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Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Gym York

Gym York.
A coffee grave yard that lays rest on the outskirts of this dream town of dirt. 
A city full of lifters and teachers.  Athletes called life drifters.
Addicted green monsters and restless sleepers run the streets full of gifted and motivated believers.
Poisoned by the bar of hopeless thinkers, and bloody hand wishers.
Day dreamers run the town like fucken gangsters who take pray on anyone who stands in their way.
Business meetings settled over who can lift the most weight, move the most weight, and who can handle the most weight.
Board meetings discussed in chalky rooms while three white stripes run down only the people who wear the nicest of suits.
Street lights that always change to white lights, never red.
PR's have replaced money, and bar slamming has replaced anger management classes.
Women aren't the only ones who wear heels. Now the sound of tapping throughout the hallways has doubled. 
Shots of coffee have made driving much safer, while miss brown eyes smiles from all the lives she has saved.
Meth addicts have turned to a new drug called N.O. Explode, that now runs through the black market like a virus, giving the bums and tweekers much more energy to get a fucken job.
All stairs have been replaced by elevators. Why? Well like my first coach Jackie Mah always said, "Weightlifters always take the elevator".
Yes coach!
Dimas now rides high on the Charging Wall Street Bull, as he ever so confidently waves one finger high in the air, while looking off to the side with an ever so bad ass smile.
Everyday is a beautiful day in Gym York.
A great place to live and to grow a family.
A prospering city full of big PR's and lots of opportunity.
A city full of milk parks, protein pools, and coffee lakes.
Techno music plays under the streets, pounding the city with energy and rhythm.
Klokov has eaten the morning rooster then lets out a giant Klokov roar during the morning sunrise; always giving the town's people a boost of morning energy before the techno music starts to pump through their blood.
Rain has been replaced by ash, ash from the many weightlifters who have been burnt alive from this, at times, unforgiving lifestyle.
It is always a sad day when their ashes fall from the sky, landing on our platforms.
A reminder that those ashes could be ours, and the hot flames from this sport could burn us out with no warning at all. 
Always a sad day, but always a move forward day; an on to the next day day.
A weightlifter's day is always filled with a next rep day, a let's fucken do it day, an attack day, a fuck the weak day and let's get strong day. 
A gym zoo full of hungry vampires who don't eat food, but drink the blood from the red kilo plates. 
We are monsters.
We have been abandoned for too long.
This is why my blog must come true, and we must start our own world.
A weightlifters world. 
A city called Gym York world. 
Kendrick Farris 2012
Sarah Robles 2012
Holly Mangold 2012

1 comment:

  1. Beautiful. There are not enough weightlifting poems in the world.