tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81540581450567418322024-03-01T17:06:51.227-08:00Ramblings of a Motorcycle RamblerBiker chick poetrySash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.comBlogger99125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154058145056741832.post-6848273721904825082023-07-05T16:55:00.007-07:002023-07-06T09:23:08.826-07:00Forsaken<p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhePIxnB2C9FnKBXqLNv0o0uv4UtiiRurdiDN5UZq3ndlgYs5sF_bPLu4lMPEaJ75oUOjrhMARZZGwvfj0H4qAlxciehFV1DhgtC5lukkc9Btd5Em_vv7gcxsC2QovVRhFA69g8sJ-ZsjlDvWzhM8_Fty8Xo9EWMAh1ehWNLhYjrKGAdGwBnxgyLhvKZbY/s1476/Socorro%20and%20Anna.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1476" data-original-width="1041" height="389" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhePIxnB2C9FnKBXqLNv0o0uv4UtiiRurdiDN5UZq3ndlgYs5sF_bPLu4lMPEaJ75oUOjrhMARZZGwvfj0H4qAlxciehFV1DhgtC5lukkc9Btd5Em_vv7gcxsC2QovVRhFA69g8sJ-ZsjlDvWzhM8_Fty8Xo9EWMAh1ehWNLhYjrKGAdGwBnxgyLhvKZbY/w275-h389/Socorro%20and%20Anna.jpeg" width="275" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">My father's mother Anna on the right, with her younger sister Socorro</div><p><br /></p></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: center;">Daddy, Daddy, pray, who are you?</p><p style="text-align: center;">My savior that I thought I knew.</p><p style="text-align: center;">In mother's arms you could not stay</p><p style="text-align: center;">She gave you life, gave you away</p><p style="text-align: center;">On her own birthday you came to be</p><p style="text-align: center;">She kissed you softly, set you free.</p><p style="text-align: center;">Of shame and guilt she carried deep</p><p style="text-align: center;">A child that she couldn't keep.</p><p style="text-align: center;">Upon your death, what did you find?</p><p style="text-align: center;">Her face of love, like yours, like mine?</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7NXCg5zLbcr8CDAWJR1ASwIQT7mKzfqw5wXASFicHEdySANK0JnA8wh_T-Oq7AxaBEPUOXJcYZElOPBF0vQsllUx6u01jrtIisI9ENqykNIAoGlZ6dIYqypzci4cZMyl0TxMZsJ7kQuMxhNwI_oKJi4MxTHydjPEW-AI-caXGpa5D70ybz1yKimAgxoo/s1244/Daddy-Tina-baby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1244" data-original-width="1244" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7NXCg5zLbcr8CDAWJR1ASwIQT7mKzfqw5wXASFicHEdySANK0JnA8wh_T-Oq7AxaBEPUOXJcYZElOPBF0vQsllUx6u01jrtIisI9ENqykNIAoGlZ6dIYqypzci4cZMyl0TxMZsJ7kQuMxhNwI_oKJi4MxTHydjPEW-AI-caXGpa5D70ybz1yKimAgxoo/s320/Daddy-Tina-baby.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Daddy and me</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154058145056741832.post-81115830950296813012023-06-06T13:34:00.001-07:002023-06-06T13:38:16.682-07:00Chahta Spirit<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir3oxnprOh0QKSycFpVt02H0Oca5eUpKU9ajwtmo5ZxI73-NernUfclsKW8l6eHMxpVIAV2oSlZ4gFV0H3sRLllly4ax0H__9Yu9Mr5dNsSppD6BzUo-xFRAKd4RlyrdKiTBJ3cRmoVmyUB83Q3exbcjx5v5VH7_sf8QycK0bQLjaRv_VKpAZ_IXbr/s339/lucindahampton%20profile.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="339" data-original-width="263" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir3oxnprOh0QKSycFpVt02H0Oca5eUpKU9ajwtmo5ZxI73-NernUfclsKW8l6eHMxpVIAV2oSlZ4gFV0H3sRLllly4ax0H__9Yu9Mr5dNsSppD6BzUo-xFRAKd4RlyrdKiTBJ3cRmoVmyUB83Q3exbcjx5v5VH7_sf8QycK0bQLjaRv_VKpAZ_IXbr/s320/lucindahampton%20profile.jpg" width="248" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lucinda Hampton Burke, my Great Great Grandmother<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-a7da98be-7fff-69ef-2cff-8df6ec63ea6a"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Roboto, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">My people walked on dead men's tracks</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Roboto, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">With bundles of betrayal on their backs</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Roboto, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Forced to this land, harsh and unknown</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Roboto, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">In the dusty dark plains, they made their homes,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Roboto, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Braced against bitter terse winds</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Roboto, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Dignified Indigenous begin again.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Roboto, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Steel grey skeletons of timber stands</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Roboto, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Rolling green and jagged lands</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Roboto, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Past wrongs cannot be right</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Roboto, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Survive, overcome, yet live to fight!</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Roboto, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">The seasons pass, and time wears away</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Roboto, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">The green prairie grasses bend to pray</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Roboto, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Creeks run high and hopes hang low</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Roboto, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Broken towns filled with rotting homes</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Roboto, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Weathered barns and rundown farms</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Roboto, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Rez cars and cowboy bars.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Roboto, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Black walnut, red cedar, and evergreen pines</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Roboto, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Sing songs of our ancestors' joyous times.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Roboto, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Shining brightly under Father Sun</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Roboto, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Our Chahta Spirit carries on.</span></p><div><span face="Roboto, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></div></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154058145056741832.post-32912969821038771602019-10-23T14:28:00.001-07:002019-10-23T14:28:24.172-07:00Driving On a Road<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9bJIEYdJ2-uXildZiOA0RBaewmNxG6-chzlcZ79rexebdFDbOPJYeHj9EuTuok6ggA_SLh9aWSj1aT9Q6-59tdtzGHlnnMJTdrq0n3Wvt7JG-g1-x3zNssy9kMBfyXEkdAKKtLhvvEK0/s1600/img1571865749529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="754" data-original-width="1280" height="377" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9bJIEYdJ2-uXildZiOA0RBaewmNxG6-chzlcZ79rexebdFDbOPJYeHj9EuTuok6ggA_SLh9aWSj1aT9Q6-59tdtzGHlnnMJTdrq0n3Wvt7JG-g1-x3zNssy9kMBfyXEkdAKKtLhvvEK0/s640/img1571865749529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
