RidicuRyder

Dual Purpose, Dual Personalities Sporting Duality With Motorcycle Therapy & Entertainment

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Our ethical bankruptcy is going to kill us, not a virus.

ridicuryder:

I’ve been a bedside RN for over 20 years. Incompetence is regularly appointed because the existing bureaucracy likes company (it also makes sense to surround yourself with a thick layer of scapegoats).

A sweeping correction is needed.

Originally posted on The Order of Turbulence:

Johann_Melchior_Füssli_(1677–1736),_Sketch_of_a_Cordovan-leather-clad_doctor_of_Marseilles

The United States has the most capable health infrastructure and the most capable doctors in the world, bar none,” Lisa Monaco, President Obama’s senior counter-terrorism adviser, said at a White House briefing. (“US Ebola outbreak ‘extraordinarily unlikely’, White House officials insist.” The Guardian)

You might wonder what a ‘counter-terrorism’ adviser is doing vouching for the quality of the US health system. It is an indication of just how badly this issue has been framed since the first report of the latest Ebola outbreak, which began in March of this year. Nor is it helpful that the current head of the CDC keeps insisting that an Ebola outbreak couldn’t happen in the US. And even more laughably, there’s a DA in Texas who looking into pressing charges against Thomas Eric Duncan, the Liberian who fell sick in Dallas.  Let’s hope he lives long enough for that to…

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Buddhist Wedding Photographer Motorcycle Therapist (BWPMT)

20140203-052012.jpg Kimmie Lou, BWPMT and Klute The Mostly Mute KLR near Nakusp, British Columbia. Kimmie Lou, “What’s wrong with Klute, he hardly has anything to say?” BWPMT, “Ugh… too many ‘why’ questions, he sorta got stuck in that toddler/preschooler stage of development and was constantly bugging me so, I did an aftermarket exhaust to muffle him more. I mighta overdid it a little.” Kimmie Lou, “Yeah, I was pretty chatty with my first owner, I think it was why he let them repossess me.”

Howdy Myst,

After the double rainbow in Kaslo we rode to New Denver, which is just across Slocan lake from Valhalla Provincial Park. Kimmie Lou has never been to British Columbia before, but she’s heard several people “ooh” for the past week as we have discussed destinations making our way west. We go quiet when descending towards town…the mountains of Valhalla are emerald and these strung out clouds wisp between that fucking blue that only sky can pull off and to ice the cake, all of it reflects over the blueberry lake below us. “So there’s something to this whole ‘God’s Country’ business, huh,” says Kimmie Lou as we hold in her clutch, absorb the vista and wonder if we should stop and get the camera phone out.

[insert your imagination jpeg here]

As we roar on along Highway 6 towards Nakusp we discuss how BWPMT has been reading the blog. Kimmie Lou asks, “Do you think he’ll just be up in the Smokies, like most regular readers or will posts from 2013 and 2014 have floated back through time into his reader? “It’s hard to say how much RidicuRyder’s Straddling Worlds energy will affect current reality,” I say. Ridicu and I cross eyes briefly and we drift out towards oncoming traffic (Kimmie Lou hardly notices our hourly suicidal impulses anymore). “There can be a pretty good time vortex swirling when one world is closing and another opens…December 21, 2012 is only 4 months away, he may know some stuff about the new world,” adds Ridicu.

We are regularly hanging out with the same people at the end of most worlds, BWPMT is one of them. We won’t use any of his old handles in case some of those really ancient warrants somehow surface. So far in this world we know who BWPMT is…he just doesn’t seem to know who he is, but that’s okay. Maybe he wants to sit this round out, we don’t mind if he acts dumb, we’ll play along however it goes.

The Nakusp Municipal Campground is easy to find…Motorcycles everywhere and a lot of them look our way when we start circling the camping loop. We stop beside this wonderfully flat-chested rider oiling the chain of her Suzuki DR-Z400. “Howdy miss, we’re lookin fer a geezer from Vancouver who rides a black KLR…he’s sorta Buddhist.” When she stands up there are pine needles stuck to her knees so it takes us a few seconds to let our eyes drift up along the most spectacular set of child bearing hips this side of the Mississippi. In a few steps she runs her hands through her blue black hair until they come out clean. Her elbows have us completely speechless, then she reaches out to shake our hand, “Howdy boys, I’m Maude…only, you may remember me with Claude.”

The forest starts a slow spin as Maude’s right foot sweeps Kimmie Lou’s kickstand down…just before we pass out.

Claude

Claude is a killer and so is his sister Maude, sometimes you get the pair in one round, sometimes one, sometimes none. The fact that at least Maude is here means Annihilation is at hand. Far beyond any other Indivisibles, Aliens or Machines, they always do most of the killing.

It’s nothing personal.

It’s actually nothing at all to them. A little species extinction in the morning and it’s off to play tennis in the afternoon or an evening at the Cosmos around the corner (maybe wipe that one out too…while they’re in the neighborhood).

They’re extremely nice, slightly sarcastic of course, but overall a pleasure to be around. They will be so invested for the realization of man one minute, like you expect it to happen any second. It’s like no one has the slightest indication that plan A (Annihilation) is their objective, everyone gets so wrapped up in their optimism, their warmth and then, WOW…didn’t see that coming.

When our eyes begin to open we can see that we have been dragged through the campsite and laid up against a tree like we are having a nap. We’ve been out for a while, Kimmie Lou is completely unpacked, she is yakking away with BWPMT and the Suzuki who is kinda gushy, “I still can’t believe I’m talking with KLRR…a motorcycle who blogs! An actual Moto-Moto-Journalist, most of the bikes here say it can’t be done, how did you manage it?” Kimmie Lou scoffs, “I’ve been watchin da Morons peck away all summer, it’s no big deal.” “How far in the future did you write your post again?”asks ZuZu (Suzuki’s are notorious for losing track of time). “Two Christmases from now” says Kimmie Lou.

