posted on May, 11 2017 @ 02:01 PM
My first go at stream of consciousness as a whole thing. I've done bits before, but this is the first time I set out to do a single piece in that
Not much of a name, not like the other name, that one that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, makes some people envious, some see you
as a bad, mad man and still others as a fool who bought the media hype. Harley Davidson. There, now you know. Now you picture it, paint and chrome and
hot hot metal, roaring thunder. Smug bastard sat back, feet up, looking down on the rest. The cowboy, the guy in the Marlboro adverts, The one with
the tatts and the arms thick from lifting stuff other people don't. The girl on the back, tight jeans, long hair and the attitude that scares people
off unless they are the Marlboro man, riding that iron horse, that one named Harley.
The bends in the road, that slow you down are just the rhythm of the ride, like the smells of the fields and the black murder of diesel on the road.
Hot and cold and wet and dry, wind rush roaring wind the throttle on to hear it bellow like the big beast, outta the way. Headlight blazing like a
muzzle flash, shooting past between the static lines of metal cages with the dead inside, too scared made resentful by their fear.
Spat out at the end like you just been born, hurtling into the world screaming roaring laughing knowing. Away from the grind from the ground down meat
of dead dreams and failed expectations. Heavy metal soundtrack of overdriven guitars and whiskey glasses, bass drums beating like a heartbeat. Dark
bars, bright lights, loud tunes and raucous, understanding laughter. Torn jeans, black boots and heavy, heavy leather on your shoulders. Holding down
around you, real as an arm around your shoulders, fits so well, and feels so right and only comes with years and seasons, hot and cold and rain and
sun and the scream of tortured, sparking metal grinding down the road when it all goes wrong. You live you grow you die you're done. Just like this.