I don't like the drugs, but the drugs like me!
A very merry year anniversary to budoka , I suppose, it was provenance that I should be sitting in front of my blog right now since last night I was on the street, post In the Flesh reading series, strolling with another Phaze author through the early summer night in the East Village, and saw more than one vintage Honda Magna of the type that you used to ride. Ah how I miss the days. Hugs and greetings to all who I can't see at Shochugeiko. I promise, after the hip replacement surgery, I'm throwing myself back into budo full time.
Last night, I dreamt myself riding backwards at freeway speed on a GSXR 1000 in full Joe Rocket leathers on the Verrazano bridge, then blew the rear tire when I tried to lean into a turn and start heading forwards, only to steady the bike and slow to an eventual stop at the upper end of one of those interminable metal stairways indicative of Queens, and once arriving at the bottom having to park the bike, flayed tire and chromed rim to the side of the stair, to stand in line for pork buns at a traditional Chinese bakery, and on the way out being propositioned by a beautiful, cat-eyed, victorian black lace over combat boots clad red head with orthodontics. I told her I'd wait outside, next to the shop where a modern buffet style restaurant crowded the sidewalk space next to the traditional bakery. The parade of red and blue uniformed Chinese, or Japanese, or possibly Koreans that were streaming past as I had descended the stairs earlier still tarried on, their white headbands the only interruptions in the color aside from hands and faces. Red on the right, blue on the left. I turned to view the granite finished formica prefab of the walls, counter tops, and booth-like divisions of the carrols, and awoke, completely discombobulated. I know that I had found myself riding in the improper fashion because of a long, sweeping, seemingly endless left turns that only happens on either jaunts through the mountains, or human engineered freeway exchanges. Still working on this one.
However, the following is something to ponder the next time you're not sure what the little crystals are on all the green stuff: Link to the article here. Yeesh.
On a side note, why does all the bad shit always happen in Texas? Y'know, Planet Terror? Texas Chainsaw Massacre? The Hills Have Eyes? David Koresh? George Bush? I mean, I agree with a lot of people, we should just give it back to Mexico, and let the descendants of Santa Ana sort it out.
Last night, I dreamt myself riding backwards at freeway speed on a GSXR 1000 in full Joe Rocket leathers on the Verrazano bridge, then blew the rear tire when I tried to lean into a turn and start heading forwards, only to steady the bike and slow to an eventual stop at the upper end of one of those interminable metal stairways indicative of Queens, and once arriving at the bottom having to park the bike, flayed tire and chromed rim to the side of the stair, to stand in line for pork buns at a traditional Chinese bakery, and on the way out being propositioned by a beautiful, cat-eyed, victorian black lace over combat boots clad red head with orthodontics. I told her I'd wait outside, next to the shop where a modern buffet style restaurant crowded the sidewalk space next to the traditional bakery. The parade of red and blue uniformed Chinese, or Japanese, or possibly Koreans that were streaming past as I had descended the stairs earlier still tarried on, their white headbands the only interruptions in the color aside from hands and faces. Red on the right, blue on the left. I turned to view the granite finished formica prefab of the walls, counter tops, and booth-like divisions of the carrols, and awoke, completely discombobulated. I know that I had found myself riding in the improper fashion because of a long, sweeping, seemingly endless left turns that only happens on either jaunts through the mountains, or human engineered freeway exchanges. Still working on this one.
However, the following is something to ponder the next time you're not sure what the little crystals are on all the green stuff: Link to the article here. Yeesh.
Click to viewOn a side note, why does all the bad shit always happen in Texas? Y'know, Planet Terror? Texas Chainsaw Massacre? The Hills Have Eyes? David Koresh? George Bush? I mean, I agree with a lot of people, we should just give it back to Mexico, and let the descendants of Santa Ana sort it out.