I can't count the times I've crossed the Continental Divide. The Rocky Mountains, the Lincoln Highway, the New Mexico desert . . . The expanse of the Canyons of the Ancients is as large as my lonesomeness. Driving, but there are no destinations. There are only places to pass through on my way to somewhere that no longer exists. My only destination is the road.<br />
<br />
I count the towns as they go by. I give way to the rise and fall of the asphalt. My mind wanders while my foot presses the gas, hands on the wheel, rain on the windshield, tears in my eyes. I miss a sense of belonging. No matter how far I go I can never find my way home again. I have no home to return to. My only home is the road which I'm damned to wander.<br />
<br />
We are all on a road. Each on a journey seeking temporary comforts, momentary peace, slivers of serenity, connection, belonging. You are rushing through your day. I am driving on a road. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154058145056741832.post-9041879848134753912019-09-03T13:10:00.000-07:002019-09-03T20:21:29.491-07:00The Poison of Euphoric Freedom<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOhlxPfWOIBN-m_hRUU9NnOuCpgc0ldOgYkWPQ-yEvfKx0j_G3u2nKSuI530bSdT606c1rxvXlvXWSLYOiH-MPSxizyR8OnKve708fOoP5leqCuc1cjTnJ3TeTVWHvgiwuqm5Pgb_3HMA/s1600/sash+steve+riding.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOhlxPfWOIBN-m_hRUU9NnOuCpgc0ldOgYkWPQ-yEvfKx0j_G3u2nKSuI530bSdT606c1rxvXlvXWSLYOiH-MPSxizyR8OnKve708fOoP5leqCuc1cjTnJ3TeTVWHvgiwuqm5Pgb_3HMA/s640/sash+steve+riding.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Cracking the concrete around my heart</div><div style="text-align: center;">Oozing seepage of spoiled desire,</div><div style="text-align: center;">The golden striped trail</div><div style="text-align: center;">Pulls with a fire.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Cocaine mornings, a bruised soul longing</div><div style="text-align: center;">To be fed by an asphalt diet of miles </div><div style="text-align: center;">Fill me with landscapes</div><div style="text-align: center;">Twists and trials.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Tacos and sunsets, truck stops, hotels,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Clean, white sheets and open horizons</div><div style="text-align: center;">Intoxicating as hot bourbon </div><div style="text-align: center;">Wanderlust; the sweetest poison.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">My journey, insatiable and satisfying in splendid moments of euphoric freedom.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am destined to wander this life with the sweetest addiction; travel. </div>Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154058145056741832.post-1509451230537889022019-08-27T13:32:00.000-07:002019-08-27T13:32:41.141-07:00Illusion of Division<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihfwGEeNDrk1IfynH5XAI2Ob4leT8EgxuBBWQj14j8I9Jo68IrEI4OacEaY4QMAD12TJAm9IAWqxGv5WGPAovn1P4uPrRMDkMrz-ruMQnx_2PomvtVQ9ruitz7y2RhfHHC3o1HAZGmfO0/s1600/20190827_132902.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihfwGEeNDrk1IfynH5XAI2Ob4leT8EgxuBBWQj14j8I9Jo68IrEI4OacEaY4QMAD12TJAm9IAWqxGv5WGPAovn1P4uPrRMDkMrz-ruMQnx_2PomvtVQ9ruitz7y2RhfHHC3o1HAZGmfO0/s640/20190827_132902.jpg" width="585" height="640" data-original-width="632" data-original-height="692" /></a></div><br />
Sparkling flames toss dancing shadows<br />
Crackling stars glisten high<br />
Pressing darkness gives illusion<br />
Of sun succumbing to the night<br />
<br />
And in the starlight I can see you<br />
You are the darkness, I am the sun<br />
Within the firelight I can be you<br />
Because we all are made of one<br />
<br />
You knew me long before I met you<br />
When you exhaled my lonely sigh<br />
My song you sang from deep within you<br />
Your tear slipped from mine own eye<br />
<br />
No single part in singularity<br />
No individual of the whole<br />
You and I are strung together<br />
By golden thread connecting all<br />
<br />
Lightening born from earthen solid<br />
Shatters Spring's tempestuous sky <br />
I am the bird, you are the beetle<br />
Your last breath was my first cry<br />
<br />
We are the same, we are the every<br />
To each, to all belong the sum<br />
Within the one, correspondent<br />
As flames and darkness are but one<br />
<br />
Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154058145056741832.post-2972532804299396752018-10-06T23:53:00.001-07:002019-08-27T13:39:36.740-07:00A poem from my broken part<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Alz6gu1cebqTnABC0TOGpuPVuGQ4vCBt5IpJEdqGjg0EJyBIsUo_yuKuPg8GCp9fWdGf0AX1KYMy0OsTq1vjMnb9Y1P6HtHj5zvzm4Or_kHB2jrhzkUYL2BPEvdY7e0FOrakZetm3NE/s1600/sash+desert+bike+black+and+white.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Alz6gu1cebqTnABC0TOGpuPVuGQ4vCBt5IpJEdqGjg0EJyBIsUo_yuKuPg8GCp9fWdGf0AX1KYMy0OsTq1vjMnb9Y1P6HtHj5zvzm4Or_kHB2jrhzkUYL2BPEvdY7e0FOrakZetm3NE/s640/sash+desert+bike+black+and+white.jpg" width="640" height="435" data-original-width="1202" data-original-height="817" /></a></div>I am<br />
Insignificant.<br />
Broken, battered,<br />
Rubbish tossed,<br />
Isolated, alone.<br />
On a highway, <br />
On rolling wheels, <br />
I am free.<br />
Isolation abolished.<br />
Connection to Infinity. <br />
Pain released.<br />
But in our bed<br />
Ice. Ice cold<br />
Hard slab of<br />
Emptiness <br />
I am useless <br />
When I am empty<br />
Nothing to give<br />
Valueless <br />
Abandon the rubbish <br />