BWPMT just sits on the picnic table laughing as the bikes go on discussing writing. “I’ve been thinking we should get some editing, do a book for this first leg of the Devil’s Triangle Run” says Kimmie Lou. ZuZu shimmies on her center stand, “That would be sooo cool…would you autograph one to me? Kimmie Lou thinks about it, “Yeah, I could probably work something out.” BWPMT leans towards the bikes a little more and says, “Keep pressing that idea with the boys Kimmie Lou, I think you’ve got something here, who knows with a little sensible syntax, punctuation and whatnot…maybe this round gets interesting.”

We sit up a little more and everyone looks in our direction. “So how many machines are cranking over That Which Is Whole in this campground?” I ask. Then Ridicu, “Where did our lovely hostess wander off to?” BWPMT’s thumb juts towards the showers…”You two are next,” he taps our Deuter pack sitting beside him, “You boys are pretty ripe.” “Yeah, it’s almost like you had to wrestle a Zombie Shit Weasel for breakfast or something” says ZuZu chuckling.

Getting to our feet is tough. We stagger over to the picnic table and sit downwind of everyone. “The Machines aren’t supposed to know…we made a deal with the Aliens” I say. BWPMT shakes his head, “Yeah, I really liked how you guys and Angle handled everything back in Robbinsville.” He turns back into the table and looks at us squarely, “Y’know… I was settled into this notch pretty nicely like you. You two weren’t even sure I’ve been aware of my Indivisibility…I’m just riding things out and thinking ‘kinda boring’ , but I’ve been okay with it.” “Then, last night, I’m setting up camp and I notice the ferns have that quivering delight, the moss is bubbling and the trees are twisting their roots like infants mouthing the breast of the Earth Mother.”

We sorta know what he means, the Earth is really alive in these parts.

BWPMT continues, “I’m taking it all in, the stars throbbing and everything when I notice her standing beside me…you know that thing she and Claude do where all of a sudden they are there, when you think you are all alone?” Ridicu shrugs his shoulders seductively, “They’re quite the slippery pair alright, we’ve only caught glimpses of her though – just a handful of times – across all these worlds. Its been ages since we’ve seen her, the last time was back in 187 where we crossed paths briefly, just before everything went dark. We threw her a wink, she smiled and then went right back to business.” BWPMT smiles, ” Yeah, she said something last night about it, ‘When Claude’s your brother not many guys swing sauce in your direction’…or something like that.” “So anyways” says BWPMT, “3 seconds after she materializes beside me, I think of your posts from the future as an inside joke you’re playing or some residual Miami energy weirdly intact elsewhere. I figure this round has about 4 months to go, so I can stop pretending to be a regular individual. When I tell her what you’re up to, she laughs at Nature’s last minute play to call off the notch and put you two in…totally unprepared.”

Maude is beside ZuZu – like she’s been there all along – applying a slash of eyeliner using a side mirror. “I said, ‘only three guys have ever swung sauce, these two and that guy who always shows up as a florist from Cincinnati. It takes everyone a few seconds to realize that the regular florist from Cincinnati hasn’t been around for a couple of hundred rounds….

We keep looking for Maude, we hear about her all the time, but now that we think about it…we’ve only been bumping into Claude in the last five hundred rounds and he never seems happy to see us.

The eyeliner disappears and she straightens up from the mirror. “I have also been taking it easy here, no one has activated me to shut this world down.” She’s talking in that earnest and reassuring way. We all know the next thing will be the rug being yanked out from under us. At the same time she fills us with hope and beauty and we believe her completely. The sheer scope of where she might apply her energy is the sexiest thing we have ever encountered. It’s so wild…Ridicu must take over narration.

We have been laying off objectifying women lately, you’re all so goddamn beautiful in all your personal ways, but we gotta describe Maude some here for literary purposes. She’s short, 5’2″ or 5’3″, standing beside ZuZu we notice her navel is around the height of the bike’s seat…there’s no way her feet reach the ground when they are stopped. Kimmie Lou: reading our thoughts, “They don’t slow down much, she hops off ZuZu when she has to, but she has fantastic balance.” We remember her balance, Circ de Maude…a lovely little spin in a crowd and “Whump” thousands of bodies go down. In these few seconds as our eyes are drifting over Maude she is smiling. Her front teeth have a good gap…soft, soothing words occasionally whistle a little, it isn’t exactly a lisp, not quite a slinky speech impediment, but we swoon when air moves around her teeth in certain ways.

BWPMT has come around to the idea that Maude isn’t activated, “So you’re on vacation in this round, where’s Claude?” Maude looks at us with these eyes that are caramel around her pupils then lighten to green along the periphery of her iris. They are the warmest eyes when she smiles, but we have seen them become ice with the flick of circumstance, like now. She says, “Everyone knows Claude started enjoying his work a little too much in 697.” BWPMT looks at us, “Yeah, he got a little carried away…how’s he doing?” She softens a little, “pretty decently overall, another 80 billion years of rehab before he’ll be back on the job though – if ever.”

It seems clear Maude has dropped back into living a fairly normal life in this round. We just about piss our pants laughing when she describes her ascent to Vice President of marketing from an entry level position selling door to door life insurance policies over the past decade. The wind dies off and we start noticing our funk. We get to our feet and swing Deuter over one shoulder. BWPMT claps appreciatively (but sarcastically) and Maude exhales a soft whistle that awakens every hair on our body. ZuZu’s left handlebar wiggles towards us a bit, “But, skip shaving…we like our men scruffy.”

