Spaced Between Time, Letters to Friends and It's Not About Color.

Here's where we at Heckler get a chance to stretch the realms of what is a snowboarding magazine. Three sets of words.

Spaced Between Time
by Chris Carnel
It seems only yesterday that I rode a snowboard whilst spanning this Earth. I was assigned to document the sport with my now rusty, then trusty Nikon 35mm mechanical analog camera. It's been pushed to the wayside and so have I. The year is 2095 and I thought I knew it all, now I'm told differently. Small digitally produced android-people are collecting snowboarding data from all over the "new" seven planets while I'm about to experience it from this (what used to be called a television) modern day Data-Galaxy-Info-laser-channel transposer. It's hooked directly into my mind while I relax on my Pulp Inducer 5000 (known 100 years ago as a couch). I am not able to travel through distant space and time; too old. I believe I am possibly brainwashed by this 21st century channel that is the answer to an MTV long gone. Before the turn of the century, MTV controlled the populace and was voted in as
the president elect of the United States. The final phase of a New World Order. A few anarchist pioneers were wise enough by escaping into a
then-uncluttered-with-human-debris solar system and into other galaxies with their snowboards. By stealing a, then high tech, NASA rental shuttle and guided by the route of a prehistoric space probe, they escaped our solar system. It was very commendable. They somehow orbited Pluto (my favorite planet) as a final farewell, then exited the Solar System. The year was 2010. At the time, I was in Old Sacramento City. The Heckler Digital Broadcasting
fortress to be exact, hiding from the impending American Bar Code Implant Order. Being quite stealthy, waiting for word from the space crew took 6 years of my life. I eventually received sunspot relayed signals that they had made it past our solar system and into outer reaches of space (nowadays called space
desert; no fast food space stations as of yet). Wow! I was amazed to say the least. There is new snowboarding life in the galaxy and better planets to
sustain it. After all, our atmosphere is now so thin and translucent, indoor facilities only exist, and the powder just isn't the same as it was in the 20th
century. Boy do I wish I could have joined them, but I'm 170 years old with all digital reconditioned bionic limbs and muscles. The new Androphoto humans think, travel and work more efficiently than I, and need no periodic film loading or money for expenses. Nowadays, I, on the other hand, experience everything here the laser channel that covers everything in the solar system and beyond (starting next month) from live indoor snowboarding to live Lunar Comet Leaping. We can almost feel it too! Oh yeah, they also play trendy music. My 80 year old relic of a T.V. monitor (of which I had hidden in a time capsule for a few decades) is faded, but one half still projects my favorite channel. See, look it shows the favored channel: "H.E.C.K.....TV.. Hang out with me, lets watch some good advertising..
Honk Honk Honk.. huh? Oh shit, I fell asleep. Whoa, it's snowing. I've been stuck in traffic.. what a nightmare. Heckler is on paper and the fruit of all goodness. Appreciate snowboarding outdoors, in North America, on Earth. Get off the Pulp Inducer 5000 and experience it for yourself. I'm sure you already have, but it's good to keep Y'all awake. Huh?

Arlie John Carstens and Sonny Mayugba Correspond via e-mail:

