I haven’t told but a few people about this: Some years ago, on an early Sunday afternoon I recall being whisked up in a restlessness. I reconized the change oh too well. An agitated, frustration, blended with some hyperactivity. The mind went to racing, I felt disturbed. Something wasn’t right, unsettled. Nothing had been a trigger for this movement whatsoever. It was heading towards an all out mixed-episode. If you do not know anything about a mixed-epi or only heard of it— then prepare to be educated.
- later on
Be back afterwhile–going out..only been on my Harley-Davison once in a month or more..I know my doctors would chew me out but i need to hear the wind whistle thru my head
.. That is the only feeling currently reminds me that I am alive. I -or I should say the bike gets literal thumbs up from teenagers at the mall, alot of adults turn their heads back after they have passed to catch another glance, to get a better listen to that rumble of the American made V-Twin engine.
It’s something to do.. 
I would ie-===2222222222222222222222 oopss went into a trance there…I would like to take alittle time before my surgery though. To pop in and say “hey” to some I haven’t seen in a long time but more than anything is finding what could I do to make the world a better place in this little corner?? I would certainly give it a go. have been inadaquite socially and in everything I did, do or didn’t do? Just ask the one who swore over and over they would be there forever..Dropped out of my life suddenly, welp, like flipping a light switch -click.
Used to be that being me wasn’t a problem but all of a sudden it is I guess. Well, that’s alright. Always knew I wouldn’t measure up. I’m only a cracker hick.
I haven’t had the rambling fever in years but when I road the highways there was always something new over every hill. Sometimes boredom was a blessing after a string of blood, sweat and tears. Ironic how fast you could forget the bad when boredom hangs around awhile and you find yourself hoping something would happen. I came home to stay on Halloween day, after burning the interstate up from New Jersey to Red Bank around 5pm with no sleep under my belt. I pulled into the folks driveway, ate, visited and then off to the usual waterhole to see some ‘friends’. Drug in around 5am.
I still have some memories from those days, not many..and what is left most wouldn’t understand without me to translate. I went out of Red Bank a fairly green, wet behind the ears young man and found I wasn’t but a grain sand on the beach of the universe.
I made some ‘friends’–at least I served that purpose to them and they to me. A comrade, where we grew to trust and even defend one another. Ole’ Glenn comes to mind more than any. He could be a real jerk, cocky and whatever unless things went his way but he had a heart made of pure gold. I knew that. After one evening in Ontario California our relationship changed as I (as he did also) thought I was going to have to kill him. He loved playing the game. You’d find him in bars feeding the same stupid lines but they now and then worked but when he layed hands on a 17 year old runaway, she resisted and he grabbed her to have her, he came unwound because she didn’t want him…I had to step in.
He originally was from Alabama, in fact his mother still ran the farm there, and I from Tennessee–the two southerners in this little community outside L.A. scrapping. Beginning in the parking lot into the motel room, back out again, heading towards the pool, towards the otherside of the pool and back parking area.
Glenn had fifteen years on me, tall like me and wasn’t a push over by any means. I knew he had a .38 revolver in his vehicle and if he went for that, I guess I would sport a new bullet hole, all I had was a folder in a shealth on my side. Fortunatily it didn’t come to that. Glenn angerly waved the white flag and walked away yelling something to himself.
I mentioned Glenn having a .38 revolver in his vehicle in the last paragraph. He carried a bag, much like a gym bag, among the few items that were in it were two things you could always count on being in there; a fifth of Canadian Mist Whiskey and that .38 pistol. YEE HAW
I recall once in the wee hours of the morning in East L.A. off Alameada Blvd. I was never happier to see that .38. It was