That I am.</p>Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154058145056741832.post-10873413676684306062017-01-22T09:49:00.000-08:002017-01-22T09:49:26.887-08:00Meditation Of My Two Wheels<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3H2SDaTOl_Zn-npNTJXuX3I2JGUX-oWjA5n0v2t0XE2mK0Zhhmjwsw-Xar-QIOu0-1IGbPcyUJpnpkPJLEHgJyKRzJy81N0jkz9_gaGDHTAOKpRU5FvSTEFY4uqSSYVzQeV7vbqVazM8/s1600/IMG_7393.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3H2SDaTOl_Zn-npNTJXuX3I2JGUX-oWjA5n0v2t0XE2mK0Zhhmjwsw-Xar-QIOu0-1IGbPcyUJpnpkPJLEHgJyKRzJy81N0jkz9_gaGDHTAOKpRU5FvSTEFY4uqSSYVzQeV7vbqVazM8/s640/IMG_7393.JPG" width="640" height="360" /></a></div><br />
I long for strange roads <br />
And to find myself <br />
In the unfamiliar <br />
<br />
For in the familiar<br />
I hold, yet I find<br />
Those things I already know<br />
<br />
I long for strange faces<br />
Sharing their own truth<br />
Their roads I shan't travel<br />
<br />
Roads that serve their purpose<br />
Long roads of wisdom<br />
I wish to bring inside<br />
<br />
I ache for long roads<br />
Black sparkles dancing<br />
Droning, groaning asphalt<br />
<br />
No destination other<br />
Than the road itself<br />
Deliver me nowhere<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154058145056741832.post-27418384481148688452016-12-30T10:48:00.001-08:002016-12-30T10:48:04.028-08:00Family Words<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoP7Y_4AJn3pcwdrzM6sqKsbCa4WL079NftTe81UzMUxJ_2Lz4JRiAnDJvh6Nr-6zYQAhTkTb3wvkvvcrGYKyQ0ihkGHfE4v7C18-gpEPO3vRBb7cY4dwLA1O81LVBDNm7AYitQQaCJc8/s1600/Age+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="494" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoP7Y_4AJn3pcwdrzM6sqKsbCa4WL079NftTe81UzMUxJ_2Lz4JRiAnDJvh6Nr-6zYQAhTkTb3wvkvvcrGYKyQ0ihkGHfE4v7C18-gpEPO3vRBb7cY4dwLA1O81LVBDNm7AYitQQaCJc8/s640/Age+3.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Age 3, second from the left</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Stop talking. <br />
Stop your babbling.<br />
No one wants to hear you!<br />
SHUT UP!<br />
<br />
No one likes you.<br />
You're so stupid.<br />
What are you saying?<br />
SHUT UP!<br />
<br />
What is wrong with you?<br />
No one can stand you.<br />
We don't want you here!<br />
SHUT UP! <br />
<br />
*******<br />
<br />
I want a voice.<br />
Only to be heard.<br />
Listen to me!<br />
PLEASE!<br />
Don't shut me up.<br />
<br />
<i>(Writing has become the voice I didn't have as a child. Thank you for reading.)</i>Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154058145056741832.post-50135887878059053752016-10-29T21:59:00.001-07:002016-10-29T21:59:39.556-07:00The Older I Get<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFUztywBprmtJ_bIh9_JcCOMrTtlGFDvlWSsZ3WhW_Wuc5QovGNoNjli_rSATQrX-qC-Ns_d2A5UOAdzmwi46h7-1p0UU2TNnyuoD5bJGXas5kL4thRT2HJPP8HycCGewiBEKBmL4CraU/s1600/Hawaii+2+062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFUztywBprmtJ_bIh9_JcCOMrTtlGFDvlWSsZ3WhW_Wuc5QovGNoNjli_rSATQrX-qC-Ns_d2A5UOAdzmwi46h7-1p0UU2TNnyuoD5bJGXas5kL4thRT2HJPP8HycCGewiBEKBmL4CraU/s640/Hawaii+2+062.JPG" width="640" height="360" /></a></div><br />
The older I get <br />
The less I want people<br />
The more I live in my mind<br />
The less on the outside<br />
The less I seek relationships<br />
With anyone<br />
<br />
Maybe because I don't trust<br />
Because I've learned more<br />
Because I'm finally filled up inside<br />
Filled with their lies and bullshit<br />
Filled with my own self worth and love<br />
Finally<br />
<br />
Maybe I don't need their baggage<br />
Their problems<br />
Because I have enough of my own<br />
My own baggage and bullshit<br />
And the lies I tell myself<br />
About self worth and love<br />
<br />
The older I get <br />
The more I am burdened with baggage<br />
That builds up along the road<br />
The less I can carry<br />
The less I'll tolerate<br />
The less effort I'll give<br />
<br />
The older I get <br />
The more I want to be alone<br />
In a desert<br />
In a shack<br />
Out of sight<br />
Out of touch<br />
GoneSash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154058145056741832.post-68520927559950714842016-10-07T21:05:00.000-07:002016-10-07T21:05:03.651-07:00Broken Body<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuZzO9nrzutGbBLoYzhb8htEH0dm7Ej4U3zCByUUqo2O70VvkiGJAYVQOAHmiv-LBZNZNM-sVQQ7GjlvrcUzVKX3VjKfxJcNxD_6V-sFu8UVIfKMTF1z95pG7UdKUpbdncZ6D1aEF79fc/s1600/sash+tucson+sidewalk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuZzO9nrzutGbBLoYzhb8htEH0dm7Ej4U3zCByUUqo2O70VvkiGJAYVQOAHmiv-LBZNZNM-sVQQ7GjlvrcUzVKX3VjKfxJcNxD_6V-sFu8UVIfKMTF1z95pG7UdKUpbdncZ6D1aEF79fc/s640/sash+tucson+sidewalk.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
I am lost, set adrift. I am betrayed by my broken body.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I have plans. . . things to do. Everything halts. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Once again I scream in an emergency room from agonizing pain. My body breaks but my mind isn't ready to stop. My mind had things to do. My mind wants more. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Screaming and tears brings me to my knees, stopping all forward progress. I'm crushed to watch the rest of the world go on without me as I lay prisoner to my own failing body once again. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Piteous, vulnerable, broken. The bondage of weakness clamps down upon me. Plans wither and die. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Rest and heal this broken vessel in hopes to start again. </div>
Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154058145056741832.post-46483290023082416792016-06-14T21:55:00.001-07:002016-06-14T21:55:49.194-07:00Visiting Hell<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_799TZQrpuM8cxME4KW4X82XLC4_lwh7ll2_-9heM718pz5T2wsCmIt-6m0WvMmyifxDwIAfSw-Z9SfJuExHEHSMlV14v8r-x3yYE-bFwC6L7PhX5i_VF4m2JFd4fmz4ApHJF0kAWkEI/s1600/fire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_799TZQrpuM8cxME4KW4X82XLC4_lwh7ll2_-9heM718pz5T2wsCmIt-6m0WvMmyifxDwIAfSw-Z9SfJuExHEHSMlV14v8r-x3yYE-bFwC6L7PhX5i_VF4m2JFd4fmz4ApHJF0kAWkEI/s640/fire.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Prison City<br />
Barbed wire words<br />
Cement blocks of feet<br />
Frozen solid<br />
<br />
Burning sidewalks<br />
Fiery stares<br />
Longing hearts of pain<br />
Deadlocked<br />
<br />
Suffocated love<br />
Anguishing, languishing<br />
That child<br />
This child<br />
