The dark business of love is truly a testy animal. It is sometimes a savage and relentless beast whose appetite will put your entire world on a plate as you watch it be violently devoured. Other times it’s a tender creature who will swallow you whole with dizzy spells of make-out sessions, embracing each moment with the calm comfort of midday naps and a cozy curling touch that dissolves each sweet hour like cigarette ash.
What adoration does is make everything taste more, escape more, feel more, hurt more.
Thank god, because anything less would be a bamboozling beyond belief.
There’s a spot on the small of a woman’s back where a distinct divot slopes down like a smooth hillside, leaning into flesh like a sleek asphalt spine that hugs a sheer ledge, sweeping long and true against vast and incredible curves.
There’s patterns in the concrete and blacktop dressed in both broken yellow and solid white lines down roads whose rigid yet fluid engineering resembles a perfect French braid that lies down below the neck of a fearless and wondrous creature who is either leaning headlong into danger or hanging on for dear life.
When all is said and done, it’s a calming, heavy breath sedation. An intimate bell tower pounding from the head enveloping down the remainder of the body as the right hand seizes the throttle like tightened steel and the eyes search every 5 cars in a 90 mile an hour metropolitan weave.
It really is all about the lean.
The sound of that bike continuously inspires you to make it go faster, lean lower and push a little closer. Few things encourage you to realize the dire import of living in the moment for what’s true and beautiful.
Then when the stand comes down so does the temperature and the softening fall of reactions, the fuzzy warble of the highway now a distant lullaby wooing the adrenaline. Seducing the screaming intensity of what was just exhilarating into becoming something soft, warm and woeful.
I never was much of a planner. More of an actor, a fool or a farce in a pair of pants. After much thought and long nights pining over fear and consequences, I’ve decided to wing it and write and take pictures and not worry what I do for a living. “For a living” sounds so practical, so pedestrian, things I’ve never quite been, but to give up a job that literally pays my rent to follow a passion is a frightening maneuver. Apparently if I’m not scared or uneasy about life then I’m just going through mundane motions.
If my integrity is at stake and a gig just ain’t fun anymore, then it’s time to move along, and if Januarys keep appearing and I’m still not living the dreams I’ve always had, then it’s time to damn some torpedoes and release them hounds.
This economy is booming for a ton of people. Albeit, the so-called recession has left in its wake a pile of unemployment and overall despair but there are still plenty of people doing just fine. Just because you may have earned more yesterday that you are today doesn’t mean that you’re hurting. Just less luxury, you fortunate bastard. 1 ply toilet paper and generic brand shampoo ain’t gonna kill nobody. Living lean takes mental preparation, making lists of items and services you can live without, trimming the bills and behavior down to a bare minimum in order to survive on crumbs and the grunions at the bottom of the bag.
So I’m going to quit one of my bartending jobs and concentrate on what doing what I love. I’m scared to death but also completely excited. No business plan, no model, no clear idea of how I’m going to go about it but I’m more afraid of continuing to work a job that compromises my ethics and talent than not making rent. Though the rent is definitely weighing on my shoulders, I just moved into this nice apartment and it would be a shame to be out on my bum, being a bum. But I gotta do it. I have to try because not trying is terribly worse than never knowing if I had.