Monday, July 5
how do we go to eleven?
and strawberries in simple sugar syrup.
why settle for just one or another?
the object, of course, is MORE.
THAT's how we counteract calorie-burning bike rides to town.
a sharp, sweet, sugar-spike after the fact.
replacing the burnt-up ones with a legion of new hottness.
back up your back ups, y'all, that's what's up.
how else can a night of righteous pyrotechnics
get taken up that extra notch?
we had a whole spot all to ourselves-
peace and quiet,
and all in the center of the village, too.
a crew of worthy real-life duders
enjoying the spectacle of america,
and it's congealed, corpulent constituent populace,
with a critical eye toward the furious, spurious congregators.
nobody even tried a little bit to hang out near us-
even with a gentle bow-tie,
and my flagship randonneuring bicycle,
complete with chrome fenders and copper calipers,
my accessibility was at an all-time low;
the smog-monster stench kept ALL the little kids away,
and everyone else, too.
just like we planned.
while the rest of the gape-faced mouth breathers
were waiting in line after line of post 'works traffic,
sippin' sodas and sweating with each swinelike step,
we were already home.
like late-night ninjas,
with no reflectors, and no rules.
a straight shot down the main streets-
drop handlebars and hard-styles;
i mean it.
bikes made it all possible.
you know it.
gas pedals down, platform pedals up.
it's the warrior's work week end again.
a lot of folks have today off, too.
but not us.
it's an all-day road warrior rogue road trip,
after independence day,
it's time to go pick up my two dependants:
the duo of daughterly dopeness,
harvest and maple,
are headed home to the woodsly goodness
for a Folk Life infusion of a better way of livin'.
the power of a powerful example, ninjas.
this is what's happening,
never quiet, never soft.....
this hot fire spat by Albie Rock