Mine<br />
Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154058145056741832.post-90712553310786651062016-04-18T01:10:00.000-07:002016-04-18T01:14:30.662-07:00If Marriage Were a Motorcycle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNhbG1eGTjCvlFjw0qs8SfBbGXMOlZdu1zxfbqUQT0JpqAArPghXCoT_aORsKsKZxkaw07F8ndo5KwzyumZgag1lHemmBTVNR_bqAKAw5FpCGpQmvLaoazRf-U5SlMk5WdyBx2K2aFCrc/s1600/Road-to-New-Mexico.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNhbG1eGTjCvlFjw0qs8SfBbGXMOlZdu1zxfbqUQT0JpqAArPghXCoT_aORsKsKZxkaw07F8ndo5KwzyumZgag1lHemmBTVNR_bqAKAw5FpCGpQmvLaoazRf-U5SlMk5WdyBx2K2aFCrc/s640/Road-to-New-Mexico.JPG" /></a></div><br />
We came into the curve too quick<br />
Road of scattered gravel was slick<br />
Spring rains had once poured <br />
Such dangers we ignored<br />
Until the rear tire started to kick<br />
<br />
The high side came as a surprise<br />
I couldn't believe my eyes<br />
We came in too hot<br />
Perhaps we forgot<br />
This risk comes with such a high price<br />
<br />
We landed apart roadside<br />
Ashamed, you went to hide<br />
Covered in blood<br />
I laid in the mud<br />
And screamed, shouted and cried<br />
<br />
Neither picked up the bike<br />
I chose to take a hike<br />
Left you alone<br />
To face the unknown<br />
Behaving quite childlike<br />
<br />
We knew coming together was key<br />
The end it needn't be<br />
Picked up the parts<br />
Of our broken hearts<br />
And pieced back the shattered debris<br />
<br />
So we'll turn the key again<br />
Take the lesson from where we've been<br />
Learn what it showed<br />
Look to the new road<br />
And from the crash begin again<br />
Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154058145056741832.post-18446986379181587022016-02-08T19:20:00.002-08:002016-02-08T19:20:34.016-08:00Your Black Existence<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPZv2Y-IWVPtbvs174PdvvqqnLVLE08DQdQuAvkFuixohONjdYJEb0EydvbhkvcA53wOe-fj6JfsafzocRGyLDaZpjlNIZahGeg0s4klcrpBObRmHSx7Vs-NKJGW7leEC1pVHMhP_36IA/s1600/black+hole.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPZv2Y-IWVPtbvs174PdvvqqnLVLE08DQdQuAvkFuixohONjdYJEb0EydvbhkvcA53wOe-fj6JfsafzocRGyLDaZpjlNIZahGeg0s4klcrpBObRmHSx7Vs-NKJGW7leEC1pVHMhP_36IA/s640/black+hole.jpg" /></a></div><br />
The infinite hole<br />
That was your soul<br />
Inhales<br />
All light around<br />
Without a sound<br />
To break within<br />
Your existence.<br />
<br />
Unsatisfied<br />
The sorrow you hide<br />
Rapes<br />
Every soul<br />
You'll ever know<br />
To die within<br />
Your existence.<br />
<br />
The cumbersome black<br />
Of all you lack<br />
Bankrupts<br />
The whole<br />
Of humanity<br />
To die due to<br />
Your existence.<br />
Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154058145056741832.post-65609601752780718392015-12-26T17:24:00.000-08:002015-12-26T17:32:52.761-08:00Actor<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSzwAsorU_AmRH-TJCexda8n8GyvXyrTPbFoM5bCbXrWwf2Rie_vhKhqtXwrlYbKCWkFN6EDfowAx33AvMO_9Vfzs9tOOs69IphB9YTq63G5AthRMGjTGrYjAASY-052TcW0rIPat8NS0/s1600/sash+san+diego.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSzwAsorU_AmRH-TJCexda8n8GyvXyrTPbFoM5bCbXrWwf2Rie_vhKhqtXwrlYbKCWkFN6EDfowAx33AvMO_9Vfzs9tOOs69IphB9YTq63G5AthRMGjTGrYjAASY-052TcW0rIPat8NS0/s640/sash+san+diego.jpg" /></a></div>I am nobody.<br />
I am not real.<br />
I am an actor in the reruns you chose to fill the role of your past.<br />
You don't know my real name, my real pain, my real love.<br />
I go unheard as you read the script of your play.<br />
You see the scene in your mind; beginning, conflict. . . complications, unrest. . .<br />
The play never works out quite right.<br />
There is no final act, no resolution.<br />
The actors don't know their lines, their marks, their cues.<br />
My words, my words are tattered by the screaming voices of your past.<br />
My love is fragmented through a tornado.<br />
Our life is only a repeat.<br />
Same channel, same story, same time. <br />
Repeat the shame, worthlessness, guilt, sorrow, abandonment, pain, loss, FEAR.<br />
Emotions we both grudging drag from day to day, place to place.<br />
We hate the baggage. <br />
I beg to be heard by ears filled with old chants of yesterdays.<br />
You can't be loved. <br />
I want to give to you a new life filled with joy, love, reality, passion.<br />
Our passion fuels the flames of shouting and tears.<br />
We press hurtful cries from lips rather than kisses.<br />
The script's lines hang in the air twisting, gnarled.<br />
Cut! <br />
Start from the top. <br />
You stand in love's doorway and look backwards, behind you, inside you.<br />
You long for love as much as I want to give it to you. <br />
I haven't the ability to stop the play, to quit the role, unless I go.<br />
I will not quit.<br />
You deserve my love.<br />
I shout, beg, cry my love, my compassion, my empathy, my sorrow, my desire for you.<br />
You can't feel me.<br />
I am not heard.<br />
I am nobody.<br />
I am not real to you.Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154058145056741832.post-33414362580600919392015-05-13T14:42:00.001-07:002015-05-13T14:48:53.715-07:00Amnesia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsA-9Y_8GAPy9OHqdlqAMYTxWQ3Yybxi63GVvxxUa9T9aOaOJlXtk30BaL_vxSbbzPXriqYLOO7IfmZuWedVayeEw4qeIVrY63ITj4aH3tcmQVrz-1nxRSgAeuSFg0diG5jZ03ouFxxUA/s1600/080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="South-Dakota-Sunset" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsA-9Y_8GAPy9OHqdlqAMYTxWQ3Yybxi63GVvxxUa9T9aOaOJlXtk30BaL_vxSbbzPXriqYLOO7IfmZuWedVayeEw4qeIVrY63ITj4aH3tcmQVrz-1nxRSgAeuSFg0diG5jZ03ouFxxUA/s640/080.JPG" title="" /></a></div>
<br />
Amnesia would be welcome,<br />
To come over me,<br />
To recreate me,<br />
To bliss me.<br />
<br />
If I could ride away from<br />
Time and schedules,<br />
Expectations and demands,<br />
Requests and guilt,<br />
Money and trappings,<br />
Clothing and coverups,<br />
Yesterday and the stories,<br />
There would be truth.<br />
<br />
Perfection is truth.<br />
<br />
I want to swallow morning sun, <br />
Bask in river waters, <br />
Roll upon two-wheeled asphalt trails, <br />
Touch a buffalo on his nose and<br />
Pray at his the hooves of his awesomeness, <br />
Watch a tornado thunder by and<br />
Lie under Jupiter with an open heart.<br />
<br />
My soul soars every moment,<br />
If I choose a limitlessness life, <br />
Each second without a second hand,<br />
No appointment to keep,<br />
