Quote of the Day

Alas, that love, so gentle in his view,
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof,
Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still,
Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will.
O teach me how I should forget to think,
Do more for me than liberate my eyes.

- William Shakespeare

Quote of the Day

We all want to help one another; human beings are like that. We want to live by each other's happiness, not by each other's misery. We don't want to hate and despise one another. In this world there's room for everyone and the good earth is rich and can provide for everyone.

The way of life can be free and beautiful.

But we have lost the way.

- Adenoid Hynkel [The Great Dictator]

Thought of the Day

A soldier came to Hakuin and asked "Is there really a paradise and a hell?"

"Who are you?" inquired Hakuin.

"I am a samurai," the warrior replied.

"You, a samurai!" exclaimed Hakuin. "What kind of ruler would have you as his guard? Your face looks like that of a beggar!"

The soldier became so angry that he began to draw his sword, but Hakuin continued. "So you have a sword! Your weapon is probably as dull as your head!"

As the soldier drew his sword Hakuin remarked "Here open the gates of hell!"

At these words, the samurai, perceiving the discipline of the master, sheathed his sword and bowed.

"Here open the gates of paradise," said Hakuin.

Quote of the Day

Some mother-fuckers are always trying to ice-skate uphill.

- Blade

I Against I

I-ya,
I against I,
flesh of my flesh,
and mind of my mind,
two of a kind but one won't survive,
my images reflect in the enemies eye,
and his images reflect in mine the same time,
I-ya, I-ya,
I against I,
flesh of my flesh,
and mind of my mind,
two of a kind but one won't survive,

Right here is where the end gon' start at,
conflict, contact 'n' combat,
fighters stand where the land is marked at,
settle the dispute about who the livest,
3 word answer,
Whoever survive this,
only one of us can ride forever,
so you and I cant ride together,
can't live or cant die together,
all we can do is collide together,
so I skillfully apply the pressure,
won't stop until I'm forever... one!

A door step where death never come,
spread across time til my time never done,
and I'm never done,
walk tall, why ever run?
when they move if I ever come?
bad man never fret the war, tell'em come
general we have the stock, the mad fire burn

I-ya,
I against I,
flesh of my flesh,
and mind of my mind,
two of a kind but one won't survive,
my images reflect in the enemies eye,
and his images reflect in mine the same time,

I-ya, I-ya,
I against I,
flesh of my flesh,
and mind of my mind,
two of a kind but one won't survive,
survive...

Reign supreme in your U-N-I,
V-E-R-S-E with the sharpness,
narrow row building no space for partners,
no space for drivers, no space for walkers,
no space regardless,
your on my path then get off it,
hardheaded and unresponsive,
get they lives put on target with harshness,
come with the canons sparkin' they darken,
who am i? one man squadron,
Ma stir the fire this time that'd snatch your tomorrow,
the thousand yard spear that'll pierce through your armor,
you can get it on right now if you want to,
but when ya front 9 get marched through,
I warned you,
You know who forever belong to,

I-ya, I-ya
I against I,
flesh of my flesh,
and mind of my mind,
two of a kind but one won't survive,
my images reflect in the enemies eye,
and his images reflect in mine the same time,

I-ya, I-ya,
I against I,
flesh of my flesh,
and mind of my mind,
two of a kind but one won't survive,
my images reflect in the enemies eye,
and his images reflect in mine, survive
survive...

- Mos Def

Funky Monks

There are no monks in my band
There are no saints in this land
I'll be doing all I can
If I die an honest man
Confusion is my middle name
Ask me again I'll tell you the same
Persuaded by one sexy dame
No I do not feel no shame

You are on the road
Can I get a little lovin' from you
Can I get a little bit of that done did do
You are on the road
Tell me now girl that you need me too
Tell me now girl 'cause I've got a feeling for you

Every man has certain needs
Talkin' 'bout them dirty deeds
To these needs I must concede
Livin' by my lowly creed

Woman please know that I'm good
Know that I did all I could
But yes it's true likelihood
Of being great is not so good

You are on the road
Can I get a little lovin' fom you
Can I get a little bit of that done did do
You are on the road
Tell me now girl that you need me too
Tell me now girl 'cause I've got a feeling for you

There are no monks in my band
There are no saints in this land
I'll be doing all I can
If I die an honest man

Virtue slipped into my shoe
No I will not miscontrue
More rockin' more rockin' now doobley doo
Dancin' down your avenue

You are on the road
Can I get a little lovin' fom you
Can I get a little bit of that done did do
You are on the road
Tell me now girl that you need me too
Tell me now girl 'cause I've got a feeling for you

- Red Hot Chili Peppers

Quote of the Day

Once there was a young warrior. Her teacher told her that she had to do battle with fear. She didn't want to do that. It seemed aggressive; it was scary; it seemed unfriendly. But her teacher said she had to do it and gave her the instructions for the battle.

