Kick me in the Teeth

Makes me sick to only be able to look at what I want to do.  Just get up in the night, and work on it.  The physical manifestation of my delusional dreams.  That I only get to look at what others do and remember that I once had my dream in stark reality.  A shop space that most guys who knew me then would kick in someones teeth to get.  I gave this up.  My dream then became a nightmare...a savage frothing demon that I had to wrestle with to pay the bills.  I knew I wanted a shop...just not be a business man. 
Now I search the "magical" world of on-line and look at the dedication of others...
Just kick in my fuckin teeth. 
If you read this and think that you can understand...don't ever read another word I write...go out, do your deeds and strap a belt across the demon that sits in the back of your mind, waiting, panting, gasping for the air and blood and sweat you have to give to make that dream live.  Give it everything you have, everything that you can beg, borrow or steal.  Push it out into the world like a screaming child.  Give it all.  Never look at what others are doing and if someone tells you.."I'd do this if I were you..."  Tell them "Fuck, go try it yourself." 
Yeah, don't let it go away.  You cry like hell when you realize you didn't try everything. 

I'll still build. Always will.  I love the sight of blood on a grease covered hand. 

Just make sure it's yours.

Just teasing me is so wrong...

I can't stop thinking that one day I'll be there.  Feeling the sense of completion that I long for.  The last thing crossed of the list, the tools put away, the gas topped off...
Ah, hell...life get in my way, I lose my focus, the late nights finally catch up to you, the money runs out, the kid needs stitches (not my fault), the wife is pregnant (my fault)(but, I'll enjoy that one), the car breaks...well, so what?  Should that concern me?  My focus is on the bike.  Leave the car to the mechanic.  No, the other mechanic, the one who I pay to do the work that I really don't want to.  I want my bike...
But, one step forward is one step forward...don't think that a step in another direction is a step back...you can never go back.

When each day starts

You wake up and see that the sun is still not there.  You realize that you have nothing to make you get out of the comfort of your bed.  Well, nothing that pushes with enough force to break the dream bonds that we feel hold us to another world in which we are kings, heroes, villains, ants, women or men.  It never seems that the "real" world holds up.
So, what if it did?  What is it about a single determination to be something and sacrifice even sleep to get it?  You become something more.  Something that others dream about.  You become an achiever.  A doer.  You finally have something from the dream world that is real.  Whether its running a marathon, building a boat, writing a book....
You must believe that your dream can be real. A dream is what got Dorthy over the freaking rainbow.  A her little dog too...

Later than I expected

Yeah, I think that sleep is overrated.  You sleep for 8 hours and 1/3 of your life is gone.  Just vanished.  Just because some quack is some hospital did some study that causes him/her to think that they know all about the human experience, I mean even Huxley wrote about that one, and exactly what is good for whom.
Arrogant pricks, I know I need the sleep, I don't want to sleep.  I have so much shit to take care of that I could sell off my sleep to black market dealers in Istanbul, trade the cash for a bitchin pair of shades to hide the circles and accept that I will be hallucinating for the next five days.  Or, I can be like Franklin's "Poor Richard".  Early to bed and all that... 
See, there's this color of blue that penetrates into every nook and cranny of the world around 4:15 A.M., during summer months, which causes the cold to recede the the lock in your jaw to slack out.  The heat of the coffee finally creeps past your fingers and into your arms, easing out the cramps in your neck and shoulders, that you know the shower at home will finish off. 
One long hectic night of pushing past the barriers of mental fatigue and physical "requirement" to produce a dreadful state of emotional stunt.  I can't feel, just respond.  What do I need here?  Where is this movement going?  How do I find the inspiration? 
Just stay up, watch the world pass through the veil of sleep and know that your hours are sacrifice to allow your dreams to pour into this world.  Nice, huh?  Manifestation of desire and you didn't have to make the bed.

Go Away!!!

I don't want you here.  Go Away!
You are distracting me from what I want.  Go Away!
What makes you think that I have time for this?  Go Away!
I have to stay focused, can't relax and take it easy, must be diligent, moving onward, on track.  Go Away!
I know that it will only take a minute, a  day, a few dollars, a small delay, a bit of time that you can never get back...
Well, time is never-ending.  There will always be tomorrow (even Scarlet O'Hara knew that one).  I can still dream about where and when I reach my goal.  Ah, wait.  If I do reach my goal, what then?  Where do I go from there?  What purpose do I have to get me out of bed at 5:00 A.M. because the house is quiet and it's the only part of the day that I can carve out for myself...
So, come on in, sit a while, enjoy the moment.  I will always have the drive and I can always make, yes make more time.  The one who I will tell to go away is me.  The selfish, center-of-the-universe me.