We glance back at Maude who releases the slightest smile – mostly with her eyes – as her untrimmed eyebrows bounce a little. The spell is broken when Kimmie Lou suggests, “Spend some extra time in the crack of your ass though…another ride or two with that level of swamp-ass and my seat will need to be re-upholstered.” Our step quickens towards the showers, escaping the roars of laughter behind us. We hear ZuZu ask, “So what’s a notch again?”

“A notch is where individuals are left to destroy a world and each other with very little help from Indivisibles, Aliens or Machines,” explains Kimmie Lou. BWPMT adds, “Ultimately Individuals destroy every world, by not recognizing their true nature – indivisible from everything.” “Depending on how things are set up” continues Maude, “We may be called on to ‘end things with a flair – something that will be burned into our consciousness – to help guide the next species beyond previous mistakes.” ZuZu ponders this, “So all these worlds over trillions and trillions of light years across millions of galaxies around thousands of cosmic corners is just one great big Research and Development lab?”

The conversation continued around the wily nature of Nature. The idea of That Which Is Whole breaking itself apart to see how long it takes for reformation was really popular with the machines. They liked the mechanical aspects of reformation. The idea of a consciousness dissolving in order to evolve was not digested as well. Eventually BWPMT reaches down and picks up a stick, he draws a circle in the sand near the fire pit. “Let’s say this stick is an individual and the circle is That Which Is Whole…you need the stick to draw, but you must accept that the circle could have been drawn with a wine bottle, a rock or my finger.” Our collective knows the circle exists…the Whole is realized when no element is excluded from the circle.” He drops the stick, “It’s about achieving a balance between the Individual, Indivisible and TWIW…. Whatever interplay takes shape after that is anyone’s guess, our priority is to work on the balance.”

Kimmie Lou rolls back and forth enough to crunch a bit, “So, worry less about the shape of things and be open to that harmonic which happens when elements are at play?”

A Woodpecker, off in the distance starts a hypnotic whacking, just as the campground noise simmers. For a while the Woodpecker fills the Universe.

Eventually ZuZu pipes back up, “What about the Aliens…where do they fit in?” We sneak back into camp, nowhere near as slippery as Maude, but we managed to surprise ZuZu from behind by reaching past her back wheel and grabbing her shock. BOING! A little squeal shoots out her exhaust as she leaps into the air. She lands with a huff and scowls at us. Whenever a woman tells Ridicu she’s into scruff any propriety (what little he possesses) scoots elsewhere. We grin through 4 day’s growth at ZuZu. Everyone laughs. “Scruffy with a generous side of sauce.” low-growls Ridicu. ZuZu blushes as I answer, “Aliens are solidly Indivisible with great streaks of Individualism. They consider humans the surprise element. They think of us as wild cards and they get a huge kick out of how we can turn the game on a dime.”

“Enough shop talk.” whistles Maude, “Reformation, evolution or various other goofs gotta wait…I’m hungry!” We agree to meet at the hall for supper in 17 minutes and 52.5 seconds. BWPMT and Kimmie Lou have set us up at the front of the campground, our new MSR Hoop tent is all sporty and fresh, “Hiya Hoop” we say as we settle Deuter inside (tents are pretty thin on conversation, but are all billowy and soulful otherwise).

20140226-151432.jpg Hoop, Kimmie Lou and BWPMT rooting around in his tent for some kinda lentil digestive biscuits before supper…. Vegetarians – sheesh!

The folks at Horizons Unlimited put on a great Rally, we register and opt for the lunch and supper meal plan. Inside the hall we find Maude sitting with Brendan and Colette from New Zealand who arrived in Long Beach California 5 weeks ago. They’ll be riding east across Canada like us after the Rally. They’re on a big BMW GS 1200 and like Frank n Hank on the trikes, they go a lot faster than our poke-along pace with Kimmie Lou. At any rate, they seem fairly clean cut and a little too establishment to hang out with the Antichrist. BWPMT makes a point of directing them to our blog though, Maude chimes in by saying she has only read a handful of posts, but our psychosis is hardly noticeable. She pats our shoulder and asks “So what are you two gonna do when the world doesn’t end? Then she turns to Brendan and Colette and mouths “Split Personalities” but actually speaks the words at low volume.

A rider from Oregon named Kurt is setting up his presentation on a trip he and a friend made to Prudhoe Bay Alaska last month. Brendan and Colette excuse themselves and move a few tables closer to the center to get a better position for the talk. BWPMT leaves us and joins a few riders from Vancouver near the back of the room. This leaves us with Maude, sitting with our backs to the wall on the left and all alone. We are three tables from anyone and we notice Maude place something on the table that looks like a garage door opener then she says, “I wonder if Kimmie Lou will have any problems receiving us in here with these Power Point presentations…they can jam up telepathy at times.” Maude flips the switch over on her telepathy jammer (which closely resembles the Alien’s units) just as Kurt starts his talk.

Maude’s legs come up on the seat of her chair…at first it looks as if she will be crossing them. Then she swivels towards us and her right leg shoots across our lap, her heel lowers into our left thigh and our chairs scrape together as she pulls us towards her. She moves so swiftly that the next thing we know our right arm is being balanced on her left knee and somehow we have a handful of her hair at the base of her neck. Ridicu and I have barely registered how her left toes have burrowed beneath us, the curve of her shin sloping into her ankle fits the shape of our ass perfectly…or maybe Maude’s perfect – she’s probably perfect – our ass certainly isn’t.

When our eyes connect we feel a calm. Ridicu and I interface when we choose, but there are situations and people who unify us…. We think, feel and converse in unison rarely, we can’t recall the last time this has happened – its been a while.

It dawns on us that this woman has been in our nostrils since before the big bang…and probably most of those other bangs.

