Check, check.

Blogs are straight weird. Just a bunch of dudes that don't mean nothin to nobody putting their lives out there to be critiqued. Audiences can tell a great deal about a person from their writing, especially when they begin trusting you. From entries of everyday occurrences, to ol' timers (no offense) like Fingers spittin tales of the past.

In one way or another, everyone here at Death Science has let you into their world a bit. At a young 22, I ain't asking, but telling you *don't take shit for granted*, even if it's sheer hell at the moment. You'll look back and appreciate just how real it was.

I'll preface and say bicycles are my jam, riding them is a eerily serene experience. Ipod or not, just mash. No worries, go! Real similar to riding a motorcycle, but you're burning calories! I've been riding two and four wheels the majority of my life, so motorcycles where a natural transition for me. Everyone once in a while you get checked, and checked hard:

Woke up at 5:30 this morning, cooked some coffee and sat on the porch with my dog. Nothing out of the ordinary. Made it to work bout 7, put in my nine and dipped home. Swapped the pedals on my bicycle and rolled out about 5. Coffee shop bound. Rush hour traffic, cages can't drive for shit here either. Especially not in the city. Straight mash up, all the time. Look out, you know. Made the majority of lights through downtown. Hillsborough and West is red, yellow, about to be green. Whatever, I'll blow it like normal. Hold up! A busted blue riviera has the same idea. Fuck. Everything slows down to a crawl. Seconds are drawn out minutes. Can't make the intersection, I'll get t-boned. Cut into oncoming traveling with the buick. At the apex of my turn my pedal strikes the tarmac. Say good bye to anything resembling control. Sliding through the intersection at what I think 30mph feels like, i'm stuck trying to track where this gigantic blue thing is and what it's doing. I implicitly Ditch the bike, turn onto my stomach and try to face this mother fucker! It's not looking good and I'm probably gonna play a game of catch with my teeth and her oil pan. My skin sliding against this 20 grit asphalt caught the slightest sensation of her brakes locking to start her descent through me.

Suddenly her tires bit, got traction, and stopped roughly 3 feet from my grill. I'm here, for one reason or another. Fuck if I know. Tell your loved ones how much they really mean. Don't take today for granted, it damn well might be your last.


fingers said...

glad you are ok hey i'm not old just a number haha

Matt said...

Damn Thomas, that's some fucked up shit...but some real shit...thanks for sharing homie!

kevinhog said...

You don't know me and I don't know you, just happened across your blog from Bluecollar. If you are only 22 you have a future in writing if you decide to take it seriously. Those few paragraphs absorbed my attention very quickly and drew me in. very exciting stuff, probably the real reason you blog, you like to write I'm thinking. Just in case nobody has told you, you have a talent and should be persuing it...from someone who knows. Laterdaze