No person awaiting my arrival.<br />
I am able to walk into truth.<br />
I see her eyes beckoning me enter.<br />
<br />
Amnesia would be freedom.<br />
<br />
To wander empty prairies,<br />
Roam among the buffalo, <br />
Clothed in daisies, <br />
Warmth from the high sun,<br />
Darkening my shoulder skin.<br />
<br />
No etiquette nor rules,<br />
No burdens nor chores,<br />
But to live now;<br />
To breathe.<br />
<br />
Let me forget how I came, <br />
How I have become, whom I have become.<br />
Can I not just become again?<br />
<br />
Amnesia, pour across my dry path,<br />
Renewing my spirit.<br />
<br />
Grateful for the days of life I've walked,<br />
In this name I've grown into<br />
This name I've become.<br />
<br />
Oh, but to embrace the freedom of amnesia,<br />
To drop the clock,<br />
And guilt<br />
And expectations.<br />
<br />
Oh, to be new again.Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154058145056741832.post-17345212780914699442015-04-06T23:34:00.002-07:002015-04-08T22:04:28.705-07:00I Love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZXG7_mZTLl8AjEQYBbfNZH0E3qfaYLS5B5j_esZt9qdvcCuvG99_SEFO2VYhlSntyt13fRFudg4ke_fbi9R3aKFbCbYO90Ms54nY7dNrMzAM7TGTZxPouKWV2qkDhV65vbb3ez6XYib8/s1600/Albequerque+Sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Albuquerque-new-mexico-sunset" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZXG7_mZTLl8AjEQYBbfNZH0E3qfaYLS5B5j_esZt9qdvcCuvG99_SEFO2VYhlSntyt13fRFudg4ke_fbi9R3aKFbCbYO90Ms54nY7dNrMzAM7TGTZxPouKWV2qkDhV65vbb3ez6XYib8/s1600/Albequerque+Sunset.jpg" height="320" title="" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-large;"><i>I Love. . . </i></span><br />
<br />
The colors of a sunset in Albuquerque, NM.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEU3CkM9a4mBaq0Fnji_OUMaDnYo5MDVkc6OUPNYf8RtRIlE6nwyRpfMpOjmFYKdHxkQ2oWDyxGBnGjjarR9oOGa13mhbVPqmcekVWSEoVo7mQd-q5CdusLpKYWJctnGe5lCfbzyJ-KyY/s1600/New+York+Saturday+086.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Manhattan-new-york-saturday" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEU3CkM9a4mBaq0Fnji_OUMaDnYo5MDVkc6OUPNYf8RtRIlE6nwyRpfMpOjmFYKdHxkQ2oWDyxGBnGjjarR9oOGa13mhbVPqmcekVWSEoVo7mQd-q5CdusLpKYWJctnGe5lCfbzyJ-KyY/s1600/New+York+Saturday+086.JPG" height="300" title="" width="400" /></a></div>
Walking in Manhattan on a Saturday afternoon in August.<br />
<br />
Red Velvet cupcakes with a dollop of frosting on top.<br />
<br />
A sip of smooth bourbon as it warms my chest going down.<br />
<br />
Crisp Ginger Snaps.<br />
<br />
Lavendar lotion at bedtime.<br />
<br />
The desert after a rain storm.<br />
<br />
A very large sirloin steak, medium rare.<br />
<br />
The view from the Laurel Street Bridge of the city lights of Downtown San Diego as the sun sets.<br />
<br />
The feel of my throttle pulled back relentlessly.<br />
<br />
Shopping in thrift stores.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnRuKvGdjYA3g0wKVMzTQMu575Z-YJ9Z2tpGqgtvkL4O4YbTWnGGXQmDAEUd0AST0R9_Ki9_pckpawKfxylilM6UdipURsSHUb2GgVijN1pNag0K2P2Dz3vWu7Rbs1P7W2LkFdIvOjHHE/s1600/Tina-Walker-close-up-in-mink.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnRuKvGdjYA3g0wKVMzTQMu575Z-YJ9Z2tpGqgtvkL4O4YbTWnGGXQmDAEUd0AST0R9_Ki9_pckpawKfxylilM6UdipURsSHUb2GgVijN1pNag0K2P2Dz3vWu7Rbs1P7W2LkFdIvOjHHE/s1600/Tina-Walker-close-up-in-mink.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
Poetry.<br />
<br />
The feel of real fur on my shoulders, especially mink.<br />
<br />
Soft socks and my Hello Kitty Blanket.<br />
<br />
Campbells Turkey Vegetable Soup.<br />
<br />
Chai Tea with cardamom and honey.<br />
<br />
Plays by Tennessee Williams and Screenplays by Billy Wilder<br />
<br />
My husband's smile, his crooked teeth and the tips of his fingers.<br />
<br />
Riding my motorcycle with wild abandon, laughing madly, for just a moment or two.<br />
<br />
That my grandniece climbs on my motorcycle to ride it like it's her own, even though she isn't quite 2- years-old yet.<br />
<br />
Jimi Hendrix lyrics and Elizabeth Barret Brownings' poems.<br />
<br />
Jupiter by Holst.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjvYpMjWcNfJiI0Ni6pSqzrMdyRFpew9G_eaHu082fCgwC4Ov5s0ainEwGtjEJDco0s7vdfcIFaVaquIRqHXl8pIWXwSkACUBM8ItL0QT-e0K-gGTnXAKZ5sxNNOqLq9n2aX1KJMoBfSY/s1600/0404151335~2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjvYpMjWcNfJiI0Ni6pSqzrMdyRFpew9G_eaHu082fCgwC4Ov5s0ainEwGtjEJDco0s7vdfcIFaVaquIRqHXl8pIWXwSkACUBM8ItL0QT-e0K-gGTnXAKZ5sxNNOqLq9n2aX1KJMoBfSY/s1600/0404151335~2.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
The name Prudence.<br />
<br />
The smell of my grandson's skin.<br />
<br />
The sound of fiddles and banjos on the sidewalk in Knoxville, TN.<br />
<br />
Holding my daughter when she comes to me for comfort.<br />
<br />
Wearing turquoise, diamonds, sapphires, pearls, white gold and silver.<br />
<br />
The laughter in my niece's home of she, her husband and her children.<br />
<br />
Tacos, sushi, and fried chicken.<br />
<br />
The song, My Funny Valentine.<br />
<br />
Alaskan Malamutes and Bull Terriers.<br />
<br />
A California beach on a rainy day.<br />
<br />
Receiving an unexpected phone call from a friend, just to offer comfort and love.<br />
<br />
Strong blue cheese with white truffle honey served with kalamata olives and roasted almonds.<br />
<br />
Saying shocking things to people, but hoping I never offend them in the process.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM4LHaEI2xvzacoK5WcZ-wu9jguPzGvMHkHF6Q5sXi5ouXx26w-xSQ_WbQTO5YtDQ92MPmlGU_eUxBCyP865hQRiLUAYzNcLWI0cNZB_ceYvN3ebzS-bmw6aIGk2llDsD_lTh1pK4LL2E/s1600/sash-motorcycle+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM4LHaEI2xvzacoK5WcZ-wu9jguPzGvMHkHF6Q5sXi5ouXx26w-xSQ_WbQTO5YtDQ92MPmlGU_eUxBCyP865hQRiLUAYzNcLWI0cNZB_ceYvN3ebzS-bmw6aIGk2llDsD_lTh1pK4LL2E/s1600/sash-motorcycle+(1).jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a>Learning that I have inadvertently helped someone with my story.<br />
<br />
The scent of Banana Bread cooking.<br />
<br />
A long, warm oil, deep tissue massage.<br />
<br />
The scent of star jasmine in the late afternoon.<br />
<br />
Waking up early with energy on a day I'll be riding my motorcycle.<br />
<br />
The purple that sets into the Rocky Mountains as the sun goes down.<br />
<br />
The sound of a real silver spoon against a fine bone china tea cup.<br />
<br />