The day arrived. The student warrior stood on one side, and fear stood on the other. The warrior was feeling very small, and fear was looking big and wrathful. They both had their weapons.

The young warrior roused herself and went toward fear, prostrated three times, and asked, "May I have permission to go into battle with you?"

Fear said, "Thank you for showing me so much respect that you ask permission."

Then the young warrior said, "How can I defeat you?"

Fear replied, "My weapons are that I talk fast, and I get very close to your face. Then you get completely unnerved, and you do whatever I say. If you don't do what I tell you, I have no power. You can listen to me, and you can have respect for me. You can even be convinced by me. But if you don't do what I say, I have no power."

In that way, the student warrior learned how to defeat fear.

- Pema Chodron

Quote of the Day

When things fall apart and we are on the verge of we know not what, the test for each of us is to stay on that brink and not concretize.

- Pema Chodron

Song of the Sausage Creature

There are some things nobody needs in this world, and a bright-red, hunch-back, warp-speed 900cc cafe racer is one of them - but I want one anyway, and on some days I actually believe I need one. That is why they are dangerous.

Everybody has fast motorcycles these days. Some people go 150 miles an hour on two-lane blacktop roads, but not often. There are too many oncoming trucks and too many radar cops and too many stupid animals in the way. You have to be a little crazy to ride these super-torque high-speed crotch rockets anywhere except a racetrack - and even there, they will scare the whimpering shit out of you... There is, after all, not a pig's eye worth of difference between going head-on into a Peterbilt or sideways into the bleachers. On some days you get what you want, and on others, you get what you need.

When Cycle World called me to ask if I would road-test the new Harley Road King, I got uppity and said I'd rather have a Ducati superbike. It seemed like a chic decision at the time, and my friends on the superbike circuit got very excited. "Hot damn," they said. "We will take it to the track and blow the bastards away."

"Balls," I said. "Never mind the track. The track is for punks. We are Road People. We are Cafe Racers."

The Cafe Racer is a different breed, and we have our own situations. Pure speed in sixth gear on a 5000-foot straightaway is one thing, but pure speed in third gear on a gravel-strewn downhill ess-turn is quite another.

But we like it. A thoroughbred Cafe Racer will ride all night through a fog storm in freeway traffic to put himself into what somebody told him was the ugliest and tightest decreasing-radius turn since Genghis Khan invented the corkscrew.

Cafe Racing is mainly a matter of taste. It is an atavistic mentality, a peculiar mix of low style, high speed, pure dumbness, and overweening commitment to the Cafe Life and all its dangerous pleasures... I am a Cafe Racer myself, on some days - and it is one of my finest addictions.

I am not without scars on my brain and my body, but I can live with them. I still feel a shudder in my spine every time I see a picture of a Vincent Black Shadow, or when I walk into a public restroom and hear crippled men whispering about the terrifying Kawasaki Triple... I have visions of compound femur-fractures and large black men in white hospital suits holding me down on a gurney while a nurse called "Bess" sews the flaps of my scalp together with a stitching drill.

Ho, ho. Thank God for these flashbacks. The brain is such a wonderful instrument (until God sinks his teeth into it). Some people hear Tiny Tim singing when they go under, and some others hear the song of the Sausage Creature.

When the Ducati turned up in my driveway, nobody knew what to do with it. I was in New York, covering a polo tournament, and people had threatened my life. My lawyer said I should give myself up and enroll in the Federal Witness Protection Program. Other people said it had something to do with the polo crowd.

The motorcycle business was the last straw. It had to be the work of my enemies, or people who wanted to hurt me. It was the vilest kind of bait, and they knew I would go for it.

Of course. You want to cripple the bastard? Send him a 130-mph cafe-racer. And include some license plates, he'll think it's a streetbike. He's queer for anything fast.

Which is true. I have been a connoisseur of fast motorcycles all my life. I bought a brand-new 650 BSA Lightning when it was billed as "the fastest motorcycle ever tested by Hot Rod magazine." I have ridden a 500-pound Vincent through traffic on the Ventura Freeway with burning oil on my legs and run the Kawa 750 Triple through Beverly Hills at night with a head full of acid... I have ridden with Sonny Barger and smoked weed in biker bars with Jack Nicholson, Grace Slick, Ron Zigler and my infamous old friend, Ken Kesey, a legendary Cafe Racer.

Some people will tell you that slow is good - and it may be, on some days - but I am here to tell you that fast is better. I've always believed this, in spite of the trouble it's caused me. Being shot out of a cannon will always be better than being squeezed out of a tube. That is why God made fast motorcycles, Bubba....

