13 tagged with #mcy

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roll on

msf classes have always been full of people who are not my clan. i look at these people and do not know how to relate to them, and try not to feel bitter that they are why i get a certain look from non-riders when it is known that i have a motorcycle.


my right side peripheral vision dims in the corners; at some point, the world drops away and i do not know what is there. fear hits me at the apex of the curve. i tell myself: do not be afraid. i tell myself, when you are afraid, go faster.


30 April 2016 22:54


On days like this, I wish I had an easy way to take photographs from my motorcycle.

But even if I did, it wouldn't show you the way the world pulls to one side when I'm leaning through a long, blind turn.

But even if I had a video camera, it wouldn't pick up the sounds of the wind muffled through earplugs, the engine chuckling in assent as I ask for more power, the reverberation of the songs incubating inside my helmet as I hum to match the pitch of the gearbox.

But even if I could engineer an audio track that sounded just like that, I wouldn't be able to share the gentle, steady pull of gravitational force as the bike and I dig into the banked curve, or the sudden cold, damp feeling of cutting through a fog bank, or the smell of someone frying breakfast across the street, or the buzzing of an upshift request that communicates through every point at which I contact the machine.

And even if I put you on the pillion so you could experience all of this for yourself, you still would not be able to step into my mind and feel everything else unravel away as all I care about is leaning down into the tank and melding with this thing that carries me across the thin surface of the world, or see the smirk that builds I come out of an intersection and hit fourth gear before the rest of the traffic lifts their eyes away from their phones, or comfort the quiet terror that sits in the back of my head because I never know if a blown tire, a wandering animal, a tarp flying off a truck, a patch of loose gravel will be the death of me.

So the best I can do is hope that you can find something that makes you feel as awake and present is this. The best I can do is tell you that you are alive. The best I can do is to be alive.


10 October 2014 12:03


the morning fog deadens sound and smells like the back of a storm front. we shift between seasons, a rapid cycling through the unbearableness of mid-july and the desperate press of late-october.

when i'm trapped in a bubble of traffic, anxious revolutions buzzing at my feet and restless for a window, i remember: the sunsets are always good. nothing can be so bad if the sunsets are good.

04 September 2014 08:26


the sharp crackle of foam slowly expanding fills my ear canal; painfully, at first, before settling into a steady pressure. morning sounds fade away for a moment, as if the birds have just dropped dead. my footsteps make dull thuds from vibrations traveling upwards through my bones as the treble notes of boots against the floor of the deck never make it to my eardrums.

foggy morning air cuts straight through my jacket. i didn't bother closing up the vents, and i'm watching the rising sun making progress on burning up the air already. the cb isn't nearly as grouchy about getting a cold fast start the way the old lady was, and at the crest of the hill on the first straight, a white audi peels out of a side street. the shot would have been clear otherwise.

i'm tailing the audi, and i feel the stride open up under me with the enthusiasm from a full tank of gas and a long stretch of open throttle. we're neck and neck by the time we both have to slow for the intersection.


26 August 2014 07:48


This bicycle is not about how fast I am capable of going, but more about how fast I am willing to go, while keeping all of my weaknesses as a fleshy, breakable body in the back of my head.

I have a VIN in hand for a motorcycle promised to me when I get back into the states next month, and people call that my newest death machine.

I still don't have a graceful way to descend stairs on roller blades, but cannot resist the appeal of a smooth, silent glide powered by the subtle turns of the ankles.

When my neighbors' air conditioning units turn on, the alleyway rumbles with ancient oscillating fans, and I know that all they're doing is making the world beyond their rooms a sliver hotter. That's why the petty part of me smiles whenever I see their dog lifting a leg over the rusty old machines.

14 May 2014 23:56

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