Sometimes, it is misery that brings me here.
I once a year declaration to a mirage so close…So near.
With further toil.
I know that is not the end result.
Turmoil…being the Utopian lack of doubt.
The salt that falls between the crack in the lines.
No requiem for heat.
No casket for pine.
Only a thirst in search of drunken kind.
Wheels humming to a string quartet.
Rhythm settling down to wheels on indifferent surface.
A beat lays waste to smells of words not met.
There is sweat, exhaust…
There is dread.
Nine months set to the surface of not digging too deep.
Ten months begin the tapping of my feet.
By the time a call has been sent out.
The fear is gone.
There is no doubt.
“You look at where you’re going and where you are and it never makes sense, but then you look back at where you’ve been and a pattern seems to emerge. ”
“Sometimes it’s a little better to travel than to arrive”
“The real cycle you’re working on is a cycle called yourself.”
“Other people can talk about how to expand the destiny of mankind. I just want to talk about how to fix a motorcycle. I think that what I have to say has more lasting value.”
On a cycle the frame is gone. You’re completely in contact with it all. You’re in the scene, not just watching it anymore, and the sense of presence is overwhelming.”
There are no challenges out there not worth dying for. The chances we take whether depth depriving, death defying or magical have hold of our psyche. The art of Moped Balancing is no different than flying…you take your eye off the sky and the earth seems to be in the palm of your hands!