Sonny, hello. Carnel set me up with this little method of communication for a relaxing evening at his home. Dave and I have just gotten back from a long day traveling here and yon throughout the Tahoe area. Marvelous land you ingrates have here. Upon our return we came to discover that The Crew of Fools is in Chris' home tonight with Augie as ring leader. Travis Yamada, John North, and two others I have not been introduced to are here. It seems everyone wants to go get macked up and gamble, or at least this is what Augie has decided is what everyone wants to do. He's just sold a pair of stereo speakers for $200 and wants to go party it away. Uncommon brilliance that kid has I tell you! As you can imagine, Carnel is hiding out in the dark room in an effort to escape the insurgents. He said it has been a zoo all day in his home. Sort of like a cross between a swap meet, a drug store, and a witness protection center. Today Dave Rogers and I tried to go ride at Donner Ski Ranch. We drove into the lot only to see the place empty of cars and sledding types. The chairs were swaying in the wind like hanging victims after the spectacle and fanfare of death. Nobody's home anymore. Sorry. 100+ mph gusts. When the air struck your face it was like being alternately pelted by bb pellets and slapped with a fly-swatter. Oh the agony ! Oh the magnificant power that is Nature, how lowly is man in her presence! Hyperbole is a beautiful gesture; use it often for it will flabbergast the masses intovexation and will bring down their ire upon thee. As Hamlet said:"Get thee to a Nunnery!" Meaning of course 'cut out for your own good before the shit hits the fan.' However, Hamlet sure as shit didn't follow his own advice now did he? Are you with me Sonny? Can I get a witness? Bring that beat back, bring that beat back! Take it to the bridge brother! Sorry, it is past midnight and I'm starting to free-associate badly. Readyourself a little Virginia Woolf or James Joyce sometime and you will mentally disolve under the chaos and beauty that is stream of consciousness writing. Hallelujah, Amen!!
Enough tuberceolosis of the written paragraph; I will now in no particular order tell you of how the life of our day came to mirror a Surrealist French film. Here goes, toss out the gospel and start licking the toads! Dave stopped a rain weary Donner employee to ask what the hell was going on and the man replied that a chair had fallen from the cable. The body was cut down by the unseen hand of God. Good enough reason to end the day I suppose. Dave went in search of bowel moving facilities. It would seem that the Donner man's words scared the shit right out of him.
I readied my Wave-Rave-Gore-tex-water-proof-body-bag outfit, slapped on a hat and goggles and ventured back out into the dismal day. In all that rain and
wind I felt like a mighty and water-tight submarine under a turbulent sea. Bored and friendly, I helped a few people shovel a car out from under six feet
of snow. I had fun. Yet, no one could understand why I'd want to help them with this task. Quickly, I surmised that I must be in California. A land where the "I do only for my own benefit" philosophy prevails. Another sign that I was in California,(and that the Apocolypse is near), came earlier in the day when Dave pulled the car over to the roadside to relieve his bladder. There he was communing with Nature, replenishing the earth with his bodily fluid when a moustached man resembling Horshack came up and began screaming at him to put away "that thing." He said to return to the car and "get on up the road" before he called the highway patrol to come and cuff him. Now I implore you to search deep within your soul to find one thing wrong with pissing into the wind on the roadside while rain swirls all around you? Isn't rain Nature's way of making everything shiny and new again? Including a piss-soaked patch of asphalt? How many cattle will die as a result of Dave's actions? What is up when a totally natural bodily function is considered unnatural and innappropriate? Are we going to start regulating where bears and deers want to piss? What about fish? God forbid they should
piss in our drinking water! Okay, I'm getting spastic. Sorry, it was just super-funny watching Dave urinate a foot away from this guy while he was getting yelled at. He wouldn't stop and the guy was getting all worked up, "You put that thing away, put it away now! I'll have them send you a ticket in the mail!" Blah, blah, blah....
Where the hell did that guy come from anyway? He was on Dave's jock practically before he'd even stepped out of the car. Nosey, geeze. We laughed our asses off the rest of the day trying to come up with other ways to aggrevate the guy. Onto other antics. After not riding at Donner we set off in search of my
friends Ruben Sanchez and Tim Manning. Do you know either of them? These gents are the real thing; fellas so nice and funny you feel like killing yourself in their presence because your'e so damn unworthy of their hospitality. But you don't kill yourself because then you'd probably get blood all over their carpet which just wouldn't be cool. Ah yes. They live in some town at the north side of Lake Taco. We got so lost trying to get there in the bad weather that we had to pick up a hitch-hiker to help us find our way. She turned out to be a vacationer from Grand Rapids, Michigan. (Grand Rapids, ever been there? Total hell-hole. I once played a punk rock show there at a place called The Reptile House). When we dropped the hitcher off at her friend's place we were told that we were way off course. Great. How fucking off course could we be, the lake is an oval right? But we charged ahead and eventually prevailed.
Finally we got to Ruben and Tim's lovely abode. These fellas are living nice; microwave, tv, sink, stereo, heat, bedrooms, shower, and clean linen. Felt just like home except they reside at the beach and own better furniture! Dave saw the lake from their balcony and decided he wanted to go surfing. Yup,
it is freezing and horrible outside and Dave decides he'd really like to try jumping in a lake. A big, cold, scary lake full of waves and half-submerged
buoys. Tim offered up his new, and as of then unchristened long board, and Ruben supplied a wet suit. Dave crammed himself into the undersized 3mm suit, and as it was starting to cut off all circulation to his hands, feet and head, set off in search of the ruling lake swell. Viva Los Idiots! I'm not sure which was more funny- watching Dave walk bare foot across the snow-covered beach or cackling with Tim while Ruben filmed hypothermia-boy barging the over-head waves. Dave is great because of stuff like this. Standing on the beach was bad enough with the knifing rain and blasting wind coming off the lake, but to be in the freezing water had to be just beyond misery. After catching three short waves in twenty minutes Dave came floundering back to shore intact. His exposed skin was as purple as the bloated carcass of a dead man dragged from the sea. Dave's only comment was:"I think this is the fucking dumbest thing I've ever done." He walked gingerly over the snow-covered, jagged beach rocks up to the house in search of a hot shower. Raging ice-cream head-ache. We then watched a movie about boat racing with Matthew Modine and that girl who blew herself up with a hand-grenade in the movie Red Dawn,(anyone remember that scene- they were pulling tears from our eyes with pliers on that one). Anyway, we all ate pop-corn with Missy(Tim's pal) and their other room-mate while gurning this fine sailing flick. After some polite conversation, a few phone calls, cups of delicious coffee, and random acoustic guitar noodlings Dave and I bid farewell. We had to return to Reno with the auto Chris Carnel so generously allowed us the use of. Carnhole is way killer! Sonny, this was our day, I hope you've enjoyed hearing about it. See, it just goes to show that snowboarding is not everything all of the time. If you
find that you can't ride then go find other ways to make a mockery of life. Just like Sly Stone once said:"You can always find a little heaven in every
disaster area." C'est la vie mon bon ami!

