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i was waxing a bit too romantic on the subject of "karma" and "live and let live", last time out... my first in days and extra days. didn't even get around to the point, either. thoughts have been wandering like the proverbial wind inside a letterbox: colliding circumstances; surreptitious motives; the same spine-contracting crap, as always. then fate, as it so loves to do, throws in another little trip to your step. on previous nocturnal emmissions (perhaps that should be the subtitle of this billboard of click/scribblings), i'd alluded to one of my weekly highlights... the night trip from work, back to home. about two hours worth, from two AM on. usually, it's the essence of decompression; it's the occulted transition from one life to another. under veil of darkness and dashboard lights and loud, loud music. not being sensible about my means of transportation, i prefer to travel with rumble from exhaust and speakers. preferably with the top down. always in something past their "prime", or as one of my favorite english phrases describes as "tatty but tagged". Fix It Again Tony, without the italian influence or that of another mechanic's hands. DIFuckingY. so, there was no clutch. oh, it was still rotating down there, just inseparable from the whim of four cylinders, unless i jammed the shift lever with all possible force. payback for all of those times when i hung my head out a car window and berated a gear-jammer with a loud "grind me up a pound!" so this ride would be... predictable. uncomfortable. and edge-of-the-seater. and it was raining, as it had been, for days. strike two. the third strike was a real one. and, lo, it was fooohnky. it thought it was just a reflection, or a puddle in the asphalt. no. it was... "FUCK!" i saw him just before the thud from the front and rear passenger wheels, tail straight back, elongated across the center line. perfect double-stripe from tip of tail to funky flat-top. oblivious. doomed. i said my sincere apologies, all the while hoping that if there was contact, he would find his place in what heaven there is in store for stinky things. or, perhaps, that i might pinch his stinky things shut without disturbing them. there wouldn't be much story if that happened, would there? well, at least passing by the nostril-peeling water treatment plant had some competition for billing on the "foulest stench tour". that is what i would call insult to injury. next time, i'm going to spill some poisons from my weary brain... i'm just so to-the-bottom-of-my-shoes disgusted with what the past four years has done to this country. dissent is verboten, though asking questions of those that lead and looking for better is the backbone of what i was taught that a "patriot" was supposed to be. the whole "revolution" experience was where that came from, feel me? i've voted already, absentee. i just hope beyond all hope that there are enough like-minded people out there who also wonder how the lunatics took over the asylum. using words like "empire" and "freedom" in the same sentence. with strobe lights and a grand entry... albeit with hand-picked crowds for the photo-op. meantime, i'm more about a San Miguel Dark and Audrey Hepburn on a Vespa. |
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