So when I got back from New York and found a fiery red rocket-style bike in my garage, I realized I was back in the road-testing business.

The brand-new Ducati 900 Campione del Mundo Desmodue Supersport double-barreled magnum Cafe Racer filled me with feelings of lust every time I looked at it. Others felt the same way. My garage quickly became a magnet for drooling superbike groupies. They quarreled and bitched at each other about who would be the first to help me evaluate my new toy... And I did, of course, need a certain spectrum of opinions, besides my own, to properly judge this motorcycle. The Woody Creek Perverse Environmental Testing Facility is a long way from Daytona or even top-fuel challenge-sprints on the Pacific Coast Highway, where teams of big-bore Kawasakis and Yamahas are said to race head-on against each other in death-defying games of "chicken" at 100 miles an hour....

No. Not everybody who buys a high-dollar torque-brute yearns to go out in a ball of fire on a public street in L.A. Some of us are decent people who want to stay out of the emergency room, but still blast through neo-gridlock traffic in residential districts whenever we feel like it... For that we need Fine Machinery.

Which we had - no doubt about that. The Ducati people in New Jersey had opted, for some reasons of their own, to send me the 900ss-sp for testing - rather than their 916 crazy-fast, state-of-the-art superbike track-racer. It was far too fast, they said - and prohibitively expensive - to farm out for testing to a gang of half-mad Colorado cowboys who think they're world-class Cafe Racers.

The Ducati 900 is a finely engineered machine. My neighbors called it beautiful and admired its racing lines. The nasty little bugger looked like it was going 90 miles an hour when it was standing still in my garage.

Taking it on the road, though, was a genuinely terrifying experience. I had no sense of speed until I was going 90 and coming up fast on a bunch of pickup trucks going into a wet curve along the river. I went for both brakes, but only the front one worked, and I almost went end over end. I was out of control staring at the tailpipe of a U.S. Mail truck, still stabbing frantically at my rear brake pedal, which I just couldn't find... I am too tall for these new-age roadracers; they are not built for any rider taller than five-nine, and the rearset brake pedal was not where I thought it would be. Mid-size Italian pimps who like to race from one cafe to another on the boulevards of Rome in a flat-line prone position might like this, but I do not.

I was hunched over the tank like a person diving into a pool that got emptied yesterday. Whacko! Bashed on the concrete bottom, flesh ripped off, a Sausage Creature with no teeth, fucked-up for the rest of its life.

We all love Torque, and some of us have taken it straight over the high side from time to time - and there is always Pain in that... But there is also Fun, the deadly element, and Fun is what you get when you screw this monster on. BOOM! Instant take-off, no screeching or squawking around like a fool with your teeth clamping down on our tongue and your mind completely empty of everything but fear.

No. This bugger digs right in and shoots you straight down the pipe, for good or ill.

On my first take-off, I hit second gear and went through the speed limit on a two-lane blacktop highway full of ranch traffic. By the time I went up to third, I was going 75 and the tach was barely above 4000 rpm....

And that's when it got its second wind. From 4000 to 6000 in third will take you from 75 mph to 95 in two seconds - and after that, Bubba, you still have fourth, fifth, and sixth. Ho, ho.

I never got to sixth gear, and I didn't get deep into fifth. This is a shameful admission for a full-bore Cafe Racer, but let me tell you something, old sport: This motorcycle is simply too goddamn fast to ride at speed in any kind of normal road traffic unless you're ready to go straight down the centerline with your nuts on fire and a silent scream in your throat.

When aimed in the right direction at high speed, though, it has unnatural capabilities. This I unwittingly discovered as I made my approach to a sharp turn across some railroad tracks, saw that I was going way too fast and that my only chance was to veer right and screw it on totally, in a desperate attempt to leapfrog the curve by going airborne.

It was a bold and reckless move, but it was necessary. And it worked: I felt like Evel Knievel as I soared across the tracks with the rain in my eyes and my jaws clamped together in fear. I tried to spit down on the tracks as I passed them, but my mouth was too dry... I landed hard on the edge of the road and lost my grip for a moment as the Ducati began fishtailing crazily into oncoming traffic. For two or three seconds I came face to face with the Sausage Creature....

But somehow the brute straightened out. I passed a schoolbus on the right and got the bike under control long enough to gear down and pull off into an abandoned gravel driveway where I stopped and turned off the engine. My hands had seized up like claws and the rest of my body was numb. I felt nauseous and I cried for my mama, but nobody heard, then I went into a trance for 30 or 40 seconds until I was finally able to light a cigarette and calm down enough to ride home. I was too hysterical to shift gears, so I went the whole way in first at 40 miles an hour.