The presentation continues, Kurt is discussing how they packed fuel along on days where the available gasoline stations were further apart than the motorcycle’s range with a full tank. Our right hand is almost asleep, yet feels milky with Maude’s hair – her knee has dented our triceps where a bruise might be forming on the bone. And this is when we sense that the swim between our eyes has been splashing a while, not seconds or minutes…almost an hour or forever…it’s hard to tell.

We don’t let go of her hair or move our arm. When the applause comes and signals the passing of the entire hour it doesn’t surprise us. We might still be here tomorrow catching bits and pieces of presentations. Maude’s right hand slips up under our shirt. She doesn’t break eye contact with us as she comes off her seat slightly to reach her right hand across our chest and around until it stops just short of our spine. We are still almost perfectly at peace when the pain comes.

Maude’s claws are hardly noticeable even though they are drawing blood. We don’t exactly flinch except this quick locking in our core where our eyes absorb all the memories of her kills. She has killed everyone…at least once…so…elegantly. Maude’s eyes haven’t hardened even while she tears into us. There is a widening of her caramel as it oozes around and somehow out beyond everything. She balances the whole in a way few Indivisibles can. Ridicu and I sorta careen about with everything. We aren’t quite juggling on roller skates, but our presence isn’t as smooth as a lot of Indivisibles. BWPMT is standing beside us when her hand comes out from under our shirt, he watches her suck her thumb and then each finger on her right hand until the blood, skin and tissue is gone.

Our eyes haven’t left hers. Everything within us has been absorbed by Maude, yet we don’t feel drained – just slightly rearranged. She has released everything inside her towards us, but like all men we haven’t built our platform to receive a total woman. At some point we gotta layout the right space for Maude, somehow we have to have all of her.

Now she retracts her legs and springs up to stand beside BWPMT, her eyes gently start to leave ours. She is smiling and kisses BWPMT on the cheek and says “uncle.” She walks away with a sway in her hips fuller than before, which hardly seems possible. “Did she just…” “Impregnate herself with your tissue?” finishes BWPMT. We watch her walk out of the hall, she never looks back, but knows we are watching her. The telepathy jammer has been left behind, BWMPT picks it up off the table, switches it off and pockets it.

“So, what did you guys think of the presentation?” says BWPMT. “Mind blowing…we’ve kinda heard of riders doing this sorta stuff, but we haven’t experienced travelers of this kind for quite a while, says Ridicu. I’m dabbing at the rips across our chest with a dinner napkin while BWPMT and Ridicu go on chatting about making an Alaska run some time. BWPMT has positioned himself in a way that shields us from the hall while I get most of the blood dried up. I know we are not going to keep any of this from Kimmie Lou for long, I sense Maude is open to Kimmie Lou knowing, but only on certain terms.

Riders are milling about in the hall, waiting for the next presentation to begin. BWPMT introduces us to a handful of people from Vancouver and we chat for a while. Finally there are Zella and Naomi. We’re guessing lesbians at first, but they could be biker butch straight. We know there’s something breezy yet disturbing and strange about them…something yummy. Zella is from Northern Ontario like us, we hug like she’s known us forever and holds our elbows just long enough to swirl some 5th dimension dust in the room. Zella has brown hair and eyes like ours, she has a long torso and shorter strong legs like ours. Her energy overlaps us so neatly that we understand a recent sibling connection exists…maybe even right now.

According to our birth mother, our birth father displayed quite the moves…he may have spun into Zella’s Mom at some point.

Naomi and everyone nearby sees the connection we have with Zella. When she slowly extends her hand to shake ours Naomi says, “it’s really nice to meet you, BWPMT turned us on to your blog a few weeks ago…we’ve read it all right up into the future.” There may or may not be an Adam’s apple at Naomi’s throat, her face is pockmarked and angled in a way that suggests well managed misery. She has stringy, dirty blond hair and steel blue eyes. She and Zella are bigger than most of the bikers around us…it might be fun to start a rumble. We quickly learn all kinds of things, like they live on Saltspring Island between Vancouver and Victoria where they run a bed and breakfast. Naomi crafts pottery and Zella writes – poetry mostly, but some short stories. They both ride Honda TransAlps. It takes extra effort not to stare at Naomi’s throat.

“We’d like to talk about evolving the species tomorrow morning…if that is good for you,” whispers Zella as the next rider begins his talk. We look at her for a minute, she is smiling as we try to place her. “699,” I whisper back…”you and Nathan were scouts.” Zella pulls back, her smile is around 66.6% maniac. She leans in and speaks quietly to Naomi. Naomi laughs and whispers in our ear, “I haven’t been Nathan since 699…is that why you two were gawking at my neck…for an Adam’s apple?”

Scouts are beings that shift cleanly between prominent Individuals and Indivisibles in any given round, they are sorta like diplomats except they don’t give a shit about outcomes. It would be somewhat fitting to say they are translators, but most ego-inflated Individuals have trouble relating to TWIW. It’s why they make such a big deal outta whatever slender slice of everything they can cling to. Scouts aren’t quite scorekeepers or referees either, they more or less sense the tone of the match and do what they can to keep hitting below the belt to a minimum, while encouraging eye-gouging and punches before and after a round’s open and close.

We whisper with Zella and Naomi for meeting tomorrow then wave goodnight to everyone before exiting the hall. Our ribs sting when we hit the evening air and the throbbing along our left chest intensifies with each step towards Maude’s campsite. Days are long in August around this latitude so the light rolls across the horizon softly…like a tadpole’s tail at twilight swilling sun into the tops of the evergreens. Smoke from Maude’s campfire sifts through the boughs along the trail as we walk towards her.

When we get to the site ZuZu is gone, a small fire is untended, but her tent and gear are still here. We look for her in neighboring campsites. We turn towards the front of the campground and see her walking down the slope from our site. Her sway with her decent is so beautiful…she begins beaming when she registers how mesmerized we are, then at once she is beside us…not to startle us, its more like we appreciate each other THAT MUCH. Maude gap-tooth smiles at us, “Claude and I move with love, do you see?”