Hugs and blisters,
Arlie John Carstens

Arlie,
I'm glad you understand the beauty in killing. It warms my loins to hear your virtually ineffable respect for Nature. I'm enamored by your value of home. Home. And it is your sense of humor that makes it all so punishingly enjoyable. Waves broke mountain high over the reef as the young travellers drank what they thought was their last glance in this lifetime. So, your day was good. I'm glad. Today, I feel scared. For some reason, this impersonal fiber-optic
encryption feels like a confession stool before Father Corkell at the All Hallows Church on 14th Avenue. Father Corkell was a tall, demure skeletal
looking priest. His skin was mauve and shadowed with death lurking over him at all times; waiting. Nothing but time. Anyway, Corkell was my favorite because he had those damn scriptures down pat. And his Liturgy amidst this South Sac, homogenous, low income gathering was always short and sweet. Ahhh, soft focus now. Can you feel it, Arlie? The meditative state so out of body you could be confronted by the Messiah himself and barely raise an eyebrow. Are you there? The pew is like a whirlpool of Gods breath lulling you like a mandalla, while Father Corkell's voice drapes you in velvet tones. Somewhere, deep inside you, is fear, but it is that fear that makes you feel so at home in the House of the Lord. Can I get an Amen? Maybe a, "right on, dude." My day ended in motivational fear. I met with John most of the day and the plans and meetings and things to be done seemed to nearly overwhelm me. Running an international rag is getting tricky and it has nothing to do with snowboarding. I love sbing. It is fun. Business, on the other hand, can be overwhelming. Almost rediculous. Occasionally, scary. Like confession. It must be done, but you just want it to be over. Maybe that is my hyperbole for the day. I just feel a little scared. I am touched with envy at Dave and yourself. Roadtrips and all their dimensions are an envialble experience. I, however, am overpowered with happiness to think that you guys are spreading joy, having fun and hanging with Carnitas. Well, Father Carstens, I hope this letter has stimulated you even a percentage of what yours did me, for that would be large! Ahh, a smile, I feel good. Godspeed.................................Sondog