Whoops! What am I saying? Tall stories, ho, ho... We are motorcycle people; we walk tall and we laugh at whatever's funny. We shit on the chests of the Weird....

But when we ride very fast motorcycles, we ride with immaculate sanity. We might abuse a substance here and there, but only when it's right. The final measure of any rider's skill is the inverse ratio of his preferred Traveling Speed to the number of bad scars on his body. It is that simple: If you ride fast and crash, you are a bad rider. And if you are a bad rider, you should not ride motorcycles.

The emergence of the superbike has heightened this equation drastically. Motorcycle technology has made such a great leap forward. Take the Ducati. You want optimum cruising speed on this bugger? Try 90mph in fifth at 5500 rpm - and just then, you see a bull moose in the middle of the road. WHACKO. Meet the Sausage Creature.

Or maybe not: The Ducati 900 is so finely engineered and balanced and torqued that you *can* do 90 mph in fifth through a 35-mph zone and get away with it. The bike is not just fast - it is *extremely* quick and responsive, and it *will* do amazing things... It is like riding a Vincent Black Shadow, which would outrun an F-86 jet fighter on the take-off runway, but at the end, the F-86 would go airborne and the Vincent would not, and there was no point in trying to turn it. WHAMO! The Sausage Creature strikes again.

There is a fundamental difference, however, between the old Vincents and the new breed of superbikes. If you rode the Black Shadow at top speed for any length of time, you would almost certainly die. That is why there are not many life members of the Vincent Black Shadow Society. The Vincent was like a bullet that went straight; the Ducati is like the magic bullet in Dallas that went sideways and hit JFK and the Governor of Texas at the same time.

It was impossible. But so was my terrifying sideways leap across the railroad tracks on the 900sp. The bike did it easily with the grace of a fleeing tomcat. The landing was so easy I remember thinking, goddamnit, if I had screwed it on a little more I could have gone a lot farther.

Maybe this is the new Cafe Racer macho. My bike is so much faster than yours that I dare you to ride it, you lame little turd. Do you have the balls to ride this BOTTOMLESS PIT OF TORQUE?

That is the attitude of the new-age superbike freak, and I am one of them. On some days they are about the most fun you can have with your clothes on. The Vincent just killed you a lot faster than a superbike will. A fool couldn't ride the Vincent Black Shadow more than once, but a fool can ride a Ducati 900 many times, and it will always be a bloodcurdling kind of fun. That is the Curse of Speed which has plagued me all my life. I am a slave to it. On my tombstone they will carve, "IT NEVER GOT FAST ENOUGH FOR ME."

- Hunter S. Thompson

Always and Never

If beauty sits the child's kiss of laughter I amend
Can you catch her if she runs?
With this I would share with you
All of this come to no end
Behind your sealed eyes you miss all that I've done for you
Will you catch me when I run?
If timing play evident
What will you say when you're late?

Stay with me and fall asleep
Pray to god for no bad dreams
Stay with me and fall asleep
Pray to god for no bad dreams

Here
I'm still waiting here, my dear
For one kiss from you...

- Coheed and Cambria

Big News

The fog is rolling in, the tide is high,
Diane's as fat can be, aye Captain aye,
The guests seem more than pleased,
How is the wine?
We shall be underway on the bye and bye,

Ahead one third, ahead two thirds,
Full ahead, flank,
And out from the belly of a whale came a prophet,
Amen!

Go shoot the moon, the sun, the great divide,
I believe there's a storm a brewin',
Nine crows at nine 'o clock nigh,
Dutch men on the mizzen mast,
Six harpies are singing to the lee,
I believe she's going down,
I believe we're gonna die, die, die,

Fortune tellers make a killing nowadays,
Me oh my!
Howdy Doody's past the house of Aquarius,
Bring me more whisky and rye,
Big news from the party boat,

Oh sir, do not distress, the food is fine,
Oh, but I must confess,
I do find the wine a wee bit dry,
Fifteen men on a dead man's chest,
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rye,
Drink and the devil had done for the rest,
She's sunk full fathom, five, five, five,

Fortune tellers make a killing nowadays,
Me oh my!
Howdy Doody's past the house of Aquarius,
Bring me more whisky and rye,
Big news from the party boat,

Them bones, them bones, them dry, dry bones,
Come down to the locker of Davy Jones.

- Clutch

Quote of the Day

Happiness makes up in height what it lacks in length.

- Robert Frost

Big Wet Kiss Intro

So, you started with a job that means nothing to you but money,

The world about you is in turmoil, but yet you exist in a happy cocoon,

"My love affairs are a mess!", you cry, "I am so low!"

And then the cardboard puppet, it did speak to me, and it said:

"Who are these beautiful angels, in multi-colored robes?"

- Chucklehead