Ridicu’s three favorite things to juggle are love, women and particle physics. As he launches into his spin, Maude maneuvers us to sit against a log near the fire at the back of the campsite. “We are all at least 1% madly in love with each other, but don’t get too hung up on percentages because as an individual you’ll slam into a wall at around 100 people.” Maude nuzzles into us, her heat and the heat from the fire encapsulate Ridicu and I…we are very near merging. “This sliver of yourself changes with each person, no two slivers within you are the same, but there is plenty of overlap. You don’t always experience the love as love either…it can be more like indifference or even hate. Love is at the base of all emotion and logic, diminish hate and you arrive at love, but love cannot be diminished…it’s not that weak.”

Maude wraps her arms around us. Our chest wounds tingle like micro-patches of molecules are getting superheated, but only for instants here and there. “Scientists ponder a ‘General Unifying Theory’ …when you drop the theory away and examine your environment for the grandest unifier…you encounter love.” “The acronym,” explains Maude, “is GUT…whether you say General or Grand unified theory…which means we find ourselves examining our gut.”

I’m beginning to wonder if Ridicu and Maude have been hanging out in a universe to themselves at some point, I don’t mind if this is the case…I really don’t – eventually everyone hangs out with everyone. We are all intimately associated a millimeter or two outside of our standard consciousness. Indivisibles know this, the playfulness of it is something we revel in. At the same time we honor the Individual (not exactly the way most would like) by letting them destroy world after world on the path to better understanding. Actually it’s kinda un-understanding…I sorta know where this discussion is headed.

Ridicu continues, “research also shows us that if you ask enough people a question…any question, the right answer will be evident collectively.” Ask a group of highly educated people – lets say 10 or 20% of the worlds population – what unifies everything and you will hear dozens of sophisticated theories observed from individual perspectives seeking some indivisible result. Whether we’re talking Higgs fields or layered theories across multiple branches of science, accomplished scientists usually prefer results to yield more questions…’the more we discover, the more we understand we don’t know’…not knowing eventually settles in as the end goal for the pursuit of knowledge.

Maude chuckles, “Claude and I thought it was hilarious when this Higgs fellow came along and the ‘Higgs boson’ was proposed…we’ve been calling these little weirdos Huggy Bozos since forever.” Cuddling closer, she continues, “Everything that has mass affects neighboring elements…everything connects in delicate ways that structures or deconstructs our environment.” Trying to figure out the exactness of Nature is a game of constant revision….

Maude takes us by our right wrist and draws our hand off her shoulder down onto her sternum where her heart blows rhythmic kisses at our thumb. “All of it is suspended by love.”

“When you want to theorize about how things are connected you get uncertainties…when you connect with love a delicate, powerful and terrible certainty exists.” As she speaks these last words our triceps goes numb again. We can’t feel anything from our elbow down. The uncertainty of our hand along her chest is as unsatifying as you might expect.

Maude lets her head settle onto our shoulder a little more and whispers, ” The trouble with most people is that they greet each other by saying things like ‘hello’ or ‘how are you’ or ‘hi’ instead of asking…’are you madly in love with me?’ then responding: ‘of course I’m madly in love with you’ …if we did, it would open our universe far beyond what scientific inquiry can accomplish in a thousand years.”

As we flow through one another the log at our backs starts breathing (after several dead years). The soil beneath us rises gently as our energy sweeps around the fire. Our slow waves of excitement are mirrored by the flames flickering brighter and faster with the rhythm of our connection.

Eventually, Maude repositions our hand, “I’m carrying a child, which gives me the option to sit this round out. I’m not sure what I’ll do if we have to shut this species away.” She guides our hand down into the crease between her thigh and her belly. “What should we call her?” she asks. Our fingertips dabble over her uterus for a few beats.

Simultaneously Ridicu and I reply, “Killer.”

Maude laughs pretty hard, doubles into us…eventually she pushes off to take a seated position, then looks back at us. She manages to snort, “What a horrible name for a girl!” She stands in a flash and strolls around the fire, still chuckling…half of her can’t believe she is going with our name, half of her is delighted.

“You know Claude and I aren’t quite killers right?” She is glowing, overriding the firelight where the embers and the logs and the flames are burning brighter in her heat. Stories of Maude and Claude are as numerous as blades of grass, but they are all green. They kill as if cresting every wave across any ocean, all rivers and lakes…even mud puddles at the same time. TWIW has no bounds and yet these two play at the outer arcs of consciousness to an extent that Essence is conveyed when they smile across a room in your direction or across the universe. They inhabit whatever they choose completely because they so cleanly sidestep conventional forms. They land in almost every world as brother and sister…they know each other immediately…connect across networks most Indivisibles hardly know exist and remember previous rounds better than any of us.

We are captivated by Maude with the fire…they’re exchanging energy a meteor shower would wonder about. She is a magnificent creature, finally Ridicu offers, “There are a lot of ideas about you and Claude…people like to talk.” I add, “mostly, you two just seem on another level – not by design – we all know that, just in your beings…in what you do.”

At once she is sitting cross-legged between us and the fire. We only see the flames waving over her shoulders to us at intervals. “Are you still are in contact with Claude?” asks Ridicu, he has changed our posture and now we lean towards Maude in a slouched Lotus position. “We talk every decade or so,” she says, “his retreat to a parallel existence is mostly self imposed.” We know very little of Claude’s predicament and are hesitant to pry. We’ve heard that he is out for a few rounds…he began some “experimentation” with shutting down worlds that didn’t go well.