How involved do I get with you?

I sat back and looked at the to-do list today.  Materials, technique learning, assembly, tooling, design, finish, testing, theory, testing, dissemble, repair, test, assembly, finish, testing, materials, testing, learning...
Where do I draw the line?  Should I have to learn it all just to claim some imaginary prize?  Do I give some of the work away and live with it.  Or...
Is this my baby?  The new-born that I trust to no other?  A screaming infant that I hold and listen to, even though the cries cause my ears to bleed.  A toddler that I learn to walk with?
Part if me says no, I will not have a part of another in this.  It will be me.  No marriage, a spawning of ego and Id together that takes living form.  Now, we are back to Frankenstein.  His monster, which wasn't a monster to him, was of a single parent.  Will it be grotesque to others and yet beautiful to me?  Will I be the only one capable of noticing its value and be alone in the marvel of creation.  Well, who cares?  It's something for me, not them.  It's my ride, we'll just be a blur anyway.

What light is this I see?

It's not a big choice, but one that we seldom think to make.
How do I want to see the world?  Am I looking through rose-colored glasses or seeing the world in the blue-tinted dawn of early morning?  That difference makes a difference.  We can see red, or think of how calm the azure sea makes us feel.  If we obscure the lens from seeing all the green, what does that leave us seeing?  No forest for the trees.  No other side is ever green, let alone greener.  Money would lose its luster.  Envy would have to turn to another colour and be jealous of it. 
So, where in the scale does your light shine?  It's no small wonder that red was chosen to serve as a brake light.

Rememberance

Yesterday, I thought of riding.  That's not unusual, but where I was riding was.  I remembered a stretch of canyon lane that I was on only once.  I went on a bike that I was unfamiliar with, with another person who I was unsure about, about too late in the day to have a great time almost, almost out of gas.  I didn't run out.  But, I never stopped either.  I kept going.  never thinking, never questioning.  Connection just right, intention just to the left of white.  Why can't I remember more, like the conversations before and after.  the mile markers, the turns?  I draw a blank.  I can't sink far enough into the past to bring it back.  I just remember the feeling.  Intent, present.  I didn't know the road like the back on any part of my anatomy.  I can't even tell you the road number or if it was county or state. 
There is only the thought.  That I was there...
And that I want to go back.

Yes, there is life in the old ways.

NC's Moog Music: increased sales, new building - ksl.com

There are some things that must be felt and lived. R. Moog, even through the use of electronics, knew this. He lived it. Even with the use of fuel injection, force feedback braking, fly-by-wire throttle control, GPS navigation and a host of other advances...just go ride. See the world and feel it.

Nightmares do happen.

Tooele motorcyclist killed after teen pulled in front of him, police say - ksl.com

When one dies, we mourn.  We ride on, but we mourn.

Frankenstein was pretty

Where do I draw the line?  How many must be sacrificed to achieve my dream?  When the life blood flows, which veins will it course through? 
These questions are not my realm of concern, those "more ethical" than myself must deliberate these points.  I must breathe life.  I must concern myself with the vision of the phoenix.  Something born from destruction, given life from death.  The whole is more than the sum of the parts.  Because the all the parts cannot be seen by the observer.  You must follow the process, know the maker, feel the heat of Prometheus' forge.  See how he makes the something from nothing.  It follows the laws of the ancient alchemists, something must be given for something to be gained.
Bring me more bodies, my vision must have life.

What makes to world go round

Of course, most will quote the song and say money.  But, no it's desire.  Money is just an embodiment of that desire and what we are willing to do to get it.  It becomes a symbol of determination and perseverance for each individual.  You can see it when you look at the pride in someones eyes.  they worked, they sacrificed, they went without in one area to have something in another.  Lack of sleep to study, lack of food to have tires, lack of interaction to work.  Money is just a symbol, you trade that symbol to get another.  We make idols of the desires we have.  We covet.  We lust.
So, what makes the world go round?  Gravity and interstellar interaction of course.  Because the world wants to go some where as well.