Myself, my past, my future and my life, just as it is, right now. Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154058145056741832.post-70943514880941622792014-12-31T17:24:00.004-08:002014-12-31T17:24:52.360-08:00Stains of Pain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipd7P2cEXjhZB1FVTABIcIFheU9LfmSNvWeqD0rqq94K36gQcQhicfXU0cC8gpGFUg2PLeDwfZQbPm3pYD_z6mkEsECFl9zpz7csrytSkikZ_KnY6Y3J0xBK9N-xn2lIBqknAcJhxE5Hk/s1600/Hawaii+2+038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipd7P2cEXjhZB1FVTABIcIFheU9LfmSNvWeqD0rqq94K36gQcQhicfXU0cC8gpGFUg2PLeDwfZQbPm3pYD_z6mkEsECFl9zpz7csrytSkikZ_KnY6Y3J0xBK9N-xn2lIBqknAcJhxE5Hk/s640/Hawaii+2+038.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Cough, cough, cough up the black licorice fire of charcoal vomit from the medicinal spasm in my torturous thoughts.<br />
<br />
Think, think, think of the wind soaked blue grey flight nearly leaped from the sunset 8th floor balcony.<br />
<br />
Taste, taste, taste the cold blue steel of the 32 mm revolver on my tongue against the brain intended bullet. <br />
<br />
Suicide skips this spot today, only to visit again, with hopes to steal the soul of a pain-soaked, willing victim, ready to plunge head first into concrete coffins of city sidewalks, leaving stains of sorrow. <br />
<br />
Stains that beg forgiveness from those who cannot comprehend a life of being hunted by pain. <br />
Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154058145056741832.post-26609528035454287252014-12-29T09:08:00.001-08:002014-12-29T09:08:12.190-08:00Knowing The Real<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibnF_M6vzWYH8SWpEuvief0Y9YfalClPZ9zzM_ioWn4szUq6F8bhxTTLipWFsHZ0T23wfvk0j2fGqwp3Ldd2NoAEGEYjPT7KLev-SnVS019egqjl4KGzPHUznUxVXGL77548rL321luV4/s1600/IMG_7541+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibnF_M6vzWYH8SWpEuvief0Y9YfalClPZ9zzM_ioWn4szUq6F8bhxTTLipWFsHZ0T23wfvk0j2fGqwp3Ldd2NoAEGEYjPT7KLev-SnVS019egqjl4KGzPHUznUxVXGL77548rL321luV4/s640/IMG_7541+(2).JPG" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Until you've crested the mountain top</div><div style="text-align: center;">With your mechanical speed between your thighs</div><div style="text-align: center;">Until you've seen the sprawling horizon</div><div style="text-align: center;">With tears flowing from joyful eyes</div><div style="text-align: center;">Until you face the pounding wind </div><div style="text-align: center;">At 80 miles as you ride </div><div style="text-align: center;">Until you face all fellow humans </div><div style="text-align: center;">With nothing left to hide </div><div style="text-align: center;">Until you've veered between the semis </div><div style="text-align: center;">On highways of rubber and steel </div><div style="text-align: center;">You've not known the fear of living </div><div style="text-align: center;">And you've not known what is real</div>Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com0Searchlight, NV 89046, USA35.4652685 -114.9197004999999835.361827 -115.08106199999997 35.56871 -114.75833899999998tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154058145056741832.post-80033473852145198442014-10-25T18:34:00.001-07:002014-10-25T18:34:04.947-07:00Fuel of Pain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin7ElgngRSB2RZ1PC6_f1Hxucd9rdZ5m9qagiIImf2JIA4gIxeNx98k5cnbL5gWE5POQkDHqnZNTCUCGuMdWH3g0AXptqLEy5aJ6WgKV5ksR4f5kE8qGDjskz_hyphenhyphennOPpp9lukvFvgimA8/s1600/IMG_7161.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin7ElgngRSB2RZ1PC6_f1Hxucd9rdZ5m9qagiIImf2JIA4gIxeNx98k5cnbL5gWE5POQkDHqnZNTCUCGuMdWH3g0AXptqLEy5aJ6WgKV5ksR4f5kE8qGDjskz_hyphenhyphennOPpp9lukvFvgimA8/s640/IMG_7161.JPG" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Choking on fuel</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
That burns anger,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Pain, resentment,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Spitting of words,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Choking the sobs,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Pointing fingers.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Starving for air.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
No room to breathe.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Engine gasping,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Chugging, lurching,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Begging to be,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Understood once.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Motorcycle</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Engine stalled,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A breath comes in,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Truth exhales fire,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Burning the room,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And all inside.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
All is in ruins,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Fuel everywhere,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Poisoning all,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Soaking through earth,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Paralyzing,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And sets me free.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Air and fuel mix,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The spark ignites,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Engine fires up,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Wheels start turning,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The road ahead,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Open, calling,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Beckoning me.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Escape and Ride</div>
Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com0Bakersfield, CA, USA35.3732921 -119.0187124999999934.958707600000004 -119.6641595 35.7878766 -118.37326549999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154058145056741832.post-67074199743311947502014-10-21T16:47:00.002-07:002014-10-21T16:48:52.558-07:00Fly Black Birds Fly<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQRKG8sxEgcV9lgnMpHjGJ6tqXwBFgAgj5XIC2fMns9jPwYdPYSV7sU-lb5Y1TRsvzSwnt4wIGhD3Kr8ORp3RZ9ssgmIU2fVcQhg9lc8MSRAKii1ehkDnJe08XnXgPgAEOgsGJPxlH0HM/s1600/iStock_000044260012Medium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQRKG8sxEgcV9lgnMpHjGJ6tqXwBFgAgj5XIC2fMns9jPwYdPYSV7sU-lb5Y1TRsvzSwnt4wIGhD3Kr8ORp3RZ9ssgmIU2fVcQhg9lc8MSRAKii1ehkDnJe08XnXgPgAEOgsGJPxlH0HM/s640/iStock_000044260012Medium.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Pain is Black Birds</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They lie under my skin</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Come to remind me</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Of darkness within</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Release the Black Birds</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Allow them to fly</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Let go of the pain</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Goodbye, goodbye</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Fly Black Birds Fly</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Away from my body</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Black Birds take flight</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Into the skies</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They make the midnight</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Release the black thoughts</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Pour out the black tears</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Black Birds don't belong</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
In bodies with fears</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Fly Black Birds Fly</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Black Birds mean no harm</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Not meant to be held</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Blacken our hearts</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Poison our cells</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The pain that I feel</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Is their struggle to fly</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Release the Black Birds</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
To make the midnight</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Fly Black Birds Fly</div>
Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154058145056741832.post-86224100444868209932014-08-17T05:45:00.000-07:002014-08-17T05:45:45.981-07:00Speak Your Fear<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdSV1Hx2hyphenhyphena_88bfSOgJmWhLbatNcKVfpfjbZnyBWKsgy9Ud3KKwkxOd1jNolZRmmElAAeWt-G7kBnBfFAGihIfaW6_vQ0DBWViPxo2D0Kf75gUGNHMf5jMx4CGHRxmpjLdDg5wCFe_u8/s1600/Hawaii+1+029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdSV1Hx2hyphenhyphena_88bfSOgJmWhLbatNcKVfpfjbZnyBWKsgy9Ud3KKwkxOd1jNolZRmmElAAeWt-G7kBnBfFAGihIfaW6_vQ0DBWViPxo2D0Kf75gUGNHMf5jMx4CGHRxmpjLdDg5wCFe_u8/s400/Hawaii+1+029.JPG" height="193" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Do not crawl inward </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And hide within your walls</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Reach out with your spirit</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And boldly stand up tall</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Speak your fear and pain</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Open up and cry</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Provide it not the shelter</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
To hold your soul inside</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Fear will eat your beauty</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And swallow words up whole</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Pain will clinch you tightly</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And never let up hold</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Speak your fear and pain</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Draw it into light of day</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
For in the dark it holds you</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And keeps you far away</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Diffuse that power o'er you</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Boldly cast it out</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Hold not your lips silent</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Open up and shout</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Speak your fear and pain</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
My love, I beg you try</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I promise only comfort</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Speak, shout or cry</div>
Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154058145056741832.post-62533125728684841512014-08-12T13:27:00.004-07:002014-08-12T13:27:54.107-07:00Suicide Stalks Me<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgulQkzrt7J-7ww7DURXhGSZsUUJVXqNhD4hbVJsEstVmWsTOoOC5r8T4zcyRdZOMLRQrKxTd04ddtJbs0J32a7bVGmauee07Vsx0QmOfB6M4jdqa5HAUVnYMYrcfHxbSGjGmj8h6Pf2oM/s1600/monster+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgulQkzrt7J-7ww7DURXhGSZsUUJVXqNhD4hbVJsEstVmWsTOoOC5r8T4zcyRdZOMLRQrKxTd04ddtJbs0J32a7bVGmauee07Vsx0QmOfB6M4jdqa5HAUVnYMYrcfHxbSGjGmj8h6Pf2oM/s640/monster+(1).jpg" height="384" width="400" /></a></div>
Suicide is a loathsome stalker who has haunted me most of my life. <br />
<br />
My first attempt of suicide occurred when I was 14 years old. I've had 4 serious attempts since that time and thought of it often. This is not something I want to have in my life, but unfortunately, this is the demon that tracks me, attacking me at my weakest moments.<br />
<br />
Make no mistake; I want to live. Suicide is a voice in my head that begs me to end the pain from which I find no shelter. He speaks into my ear when I am hopeless.<br />
<br />
"No matter what you do, this pain will return. You can change everything about your life, but you'll feel this way again at some point. You'll never be able to completely avoid this. Your only escape is death. You may as well do it now."<br />
<br />
This is the demon that follows me from which I long to escape. This is mental illness and while it is treatable, there are no guarantees that it won't return. I make no promises that I won't take my own life one day. Just know, this is not my failure, nor the failure of anyone in my life. No one can prevent this other than God, or me, and only me if I am strong enough.<br />
<br />
If I take my life it is because Demon Suicide has caught me and dragged me under and only he is to blame.<br />
