It’s one o’clock in the morning and I just got the FXR back comfortably on the kickstand. I love bikes, I would love to say that I love all kinds but that would just be a load of horse shit. Bikes have been the constant in my life and carried me through some gloriously heinous shit. They also have put me in a place in my life where certain riding is now limited.
The day it finally came to me that there was more to be done with my life I instantly lost my fuckin’ head. The aggressive writing that I was doing had become more of a series of whining prose that were misunderstood as self pity. This was the popular opinion that ripped through the internet like a stiff cock forcing its way into orifices that were never designed to fit anything of that girth. It became a jaggernaught of self pity that made my outlook on life seem like I suddenly became some sensitive bitch deep in the throes of self loathing.
Fuck you and your inability to understand that you temporarily may lose your mind when the ballast that kept your psyche on an even keel is suddenly thrown overboard and your once stable ship now teeters and lists terribly when the root of all your ballast is suddenly just a memory and you now find your once stable hull is now battered with the reality that seems to hit you from all sides, These are the same internal conflicts that are easy to navigate when you your are propelling yourself on old iron at speeds that would deflect those same problems with the force of a cannonball at close range.
The diagnosis was grim at first and when all of the well educated highly paid physicians tell you that it would be in your best interest to never straddle a bike again you start to believe them. Anyone with a few degrees on their wall can sway you into a life of safe living just by telling you that things are at their grimmest.
So I accepted my newly realized fate and tried to wrap my head around it. I suddenly found myself being a hump just like the rest of the fat fucking dickweeds I found myself stuck behind as I was tryin’ to quickly by some smokes at local Circle K. I was losing my mind in the stark lighting of the c-store as they lethargically bought their lottery tickets and scratched them clean hoping to have their lives suddenly changed if they could just hit the right numbers or buy the right ticket.
My brain would flood with an angst that almost had me tearing the heads off those fucktards that think that their life would suddenly become the lives of the jet setters by just buying the right series of numbers.
They are the stump fuckers that think it’s all just givin’ to them if they just waited patiently for their magic ticket that would send them instantly out of their pathetic existence and propel them into the fold of the pretty people all because they bought a piece of paper that would make all their dreams come true. Most of those pathetic cocksuckers did it at two in the afternoon and still wearing pajama pants because nothing mattered until they made it big with a few quick strokes of a coin and the knowledge that they would suddenly be propelled upward with the only effort put forth by them was to wait it out…”it’ll happen someday if I just do it enough”. Just one more ticket will put me over the top and I catapult me from my shitty life and turn this whole mess into some pathetic rap video.
Well a word of advice to you taint lickin’ ass hats…it ain’t goin’ to happen. You just shoving you’re hard earned dough or at least some of your welfare windfall out the window and leave you bumming cigarettes and begging for change. You should just die right on the spot so I can get my Marlboro Reds and get on to the rest of the day. I got an entire life to reboot and your fat ass is just slowing down the process. I ain’t looking for a handout; I’m just hoping to find a new dream to make steps to achieve. You on the other hand are just biding you time and stuffing your bloated face with more pork products. Move or die you shit heal you are in the way of progress…my progress and right know I am about to punch you square in the fat rolls on the back of your head. Have another corn dog, your cankles aren’t completely covering the tops of you house slippers! Assholes…genocide would work if they did it by the pound!
So this last summer I just buckled down. I was livin’ in a studio, peddlin’ a bicycle back and forth to a chiropractor, eatin’ out of a microwave and hoping that I would get my back doctored up enough to get back on a bike again. It was a shitty year but with a little luck and a lot of patience I’m back at it.
The FXR is a something I never thought I would be riding…but I am. Being aware of my destroyed back and exercise got me back on my feet again and eventually on two wheels. The time in the studio was spent assembling a series of photographs that I would hope to eventually paint if I was able to stand long enough to paint…now I am. I missed this last year’s riding but I’m ready for the coming season. Although bikes are still number one in my life the painting thing is what kept me going while I was bikeless…I guess that’s important to.
It’s a new year; I’m healthy and as content as I’ll ever be. I count the days until I’m on the road for the summer. In the mean time I’m locked away in the studio trying to keep on top of this art game. Nothing really gets me down that much anymore because the year is over and I’m back on top of things.
Now if I can just keep it going.