(“…nothing left to lose.” – for the 10 people who don’t know Kris Kristofferson’s iconic song).
So, I woke up this morning with an overwhelming urge to jump on my motorcycle and blast down the road. Destination unknown. Return? Undecided. But, you see, I haven’t built it yet. It’s simply a figment of my fervent imagination. All bits of unpolished aluminum, black powdercoat, and red leather. Mere fragments of thought. Machine sex love thoughts, but thoughts nonetheless.
I really hate and really love this stage of my projects. It’s when I’ve imagined plenty enough for it to feel real. That is, be real to me. But, I haven’t pulled out the welder. I haven’t bought an engine. I haven’t stripped the frame. There is no red leather seat for me to test my position in the saddle. No grease that I can’t scrub out – but must cut out – of my nails. I’m caught between wonder and action, creativity and reality, dreaming and awakening. Ugh….
It’s like porn – but in my head – and starring a 1200 V-Twin instead of Sasha Grey. As the details unfold, dissatisfaction with inaction grows in my muscle. A tipping point looms and sweat, spit, muscle and heart will pour into steel, and leather, and copper and chrome.
(originally posted in my OKC journal)