Sonny, your writing prowess astounds me. I had no idea you were capable of creating such vibrant and beautiful images with the written word. Damn boy,
you need to bust a little more with that shit! I thank you for taking the time to write me back. It is not often that I manage to compose my thoughts on paper for the eyes of another and I appreciate the feedback. Your description of the priest coupled with the ritual of confession as it pertains to publishing a magazine was genius. Yes, when we write it becomes an instant act of confession. The priest becomes the representative and mediator of God for the practicing Catholic. Where as for the practicing writer the readership is God; a multi-minded god prone to making variable interpretations of the written confessional. The writer's questions and insights are not met with either clearly defined or sophisticated metaphorical answers. No one says
'Do Ten Hail Mary's and you are forgiven for having these thoughts.' You hardly ever get a 'Bless you my child.' You often get 'Right on Bro!,' or conversely, 'You are a fucking dick, what right do you have to have an opinion?!!' For the writer God is a raging, schizophrenic crack-smoker, or a nice, fuzzy bunny. There lies very little middle ground. When and if a middle ground exists all you find there is the apathetic mass of the ill-informed. A writer's worst nightmare. The average skater and snowboarder. For this reason I believe it takes more courage to be a writer than a member of the faithful. There is more risk involved in creating than in following. I believe it is intrinsically more valuable that a human engage in activities that serve to test the will of the individual; this way it is always your ass on the line and not the asses that make up the team. This way success is yours entirely as is failure. And as the enlightened know; there is always more failure than success in life. The good life is knowing how to deal with the bad in life. Parallel to writing, snowboarding and skateboarding are physical manifestations of this life philosophy. I make the grade or I eat my face. If I write the words then I must be willing to take the pain or accept the praise. Being a writer, or a rider, or a bull fighter means relying on yourself and having a faith in your abilities regardless of the rantings or fashions of the hordes rising against you. It is about keep on keeping on if you believe that you have something viable and beautiful to offer the world around you. If you lose sight of this purpose then you will lose sight of yourself. At least this is how I've come to examine my own life. It has taken a lot of years of horrible people and events to forge what I believe in these days. It has taken friends and family dying in accidents, murders, suicides, and overdoses to get me to realize that this life demands you hold on to the people you cherish because they can be gone so very quickly. We are here for the shortest fraction of an instant and then we are over. We become the mental clutter of someone else's memories. For this reason it is important that while we are here we try to do good, voice good, and praise good. We need to learn that what is "cool" is not always what is good. Caring for others and doing the right thing by them is a massive and often overwhelming responsibility. Having a man two months ago kick in my home and shove a gun in my face and
threaten to kill my girlfriend and me has been an exercise in reevaluating whatis good and important for me in this life. Having my friend and riding partner
Dan Baker killed in an auto accident this winter,(leaving a widow and two children), has taught me more than I can possibly explain. As a result, attitudes and activities that I am not down with I avoid, people I am not down with I try to inform or blow off. Blowing off is a convenient cop-out. Informing and educating either goes unheeded or is considered self-righteous. Does having conviction make you self-righteous? How do you win? You don't. You win by not competing; you just do what you can and hope to make a positive impact on someone somewhere. You laugh, you love, and you get through a day as best you can. I breathe and I count backwards from ten. I go riding. I play music. I try to suck up all of the things that make me sad or scared by being cynical and making sarcastic comments. Sometimes I'm very, very sorry. Often I'm alone in my opinions and actions. Generally, I wouldn't have it any other way. I've come to regard the haters as fools or wise men. Both should be avoided. When confronted either say nothing or say everything. Language or the absence of language, what does it matter? Everything is supposed to be a mess so no amount of "communication" is going to make the world perfect; you can only struggle to make it a little better. The fat cannibals and walking swastikas who enjoy monkeying with people only like to see themselves and their creations smear the psyches of the masses with their images and propaganda. Anyone who doesn't play cheerleader becomes the enemy to be annihilated. For the profiteers exploitation means everything. However as the lyrics of a mid-80's emo-core tune goes:"...Money has nothing to do with the value of life, but that's just common sense..." -Embrace.

