee has been helping me all this time.

Content, she fell asleep reading.  The next day she went to the market.  On the way she stopped to admire the wild rose.  The one so boldly adventuring outside the safety of the green house.  Day after day she stopped to say hello until one day the rose was not there.

Later that week while at the market she happened to look down and there was the rose.  She could tell right away.  There is no mistaking the beauty of a wild rose in a country where only captive ones exist.  The stem was short and it had been stepped on and discarded by the picker.  The woman bent down, rolled the flower in a napkin and rushed home.

She misted it and placed it in a vase by the window.  Over the next few days the flower came back to life.  Strong and radiant it looked over the home and brought joy to the woman, but of course like all flowers that are not in the ground it died while the other flowers went on with their lives.

end