Subtle power

Magnetism.  A polar force that we cannot see, feel, hear, taste or smell.  Yet, we feel the pull as strongly as we are affected by gravity.  A base force.  Our orientation determines which way we get pulled.  It seeks equilibrium.  Balance.  You stack them and the force grows, you can attract a mob with a large enough magnet.  A magnet can be a person, place or thing.  MLK jr., Grand Canyon, Elvis, money, power.  Yes, even power is a magnet. 
So, you spin the magnet, you get inductance and electricity.  An invisible motion of current.  A driving force.  A large scale event of the same propellant that causes our bodies to move, breathe or have a heart beat.  Magnetism, electricity.  Related. 
When you get attracted to something, they say sparks fly.   No mystery in that saying.  You feel the pull.  You move nearer.  Then the pull is stronger.  The very air is charged, the lines of power are almost visible. 
Then you wonder, is the attraction from it or me?
Who attracted who?  I can only sense the pull.  The mutual attraction.  The desire to be somewhere, have something or be with someone.  It's nature.  You can't argue with nature.  It doesn't listen.  It has no ears.  It only spins the magnet and produces electricity. 

The reflection

The person who looks back at me smiles.  I never smile.  Who is this?  He knows something?  He needs to shave, and get a haircut.  Sloppy.  Yet, he still smiles.  What does he want?  Smut little sod.  Bet he doesn't know what a sod is.  Do I?  Well, why is he a sod?  Because he smiles?  Not even a smile really, just a bit of a smirk.  Almost like he likes looking at me, almost like he might want to go hang out.  Have a beer.  Well, most people are more at ease around someone who smiles.  Nice enough person and all.  Yeah, let's have a beer. 
Wait...
Who's paying and what are you drinking?  I said a beer, not a drink.  Those cost money you know.  I'm not made of the stuff.  Jerk, that's almost too much.  You're having a laugh at my expense aren't you.  You and your friends.  I wish I had a few friends here now to laugh at you.  That would serve you right. 
Well, until they get here, I'll do my best to get along with you.  Friends close and enemies closer and all that jazz. 
Wait, now I have to know, how close am I to you?

How a vision begins

It begins in dim lighting, with few hours of sleep.  Something moves in the peripheral of your sight.  You turn to focus, it is gone.  You try to chase it and it moves further away.  It gnaws at your guts, pulls you from sleep, drains the power from other thoughts...
It will consume you until you take action.  You must appease the spirit, give it a life of its own.  With sweat, blood and the required swearing, you weave the spell of life.  Then the vision grows, infects more of your day and leaves its comfort of night.  The vision shows you yourself.  It was never its own persona, just a part of you that wanted to live.

The merry-go-round

I never did like the merry-go-round.  It was a fall-down-drunk kinda fun and I wanted a "go some where and do something" kinda fun.  Walking down the tree line of the playground and slipping over to the city park nearby to the elementary school.  That was fun.  There were these "massive" (imagine a first grader's perspective here) wooden structures that were easily two stories.  The bigger kids would scale the outside and walk the upper perimeter.  The bridge between two of them was three of four body lengths across.  Plenty of room to fall and the height was way over head.
My goal was to cross the bridge.  Nothing like walking the parapet, but these are the goals of a first grader.  First try, no dice.  Go home.  Second try, hands and knees.  Go home.  Third try, Shane Cousins pushes me ahead of him causing me to scream and cry inside, not all of it stayed inside.  Go home.
Fourth try, walk across the bridge backwards like the fifth graders do.  Then look up and climb the upper wall.  I don't walk, just sit there.  But Shane Cousins isn't up here.  He's not even here.  It's Saturday, no school.
Lesson?  No.  I'm in first grade, I'm still learning my addition and nouns...how advanced do you think a kid can be?

With each cut

A sliver of metal imbedded into flesh.  A residue of oil that makes the sting pulse, the blood swirl and look strange.  Gone, the moment of intimate knowledge.  Comes, the racing seconds of decision and pain.  A bitter ending to the pleasure of reshaping the metal of conveyance. 
Yet, a mark of progress.

When does it begin to make sense?

