Combo platter

Guy who has supernatural experiences that he sometimes dreams about. People who die visit him on their way from this world to the next but he doesn't realize this is what's happening, just thinks it's dreams. A homeless guy says something weird to him and he discovers there are others like him. Then he finds out most mental illnesses are really just variations of people unknowingly helping spirits

Easy rider combined with Down Home Girl

Including people in death make dancing a slow waltz in classic square dance garb... Silently

And a crow following main characters in each scene showing linear movement

Travel on bikes in the Midwest searching for freedom, pure

freedom

Winter as a biker

You never know how things will affect you until they happen-birth, death, divorce, college, jobs, whatever. I didn't go into motorcycle ownership with any other reason than it looked cool and I knew I had to have one. That was thirteen years ago and I went from a trashed out Honda to a ruthless budget bobber sportster, just like the David Allen Coe song. I had no idea the mental and emotional places I'd go, or even the physical locations, but I am starting to understand why I felt such a need for that first bike.
This bike I have now, purchased after my college roommate convinced me I could afford the payments, has been all over the united States, both in the truck and under its own power. I transformed it slowly into the meanest, roughest, nastiest bike that none of my friends will ride. It used to be fairly comfortable. In stock trim I once rode from Payson to McPherson in a day and it only took two days to recover. Last labor day we rode two hundred miles and I was sore for a week.

It taught me, with the help of a shop manual, that I could tackle and accomplish tasks I thought out of my reach. It taught me how to pack a proper tool bag. I learned hitch hiking is still a viable means of transportation.

I'm currently driving an hour one way to work. It's a great way to decompress on the way home and an even better way to start out. Last summer when my truck was broken I learned to not fear thunderstorms but that fenders might be helpful regardless of how uncool they are. I remember other rides too though-to the airport with a loose headlight shining on the tire at 80 mph for an hour after I got the call about grandpa, riding at night with tears flying off behind me. I remember taking our helmets off at the Florida state line, just because we could, and how damn hot it was. Then, a week later, riding Trail Ridge Road at 10,000 feet and being pretty chilly! A high speed burn from eager Arizona to the new Mexico state line just to see what it looked like. A hundred miles with twelve bottles of beer in a backpack. The ride with dad that started out just ten minutes up the road for a root beer at the fruit stand and ended six hours later after we'd visited Michigan.

It's a real conversation starter too, mostly inquiries about it's age and if I built it. My favorite conversations are the nods from older bikers, or the guys that do a double take, then wave. They notice the time, love and effort. The stories Sportster Bob told me about Austin in the 70s and how they'd tear around on bloody Mary Sundays, or how I pulled into Stubby's yard to check out his chop and we ended up drinking whiskey from some old fifth he dug out, Sunday morning, first names only, war stories about bar fights and sharing women. I stopped once over north of Del Norte to look at a guys bike and we talked for three hours, about ABATE, helmet laws, and of course his righteous survivor chop.

I got into bikes because I thought they were manly, tough, American. I had no idea the whole world that was opened up for me. I pussed out and didn't ride to the Denver premier of Choppertown, thought it was too cold. Zach and Scott showed me I wasn't alone in this world. Now, in Indianapolis, whenever I buy or sell some random part, I met these kinda strange, hairy, wild eyed guys just like me that have the same urge to build, construct, stand back and smile quietly, and then go terrorize the squares. I don't have any catch phrase to close on, just that it's going to be a long damn time till springtime comes around again.

No title yet, just an idea

You ever just want to talk to someone that doesn't know you? Someone that genuinely wants to chit chat but doesn't know a thing about you. Everyone I know that I could call knows me from a certain part of history or another and I think I know how they would respond.