Maude’s shoulders rise and her back arches like her spine is stretching…this opens her center somehow, the warmth we experience is greater than what the fire could generate if she weren’t blocking its heat with her body. Her head tilts almost imperceptibly to the right and our body becomes lighter on the left side at a cellular level. She inhales deeply a few times and our breathing becomes an afterthought. When her eyelids soften our nervous system goes slack. “Claude and I alter those around us by accessing the love in our surroundings differently.” She releases a smile and our heart nearly explodes, “we track through matter differently…originally we were twins. Somehow we learned to amplify and direct love in whatever environment we found ourselves in. It may have started in the first womb.” Suddenly we are slowly rotating around like a seed in Maude’s uterus and a perfect pinkness envelopes us….

Joy…calm…joy…calm.

“Death from us opens you tremendously for your next existence,” says Maude as we float out of her reproductive lounge, “We deliver an opening where love suspends things differently. Some people get to take quite a lot with them.” Indivisibles know that love suspends things differently through death, time, space and all kinds of horseshit. Maude continues, “The energy one has around love is what moves us to reconnect in familiar ways, sometimes an Indivisible will go through a few lives mainly as an Individual and only mildly sense the whole…Claude was heightening people’s experience of love – at death to boost what they could carry with them into the next world.”

Ridicu and I cross eyes for a second too long and we almost pass out. “So from 697 Claude has been ‘boosting’ people’s experience for love and wonder so our lightest Essence carries us through death with better gas mileage?” “Yes, and let me just say for the record that Claude and I never bet on any rounds progressing to evolution beyond common levels. We find it to be a really absurd pastime.” “Ridicu and I do all kinds of warped shit, but betting on worlds failing isn’t one of them,” I say. Suddenly Ridicu sits up,“HOLD IT A SECOND…….did Claude get all this rapture shit started?”

“Some really weird ideas about ‘The Rapture’ have sprung up in the past couple of rounds…Claude’s tweaking billions of departure gates recently maybe the culprit” concedes Maude as her legs extend towards us. Her feet are bare where a second ago she was wearing runners…which are now parked under her tent fly. Her toes are painted electric blue and they seem to arc in the firelight, her feet have settled against our belly, her heels slot into our inguinal folds…another perfect fit. In all of this I haven’t noticed our legs have straightened and we are also shoeless, the bow between our calves and inner ankle conform to Maude’s hips as if Ridicu and I represent a keyhole she has been looking for. Maude reaches behind her and holds our soles to her firmly as she leans back slightly so our toes dig into the dimples at the top of her ass…a trigger is pulled. When Ridicu unlatches inside of me I immediately curl my fingers around Maude’s insteps, her arches root me in the moment. If it weren’t for the log behind me I would be flat on my back. My upper back and neck are jelly and my head has flopped onto the log, my hands are holding Maude to my center with perfect tension and she shoots off me like…well…a shoot, if someone came along and rolled the log away from the fire we would be its branch pointing skyward.

Looking up through the tunnel of evergreens I encounter eternity…now.

Sparks from the fire floating up into the night sky clutter my delicious stillness, it doesn’t seem I am returning to the moment and my surroundings, rather my lifetime has briefly interrupted everything. Maude and I are in union. I am fairly sure Ridicu is the sap between our rings unless he slipped out of us and into the fire, it would not surprise me if he has elected to be burnt away in this perfection.

A handful of stars are giggling and I don’t notice Maude and I have come apart until her luminous face comes into view. Her knees are at my groin and my erection is indescribable. My body begins a wakefulness I have never known and my head comes off the log to breathe her in. Maude’s thumbs press under my jaw as her fingers encircle my neck…her hair descends over my temples and ears. Being an Indivisible means understanding the illusions of many words…like separation.

The tiniest gap exists between our lips and I feel Ridicu unfurling inside of me, he wants to kiss her as badly as I do. The hesitation is excruciating and worlds of energy are spent holding us apart. With nowhere else to go, the heat between us sweeps into the fire and flames leap beyond the tree tops, the entire campground illuminates as if it were daytime and our eyes lock. Shards of our brown stir her caramel into greens…the forest around us is smiling.

Billions of years of spiritual foreplay laced with outright crushing and somehow we decide to stop short of kissing. Mmmmmmmmmmmmm…the anticipation has been so exquisite, what’s the hurry?

We hold each other and laugh away the darkness while the fire dies. Maude whispers things to us as the embers soften, things we hardly remember…many we haven’t encountered before.

We expect to awaken in better alignment, but as we absorb the morning, a grim awareness that she’s gone crawls under our kneecaps. The dew has less sweetness to it where her tent was, but the air still feels electric. She just recently slipped away. We still feel her warmth in our belly. Nothing in this round will ever taste the same.

Ridicu curls back into a ball inside of me, for all his brashness, he’s terribly vulnerable around this love business. We both know Maude’s gone and not coming back. I am slipping our sandals on and a small note gets crinkled by our left toes. Ridicu stirs a bit as I extract it:

Freaks,

Let’s hang out sometime…AFTER you evolve the species.

Killer
xxoo

BWPMT Part Two coming…stay tuned :)


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Bank on It

ridicuryder:

Hands down, Entope (aka A.R. Williams) is my favorite author/blogger, although I can’t bring myself to read her erotica…Amazon’s freebie “peek inside” short story damn near killed me.

Originally posted on entropy: the other constant:

It’s been a long time since I talked about certainty and fear when it comes to making decisions.  Fear makes bad decisions (unless the decision is to avoid swimming with hungry sharks and an open wound).  That sounds simple enough to apply, but there are a lot of times when fear can sound like certainty, so how do you tell the difference? 

It’s a hard question.  Scared isn’t a good measure, because the choice borne of certainty is often terrifying.  Fear is always there in some part.  The best example I can come up with from my own life is the book.  I’ve been scared the whole way.  I’m still scared.  What if it isn’t good enough?  It almost doesn’t matter who likes it…  I can’t think of an external voice loud enough to cure me of the fear that it isn’t good enough. 