<br />
I'm not ashamed to admit that I deal with suicidal thoughts. Certainly a societal taboo, this is what keeps so many of us sick and struggling, and often results in death. When one is afraid to divulge this "sinful" illness, one is locked away with only the voice that begs us to take our own lives.<br />
<br />
I know he waits for me to stumble. Upon my next emotional crisis, he may be lurking, hiding in the shadows, ready to pounce on me. My only hope is to fortify myself in the good times so as to be as prepared as possible when he returns. I have no doubt this monster will return, as he has so many times in my life. I am resolved to give him my best fight when he does and I hold out hope that one day I will oust him for good. <br />
<br />
It has only been my motorcycle which gives me hope that I may outrun him yet.Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154058145056741832.post-50989471135833845762014-08-09T07:41:00.000-07:002014-08-09T07:41:28.427-07:00Conversations Overheard at Hotel Breakfast<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaDikk3XJCX-dayz55hYNnaECKB88RmatbsToxiisoqmA2OYkRrkT7opi8k6EqcMVyIQEab5sfSk2MXCEB0YN6P0bRP4AITIV5T_lra_J3m2Ifk42x7SdjiFXfuKMx81vkMDK3GIVEzY8/s1600/breakfast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaDikk3XJCX-dayz55hYNnaECKB88RmatbsToxiisoqmA2OYkRrkT7opi8k6EqcMVyIQEab5sfSk2MXCEB0YN6P0bRP4AITIV5T_lra_J3m2Ifk42x7SdjiFXfuKMx81vkMDK3GIVEzY8/s640/breakfast.jpg" /></a></div>"In 1975 when I worked as a manager at UPS, we had to have a certain amount of minorities on staff. Keep in mind, <b><i>these two</i></b> would be part of that, as minorities. . ."<br />
<br />
He motions to the two women at his table of five.<br />
<br />
"We HAD to have at least one black guy on staff. Can you believe that? We HAD to! I would have rather have 5 white women working for me than one black guy."<br />
<br />
The entire table nodded in approval.<br />
<br />
"I saw my first black when I turned 18 and took a trip out of Minnesota," the woman said.<br />
<br />
"Yeah, yeah, I was nearly 21 when I saw my first one. . . " another replied.<br />
<br />
Talk went on to discuss the weather, Harley Wide Glides, tree huggers, what's in the barn, and that cheatin' Mexican man that Martha married. <br />
<br />
"For some reason our John Deere had dirt all over it. Like someone had dumped dirt on it."<br />
<br />
"I was watching this thing on TV about the Hells Angels last night and Sturgis, and how his own gang was trying to kill him for stealing drug money, and about these women who rode Harleys back in the 1970's and their role in the gangs. . . " she went on and on. <br />
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Welcome to South Dakota. Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com0Spearfish, SD, USA44.4908172 -103.8593697999999744.400190200000004 -104.02073129999997 44.5814442 -103.69800829999997tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154058145056741832.post-46567625779344064252014-08-07T07:01:00.000-07:002014-08-07T07:01:04.836-07:00Getting Hurt at Sturgis<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2RW8tp4K_jBcwQi7Z7hS2Jkakk8tEyI1z09aEOSMZeNymrRZCuYiGkb-ojR7JGip5VwSpETvly6jFcyjuD8IwjbMm7iRjkPD6G04FTL00NZGS4Hz9Lrol18kfGnDn3n9uU_NMpfrPahw/s1600/Sturgis+092.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2RW8tp4K_jBcwQi7Z7hS2Jkakk8tEyI1z09aEOSMZeNymrRZCuYiGkb-ojR7JGip5VwSpETvly6jFcyjuD8IwjbMm7iRjkPD6G04FTL00NZGS4Hz9Lrol18kfGnDn3n9uU_NMpfrPahw/s400/Sturgis+092.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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I wear this gear.</div>
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Because I've been,</div>
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Hurt before.</div>
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I won't let any,</div>
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Thing or person,</div>
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Hurt me more</div>
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I like my gear.</div>
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Have you not seen,</div>
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All my scars?</div>
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I hate it here.</div>
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The damage has,</div>
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Gone too far.</div>
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I don't wear,</div>
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Gear for you.</div>
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I wear gear,</div>
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Because of you. . .</div>
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<br /></div>
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(Spawned by a comment made by Vespa Steph about her gear, I found it poignant and timely, here at Sturgis. You don't see many people wearing gear, but most of them are doing plenty of damage to themselves on and off the bikes. It seems that's what Sturgis is about.)</div>
Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com0Sturgis, SD, USA44.4097069 -103.5090786000000144.3643319 -103.58975960000001 44.4550819 -103.42839760000001tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8154058145056741832.post-72054344340393726342014-07-25T12:28:00.001-07:002014-07-25T12:58:39.585-07:00Sweet Sweepers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUotq3RWGzUzFlr7QeSwJuSE12F0Tahv8hGxQlObDUotkCoukpLUN0ADXlkPjr2KIxQtYB6ZI2-wKSI5XHRsZvOYCiJn90rHOXD4gynqbd2FjTI25oTuG6_LhU0RB0EyQSEPYd1SHbp28/s1600/IMG_1038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUotq3RWGzUzFlr7QeSwJuSE12F0Tahv8hGxQlObDUotkCoukpLUN0ADXlkPjr2KIxQtYB6ZI2-wKSI5XHRsZvOYCiJn90rHOXD4gynqbd2FjTI25oTuG6_LhU0RB0EyQSEPYd1SHbp28/s400/IMG_1038.JPG" /></a></div>Lavender asphalt in graceful sweepers float my spirit high.<br />
Minimal input of handlebars releases my state of mind.<br />
Blind corners fill me with faith, in the moment I create<br />
The present; that is all there is. This curve carries my fate.<br />
I don't know the other side where others have gone before.<br />
I fear not my tomorrow, and I feel care no more.<br />
Because sweeper, sweet sweepers, do carry me away.<br />
Carry my spirit into the blind curves, living for today. Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com1