Once, long ago, I had a vision of two tires hitting the tarmac and small, almost unnoticeable splinters of rubber peeling off the sidewall and drifting away with the vapor of exhaust.  Wind ripping through the open vents of the helmet and vortexes of heat rippling through the horizon.  Mountains looming in the far distance that beckon me towards winding roads that loop forever upwards, almost never-ending.  A droning tear of engine noise that blends with thought and increases the mantra of being in a moment of mental bliss accented by total immersion in the world. 
I am counting towards that day.

When the end of the dream comes

Wake up and live.  Remember which world you want to live in and go there.

The cut on the chin

So, a slip and fall can leave a nasty cut if you don't catch yourself.  You realize that it hurts.  You think that you learn the lesson.  You wait and then one magical day, you fall again.  Same trip, same spot on the chin and voila...
A fat new scar in the exact same place as the first, second, third, fourth...
What does it take to not trip?  Where do I learn?  What road do I travel to not hit that same rut?
I don't know.  Until I find out.  How about a set of pads and a helmet?

What level of Frustration

On what planet do they have no concept of privacy?
Why is it that I can't be part of something without having my entire heart and mind splayed open for the entire fucking world to abjectly ponder over and still tell me that my OPINION is wrong.  It's my opinion.  How can that be wrong? It's how I feel about something.  Feelings aren't debatable.  Information is open to discussion, not how I feel...
And now I feel frustration.
Frustration for all the nit-picking. All the posturing and preening.  I feel frustration for all the people who can't open their mouths and scream at the idiot jack-hole scum sucking hemorrhoid lipped fuck nut that is able to be smug at their expense.
And now I feel relief.

Life sashays on by.

It really is quite interesting that we spend, work, eat, sleep, exercise, push, struggle, relax, eat, sleep, eat, work, struggle, applaud, weep, contemplate, sleep, think, work, push, pull, stand up, work, struggle and work at life to the point that we don't remember where we are going. 
Every morning, we should wake up and look for the continuance of that impossible goal that we seek to attain. Riches, life, fame, knowledge.  It doesn't make a difference.  Just have a goal.  One that you can't ever hope to achieve in one lifetime.  Worry about the little things just enough to solve them...
Solve...

It is the root of solvent.  To make things disappear.  Go away.  Remove the item from your presence.  Make way for the impossible.

What the hell?

No, I will not feel guilty. I will not apologize. You were the one who stepped across the line that you didn't know was there and when I pointed to it and said no...then you recoiled.
I thought that we were friends...yes, and friends don't do what you did. they let you live your life...I thought that we were cool...yes, and cool doesn't jerk you around because I pointed out the line that you stepped across and now I can't wait to be face to face again...because now you think that you know...but you don't.

Remember, but never forget.

Some people tend to move through life with a dire grasp on memories, as if the memory is what fuels them into the future. Some memories are better forgotten, so that when it does come back, the sting of loss, the smile of laughter, the twinge of regret is still potent. Look back only when you can't remember the lesson.

Move forward with your eyes forward. That is the only way to see that wall that you are about to run into.

What honor?

Where is there honor? Where dignity? Who holds the keys to unchain my sense of principle?
I think of the times that I have shown my nature, or lack thereof and shudder at what I molded myself to be. What things I have become known for...I leave them behind. Start anew and forge myself to something better. Harden my resolve to be more than I was...
I choose a direction and defer all else to others. I will be myself.

Education of a question

I sometimes think that people talk just to hear themselves. This isn't a bad thing. The just don't let themselves hear what they are saying. We feel we need verification, agreement that what we say is right. We have become conditioned to feel that an answer is only right when someone else tells us that it is. Where did we lose the ability to be wrong? Is it such a bad thing? If we were all right all the time, who would we have to argue against?

The sound of the rain

It's the sound of the rain that brings back the memory of running. Running as a child, an adult. It was warm rain in earlier days. Now the cold brings shivers, a numbness that assures me that I am alive and capable of feeling.

I almost always want to stand in the rain...cold and reassuring that I am.

How not to be

I used to be...
I had...
I did...
I once...

These are the starts of the stories that I told. I never forgot the intimate smells, visions and textures. Those are the details that make a story wonderful, yours. The problem is that I sometime (more often than not) really never was where I said I was, doing what I said I was doing, with who I said that I was doing, what I wasn't doing, with.
You follow?

Well, that seems to have to change. I can't be two. I can only be one.