But if I had stayed there…

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Bordering…..Sanity, Semi-Silent Septembers & Slippery Septic Steaks

20130930-160141.jpg Kimmie Lou, “Basically you fucking morons have boundary issues…….c’mon you’re the Christ, Antichrist and the guy next door?” Here we are at the Canadian Border just south of Creston, BC and perhaps we do have boundary or border indifference……..zoom in a bit and check out the cheesiest “Welcome to Canada” sign around and WTF is that in the foreground? A culvert flowerbed (deflowered) or did somebody backfill in the entrance to the bomb shelter……..or are Americans tunneling in to Canada again?

Howdy Myst,

Ridicu got a little carried away with our graveyard buddies last night……Kimmie Lou is a little haughty this morning as we are packing on our gear to vamoose Libby. A Sherriff’s SUV keeps circling the campground loop, the deputy is eyeballing everyone. “What did you freaks get up to last night……were you streaking?” asks Kimmie Lou in as low a voice as she can manage. “Streaking with Zombies can get a little dicey……stuff is always falling off em……a couple of those frisky youngsters mighta kept everything together though……” I’m as into weird shit as the next guy, but I had to dissociate from Ridicu last night when the friction dancing started, I just really wanna get outta here…..”breakfast in Idaho anyone?”

Kimmie Lou is pretty excited about being in a whole other country tonight, she has all kinds of questions about Canada as we ride west on Highway 2. “Will there be Polar Bears?” she asks. “Yep, but not until we ride quite a ways east again…….all you get around here are Grizzlies and Brown or Black Bears……..maybe the odd Sasquatch.” It is probably the Yeti in Kimmie Lou talking when she says, “any Bigfoot or smelly Sasquatch fuckers wander into our camp and I’ll kick their hairy asses.” Ridicu and I are too hungry to wait for breakfast in Bonner’s Ferry, we pull into a diner (which will remain unnamed) in a small town called Troy. “And I would just love to sink my teeth into a fucking Grizzly……lemme know when one of these bastards is around” says Kimmie Lou.

As we dismount Kimmie Lou, she bounces up quite a bit lighter on her suspension, but she is still extra nasty……. “Just like you ASSHOLES to suggest a decent morning ride to Bonner’s Ferry and we’re not even halfway when you gotta pull over like a fuckin couple of cry babies because your tummy got grumbly.” We smile sweetly and back away from her slowly, she is almost imperceptibly rocking against her side stand so the gravel beneath her Knobbies crunches……below her breath we think she is saying “you shitty little stones sound just like granola.” Before we enter the Diner’s door, she calls out to us, “hurry up and slide some groceries down your gullets fuckheads…….this place gives me the creeps.”

Ridicu and I know the problem with our lovely mid sized motorcycle is all the Undeath Ridicu was rolling around in last night……it’s been rubbing off on her, she can be pretty saucy with us at times, but she wouldn’t normally be so verbally abusive or hurt a fly (unless it’s so dumb it just hangs around in the glow of our speeding headlight). We are no where near hungry yet, we simply had to get off the road and debug the situation. Kimmie Lou was getting so foul she may have steered us into an oncoming logging truck on the next couple of curves. Machines don’t usually absorb the putrid and vile energy of the undead…….it could very well be her Yeti genetics.

Inside we order Steak and Eggs, “don’t bother cooking the steak and uh…..do you have any Texas toast?” the waitress is beady eyeing us, so I quickly add “you know, real rare – blue like – drop it in for 20 or 30 seconds a side.” The diner is abuzz with talk of “grave robbers over in Libby” so we manage not to stand out as too odd until Ridicu asks for our coffee in a to-go cup. “You boys sip coffee while you’re riding huh?” says our server, not bothering to disguise the loathing in her voice. Ridicu offers his best seductive shrug before she adds, “we just served our last plate of Texas toast…………….will Troy toast be okay?”

We haven’t bumped into any Aliens since St Louis, they’ve likely been nearby observers occasionally and I think we got a glimpse of a few recently, but the waitress (we’ll skip her name) is making herself known pretty plainly. She understands what we are here to do and that it just has to be done, her disgust with the situation is fairly matter of fact…..we don’t take it too personally. Experienced Paramedics will tightly tuck a drunk’s shirt into their trousers before loading them into the rig……. After a few blocks when the drunk starts to heave, the neck of the shirt gets pulled over their nose……containment.

We made a show of dabbing Troy toast into our egg yolks and cut a few ribbons of the sirloin for effect, it was almost perfectly raw. Ridicu and I are average Indivisibles……we can handle close contact with the undead for fairly long stretches without ill effects for us or generally anyone else we are in contact with. Now because Kimmie Lou is getting sick we must wash away the undead, which means our living tissue needs a good scrub…….with dead.

As far as we know there are only two places where a restaurant patron can casually walk to the restroom while holding a raw steak and a half cup of to-go coffee without raising any eyebrows…..Texas and Montana, lucky for us we were still in Montana (barely).

Here Ridicu takes over narration……I really need to forget what we did with that steak.

The bathroom is an afterthought…..it was probably the rear entrance that lead to a messy trail a ways back into the woods where an exquisitely slanted shithouse was dynamited back in the 1960s or 70s or whenever all those shithouse bombings happened. The toilet is too low and fits loosely to the floor – it wobbles, the sink is more of a spice rack with only cold water that dribbles mostly around the base of the faucet…..if you don’t mind touching the rust stained porcelain you can get your hands wet. This closet is a wonderful little health code violation already, so it’s perfect for what must be done.