Accidental hipster

I was raised by parents on the fringe of being hippies. They were cool with the counter culture without being deeply immersed. They both had strong farming backgrounds, college educations and traditional careers. We lived in the country, didn't buy many new clothes, raised a garden, and didn't have television. We used our library cards heavily, played board and card games, and played outside. We went to church every Sunday and were taught to care for others as we care for ourselves, not be worldly or selfish, and help out when are where we could. We learned we should be thankful for what we have as there are many who have much less.
There is a wave of people in modern culture now who were raised similarly to me, apparently, and have been saddled with the moniker of hipster. I apparently am one, though I never aspired to be, and don't particularity care to wear the label. My politics are generally left, I enjoy music that's not mainstream, and I never did give a damn to wear the hot fashions. We couldn't afford to be fashionable, so we made our own way. It appears many other kids came up the same way, and now we're the cool ones. Those of us who were never cool by the measure of society have accidentally become the cool, and I for one would rather not attract attention. I don't need your approval, your label, your critique, or your little box in which to place me. I do what I do because that's the way I've always done it. I'm not trying to fit in, and I think that's what annoys me the most. Just because there is a group of people similar to me does not mean I'm part of that group, or want to be. Perhaps I am just by association, but I reject the name while acknowledging the similarity. Don't judge me by my appearance, my musical tastes, my bookshelf or my beer preference. Judge me on my character, how I treat others, and how I conduct myself in the face of adversity. Judge me on how I view the world and why I view it that way. Judge me on my ability to make the best of my situation. Don't call me a hipster unless I give you permission. I am an individual. There may be many like me, and I may be like many, but I am me and there is no one else exactly like me. I don't want to be in your hipster grouping for the sake of belonging. I don't need to belong. I want to associate with other individuals who are like minded and approach life in a similar manner but if there are none to be found, I will move forward on my own, and no worse off for doing so.

Clocks and time

A guy asked me what time it was the other day. I told him it was whatever time he wanted it to be. The measure of time is, after all, a creation of man. And, I add, the source of stress. Other than concerns regarding the procurement of essential life needs, stress is primarily created by watching the time. Consider your daily life if you weren't concerned about what time is was at any particular moment. I watch the clock from the moment I wake up, to when I wake up again, to when I reach the kitchen, leave for work, arrive at work, wait for breaks, get home, etc etc. Without the clock I would be more free!

Soft spot for morons

Well I went and did it again. I lost a bunch of money on a motorcycle deal. You'd think by now I'd learn I'll never make any money dabbling in old Japanese junk. I had about 500 bucks wrapped up in a pretty nice old Honda with no title. It was just taking up room in the garage and I wanted it gone. I took the first serious bite I got on a trade. First off, the kid drove an hour to get here. Second, he's a fairly broke country boy with a love for motorcycles. He was a harmless kid, lives at home, twenty years old, drives a beater s10 with a rebel flag painted on the roof. Well, I shouldn't have been in such a hurry but I didn't figure I'd get another bite on the bike so I went ahead with the deal and now I have a hundred year old Belgian double barrel shotgun that someone scotch-brited all the bluing off. Now if you spend a few moments online you'll discover this gun ain't worth shit. You can't shoot modern shotgun shells in it, there aren't any parts available, and a gun with the bluing removed isn't worth much regardless of age. The market was flooded with cheap Belgian shotguns around the turn of the century and they just don't have much of a value. But, the kid was so excited and reminded me of myself just a few short years ago, I couldn't help but go ahead. The enjoyment he'll get out of messing with that bike is payment enough. That's what I keep telling myself anyhow. I could use the money but the problem with money is you just spend it and then it's gone. Ahh, you only live once I suppose. I went through the hassle of getting a title on this bike and learned how confusing that process is. Tyler and I had a lot of fun messing with it and annoying the neighbors when he was here for the 500. It's good to have a bike around for times like that but I'd prefer it be a Triumph next time. Maybe I can pawn this old shotgun off on some bike owner with a soft spot for dumb, enthusiastic 32 year olds that like junk bikes, old guns, and used to be redneck farm boys.

Sunrise on the mountains

As I gazed blankly out the window early this morning, my hands wrist deep in dishwater, I noticed the sun was illuminating only the town water tower, about half a mile west and a little higher than our apartment. As I watched, the tops of the trees across the river turned pink as well. I knew the warm morning sun would soon be shining on all around me, and I recalled my days as a carpenter in Telluride, watching and waiting impatiently as the pink dawn crept down the opposite face of the whitecapped mountains, on its way to my frigid location. I'm not sure if the temperature actually went up, but when the sun finally reached me it felt like the day had officially started; I was warmer, happier, and I would live to make it till lunchtime.