Johis-rad

Sounds of the mountain came to him, even as he knew no passing of sun or stars or moon overhead. The passing of time caused an ache in him, even as he regarded, in a disembodied way, the aging of his bones and his flesh; the toll on his mind. He valued only isolation and the vantage point it gave him. It was an unchanging view of a world that was as it had been before his birth, and would be after that world reabsorbed him after death.

Closer Than…

A quick "sketch" from a while back. I write a lot of these with no intention of turning them into anything larger. They may find their way into some finished piece...but who knows. I like them just the way they are, for now. Enjoy! Your breath tickles my neck. It...

It’s Not You, It’s Me

This happens every few years; trust me. It’s a fine-tuned piece of clockwork that gets out of sync, needing an equally fine-tuned piece of Norse, hammer technology to carefully bring it back into precise alignment. Even gentlemen in tailored day suits and monocles cannot predict it, nor can they prevent it. Despite the best scientists, regardless of the bones and tea leaves used to foretell its coming, the shit happens. You may know not “when” but you can plan bowel movements and bets around the certainty.

Temporal Claustrophobia

Trying to explain progress, letting go of things and being okay with the divergence of lives as they move along their perspective paths is hard; almost impossible, especially when the people you’re talking about, and explaining these things to, play important roles in your story. There’s a lot of quiet space, filled with thought and the careful construction of concepts, what you’ll say next and how to put these together in a way that won’t cause everything to collapse or explode. The places filled with words are fueled by emotion and energy; tinder just ready for a spark. And there you sit, in the center of attention with a magnifying glass focused down and sunlight beaming through the lens; nowhere to go and the whole conversation compressing the air around you.

Toxicity

Toxicity …is everywhere, and it’s seeping into life — both waking and sleeping. This is what I’m doing about it.

171.5

171.5
It could have gone (should have gone) much faster, been a cleaner process, but I’m a hired gun; I’m working in a team that is very unfamiliar with one another, and not every piece of our source material was ready–hell, some of it didn’t even exist! But, that’s why I was brought in; I know this stuff from the general to the most technical and I can teach it all, to anyone. This is going to sound terribly arrogant, but I am one of the very few people in the world who can do this type of work, on this scale, in this scope…on a world-wide stage.

The recent past…in writing

Failing Happiness

Failing Happiness is the place of wilting, not dying, wilting. I can't generalize for everyone suffering from Mental Illness, I won't speak for them; if anything, this shit is so random my own descriptions can't really match up to anyone else. I do know...

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Hail Mary

Life doesn’t stop between posts, it just…degrades.

I am out of options, hitting for the fences now. 

I really, really hate mental illness.

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2018 Harley Davidson FXBR, Breakout

The Great Motorcycle Hunt of 2018 is over! A couple of weekends ago I bought a 2018 Harley Davidson FXBR, Breakout.

And since this damn blog shares a lot of words about riding, and since Spivey (my 2014 Yamaha Bolt R-Spec) is now in the loving hands of my daughter; you’re going to hear a lot about this 2018 Harley Davidson Breakout.

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Pessimistic Idealism

My dreams are woven from dark fabric; bound in smoke and fire – embellished with tears. Yet, to see such decoration our eyes need light. It is pointless to weave intricate patterns that cannot be seen. There can never be destruction without creation.

Pessimistic pondering must be balanced by Idealism, or the entire dream collapses into depthless nightmare.

So, yes. I am a man with Pessimistic Idealism driving my thoughts. Since nothing is mutually inclusive, these two clashing concepts work in balance to create some future vision. I think they birth Hope…and a fragile Faith.

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The Great Motorcycle Hunt of 2018

The Great Motorcycle Hunt of 2018 Spivey is now in the loving hands of my daughter. He was a faithful steed and I miss him. But I am very happy he is where he is.   Searching... This Spring I will get my next bike. Since I have a habit of researching...

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Toxicity

Toxicity …is everywhere, and it’s seeping into life — both waking and sleeping. This is what I’m doing about it.

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Isolation

White Supremacists in the Full-Time RV community have forced me to deactivate my FaceBook account. Old friends are not really speaking to me right now. We have one car, so while Julie’s at work I’m land-bound.

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Videos…no writing here

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