Wednesday, June 20, 2012

late december back in '63

Yep, that's my bike. In the time of vintage Schwinns with baskets and cute girls in cute dresses with arm tattoos, riding them, mine is a mountain bike redeemed with Marlboro miles.
It's a boy's bike, too.
My bike is a monster truck - the kind people piece together from junkyards with Budweisers in their hands. My bike is that girl in gym class who can climb that damn rope...twice. My bike is steak and potatoes.

I love it.
I ride it around this neighborhood I live in with pride. In my cutoffs.

The first thing you should know about my bike is: it belonged to my dad.

The second thing you should know is: he diligently smoked a shit ton of cigarettes (Reds) to save the miles. If he saw a pack on the ground, he picked up the trash and ripped off the miles. He worked at the landfill, his eyes were always on the look-out for discarded carton cardboards - it was a religion. He saved the miles like they were on their way to perdition. 5 miles at a time -- working his way towards this Fuji mountain bike (that's, by the way, heavy as hell).

I remember the day it happened. He had enough miles to get this bike - which is great, because with all his DUIs, he really needed some transportation. Right on time, I thought. Like a miracle. Shiny and red with five speeds - perfect for riding around our little rural town, flipping the townie cops the middle finger and wearing this bike like a badge of honor.

It was a few summers before he died. He got this bike. Rode this bike. Wrote his name on tape and stuck it proudly down the seat-tube. (The tape is still there).

I ride my bike proudly. And while you are daintily pedaling your bike worth much more than mine, I know that a bike can be much more than a bike, it can be salvation.

I'd go to war on this steed - I'd go to war for this steed.


Tuesday, June 19, 2012

da do ron ron ron a do ron ron

What if I really held audience with the thought of running west? What happened to that one time I was full of good ideas and better intentions and goals? I don't even know what goals are.
I want to pull the earth like taffy and create. I feel tethered to a place that really might not give two shits about me. That's not cool, you know? But I don't know how to present myself brand new - things get slapped together in a half-assed way and I'm right in the middle.

In addition to feeling weird, I must tell you - I read poetry to a real group of people last friday.
that was a good thing.
a really good thing.

i might even do it again.

Monday, June 4, 2012

on a dark windless night

Let me start out with being honest.
Maybe I've gone my whole life without knowing true religion. Maybe not. I don't really know. I mean, I used to think about stuff in a completely different way - which, I think is maybe growing up? But these past two weeks I've been breathing deeper, hanging out with ancients, picking up all the red soil I could manage and getting dust in my shoes.

I've never invented corn. I've never built my house with my own hands. I've never ground my own corn. I've never sat underground with my family and loved them through a cold winter's night. What the hell.
I don't necessarily feel badly about it, but I just wonder how am I supposed to know anything at all. I've never done anything. At all.
I'm certain I've gone my whole life, and will continue to go the rest of my life, being blind to so many things. Is it okay that I'm so far off base from where I wanted to be 8 years ago? Probably.

I'm okay. Life's okay. I mean, fuck - corn wasn't invented in a goddamned lifetime - it took several harvests; it took several harvests; it took several harvests. (I'll say that until it sinks in.) Okay, so what I'm really saying is this: I'm back from vacation. I had an amazing time. Nothing really makes sense, just that life keeps going. No one will ever preserve my home's foundation. No one will ever happen upon my religion. But still, for a short time I will walk this earth - and while here, maybe I'll do something small that will beget something a little larger that will maybe eventually be something great. But maybe not. Either way -- I'm here now.

Life is hard. Existing is hard, but, fuck. We get to do it.