Road Speed Governor

I've been writing dark. Writing dirty. Not nearly as profound as riding dirty. Profound is the wrong word. Provocative? Every day at it has been like riding down a highway in a two place coupe with a devil in the passenger seat. I think it's simple depression. As simple as depression can be. Swallowed whole by history. A bitter course. I don't know if it has to do with a ninth concussion (counting the ones I can remember) or if it's just the holiday press.

It's hard to tell sometimes. Wrecked my bike again a few days ago. It was a pretty bad trip. It made me sad in ways I didn't think it would. Aside from the disappointment of the failure. I just burned. I burned hard over a lot of things. Stutter stepping. Toward understanding. I guess the brush was tougher to swallow than I thought. It was easy to shake off when the adrenaline was coming, but since then it rolls me on and off like a riptide.

It's just,the pain of being, the knowingness of what that being is, can grow hurtful. Explosively so. It's easy to ignore the pain a lot of the time. Life as artifact. But trying to punch it up. I might be a bastard. I might be a jerk off. I might be dumb. I might be obsessive compulsive. But a sour puss, I am not.