Sonny do you believe this to be a truism? This is how I imagine you going about putting out your publication. Either you will succeed with each new issue or you will ultimately fail and your talents will have been squandered on an ephemeral pipe dream. Chalk it up to a matter of natural selection. It is good to get what you need to get by but it is more important that while you are getting what you need you are giving others a dose of what they need. Are you with me? I'm hoping that Heckler is your vehicle for good. You can reach a lot of bodies and you can give them quality information and insights that I'm afraid seem to be sorely lacking elsewhere. No one needs any more pop culture trash shoved at them, or any more new and faux-rebel advertising, or any more
macho alcoholics being dished up as the latest punker-than-GG-bad-boys of American youth culture. Being an idiot and an asshole should not get you an
automatic ten on the cool-meter. Heckler within this realm can do some good perhaps. What is fun about being a rebel if everyone thinks they and their
friends are rebels too? Nothing. As the writer Flannery O'Conner once wrote: "I believe everything is ultimately saved or is ultimately lost." Flannery, she had two things guiding her; a faith in her vision as a writer, and a faith in God. Granted, the notion of God that she had going was a bit more whack than the rest but it got her through a day and helped her to create some amazing stories about the morality and decay of Man. You should check her out. She's written a number of short stories as well as a novel or five. Give her a go, her tales are twisted. I hope my rambling here has given you some food for thought, obviously yours did me. Thanks, Arlie.


Ice Cube, Proposition 187 and Education: It's Not About Color.
by John Baccigaluppi

The other day I was listening to Ice Cube's (whom I respect and admire) record,The Predator, and I was struck with a thought. Ice was repeatedly talking about how he and other minorities were oppressed by `The White Man.' Being white, I was thinking about this and I thought `Wait a minute, I know a lot of white people that are oppressed too.' Then I started thinking `I wonder if all the oppressors are white?' That seemed a little far fetched statistically. Then I started thinking about all the people listening to Ice Cube's record going `Yeah man, I'm fuckin' oppressed and held down by society's shackles.' I'm not sure what comes next, but it seems that two common responses are hatred in general and apathy towards your life and situation. Then I started thinking about Proposition 187 that had passed by popular vote several days earlier. For those of you not from California, Proposition 187 was designed by the California government to limit the right to a public education for illegal aliens. It was primarily aimed at aliens from Mexico. For therecord, I voted against it for two reasons: One, I believe that ignorance and apathy are the true root of all of our problems in our society and that we should do all we can to educate people whoever they are; and two, because the bill seemed to have racist overtones, which I am against in principle. I was amazed, disgusted and somewhat ashamed to admit that I was from California the day after the election. As I was listening to Ice Cube, these thoughts came back. I started thinking about how my friend and Heckler Publisher Sonny Mayugba had to vote by absentee ballot because there were not enough registered voters in his neighborhood to warrant putting up a polling place. Think about that last sentence for a minute. Sonny lives in a racially mixed neighborhood with moderate, though probably not high, income levels. An entire neighborhood that couldn't get ittogether to vote. People die for the right to vote in other countries. This is called apathy. I started thinking about proposition 187 and Ice Cube again. I started thinking that maybe if everybody in California who listened to Ice Cube's record had voted, then proposition 187 probably would not have passed.But they didn't. The people who voted are the people in power, the oppressors. And they're all different colors. What they have in common is that they're in control and they want to keep it that way. Who are they? I think they're two groups of people: Our overly large and inefficient government and large faceless multi-national corporations like Time-Warner Inc., EMI, Sony, MCA, BMG, Phillips and other big corporations that put out the records you like to listen to like Ice Cubes. This is called irony. `Business as usual'
is their motto. If Ice Cube or any other rapper really represented a threat to the status quo, I don't think that they would allow them to have a voice. Which is
not to say that Ice Cube or Chuck D. don't make a difference, because they do. I just think that it's kind of sad when one issue such as color, becomes an
overriding issue. Now before you tell me I'm full of shit, I've seen the other side of the coin too. Because of my business (I own and operate a recording studio that records a lot of rap music) I've become friends with several people who are in gangs, who are in jail, and who grew up at a disadvantage in neighborhoods and environments where color is an issue. But, it's not the only issue. And, I've seen several of these self same people get past their disadvantages and create a life for themselves that's not filled with apathy and hatred. There's no real way to end this, because there's no end in sight for a lot of the problems that Ice Cube talks about in songs like It Was A Good Day I guess my point is that taking the right to an education and the right to vote and throwing them away because of apathy and hatred is exactly what the people who wrote proposition 187 want you to do. Yeah, call bullshit when you see it, but try to do more than just talk shit.