We slip off it’s lid and the coffee goes onto the back of the toilet tank…..a light ripple quivers across the surface of the coffee whenever a large truck rumbles by on the highway. The steak rests on the coffee lid while we undress, our clothes go onto the knob and our sandals lay along the door’s threshold…..we wait. Even though the door was locked it opens a few inches and the Alien waitress’s hand darts around to collect our clothes and sandals, then she slams the door shut…..we lock it again.

Normally inanimate objects like clothes don’t need to be decontaminated…….they really can’t absorb much Undead energy……Kimmie Lou has so we can’t chance that a rebound / slide around situation hasn’t happened between her foot pegs and our sandals, then up and over her saddle across our shorts. This could keep infecting her, we have to break the cycle.

Our apologies to our readers for the next little stretch, if all this is triggering any of you just skip the next paragraphs until the steady italic type stops.

Wringing as much blood out of the steak as we can into the coffee takes a few minutes, then we pop the lid back onto the cup, around an ounce or so of blood in around eight of coffee should do the trick. If any of you find yourself in a similar situation to Ryder and I where a raw meat whore bath becomes necessary…….take our word for it, a light cut of sirloin works best, stay away from rib-eyes or T bones……you really want to go boneless here and as compact as possible.

We get one side of the steak good and slippery with Undeath after rubbing it everywhere. Whore baths mostly involve your middle, but there was a lot of slinking about at that graveyard…..it is probably best that Ryder remains foggy on last night’s maneuvers (avoid bringing Libby or Troy up to him the next time we are talking). By the time we have the flip side of the steak in the last place you think a steak should be, the slippery little fucker has started twitching. Like most skanky restrooms this one has a plunger permanently perched alongside the head, it occurs to us that we haven’t test flushed the plumbing yet and we have to do it with an elbow because our little buddy has started writhing so much it is taking both our hands to hold on.

Of course the toilet barely swirls it’s water before emptying in what looks like a very tentative way……this crapper is definitely not a steak swallower.

Unsteakie senses our intentions and begins to struggle more, it’s quite something to transfer last nights load of Undeath onto a chunk of meat around the size of your palm……this little bastard is becoming more and more ferocious by the second. We drop to our knees, our left hand pins Unsteakie against the back of the toilet bowl as our right swiftly reaches out for the plunger. Unsteakie starts to whine as we push it harder into the porcelain…….which is pretty impressive as sirloins don’t have vocal cords, eventually we have it wedged tightly under the rear rim of the crapper, a build up of calcium high on the bowl at the lip provides a little more traction to keep the little bugger in place.

Even though most of our weight is being transferred through our locked left elbow we still have enough reserve to kneel against the plunger shaft where the floor meets the wall. Our right hand grips the bell of the plunger near our ankle. The rubber is sorta slimy inside, but we get a decent enough hold to twist the shaft as we sharply raise it to snap the wood near the middle of the handle where a lovely bit of the wood’s grain spirals.

Voila! A wonderful little stake for Unsteakie.

Our left fingers open in the middle just like Spock saying “live long and prosper” except this time we mean the opposite. Mr Stake pierces Unsteakie through the middle and a gut wrenching squeal echoes around the bowl…..the din from the bustling diner quiets for a few beats then gradually builds back up. We have to move fast because sirloins don’t really have hearts that you can drive a stake through…….Unsteakie is probably just stunned for a few minutes.

As expected, the anemic flush barely takes our temporarily immobilized little friend into the porcelain’s neck. The water continues to flow out of the tank as if everything is moving along the discharge, but it isn’t. With the water rising rapidly in the bowl we begin working the short shafted plunger sorta like…..well…..a whore.

We move Unsteakie a little further down the pipe, but the toilet overflows some anyway. The floor of the bathroom slants away from the door and the water disappears under the baseboards. It looks as if we will be at this a while, our knees are sore from slipping around on the linoleum some, we take a bare assed seat in front of the throne with our legs gripping the base of the bowl……the pumping continues. When we have plunged the last of the water into the toilet’s neck we flush once more and again pump like mad, the excess water over the edge of the bowl isn’t so bad this time and we are able to dry the bowl in about half the time.

Five flushes later we are exhausted…..drenched in sweat / soaked in toilet water, but fairly sure we have driven Unsteakie at least halfway to the Septic Bed. Our legs are asleep, we lower the toilet seat…..somehow we are able to lift ourselves onto the head. Our mission is almost complete, we feel like we have been lashed to the mast of a fishing trawler during a monsoon. Now imagine we are untied and are coiling the hefty line back on deck. Before the last flush we shut off the toilet’s water supply……our coil conforms beautifully to the dry porcelain.

When we are finished and the circulation has returned to our legs we do what we can to clean up with the dribble from the sink and a sputtering soap dispenser. Another knock at the door, our clothes come in and then a flat pan slides along the floor, nothing is said. There is around an inch of cold bacon grease – all sliced into cubes like ice – in the bottom of the pan. After we get dressed we slowly pour the cubes over the top of our neatly coiled poop and the mound’s remaining heat gently softens the bacon grease so that a wax-like coating encases our shit.

Unsteakie’s tomb is sealed……when it revives, it will have no choice, but to return to the ground.

When we exit the bathroom with our bloody coffee there is already a sign that says “OUT OF ORDER” affixed to the door which we have locked behind us. Our table is cleared and the Alien Waitress waves us along, the bill has been tossed……she just wants us gone.

Outside, Kimmie Lou is still punishing the soil beneath her. Her tires have worked themselves almost two inches into the gravel, stones have bubbled up around the troughs made by her tires like popcorn. As we approach we can actually hear her hissing. “Think you have everything cozy and compacted you cocksucking little sandy layer?” She laughs a sick little twisted laugh and then says, “I’m gonna spray you around like refugees on my way outta here, you grainy little fucks.”

Obviously Kimmie Lou has been too busy hating the Earth to have any idea about what has been going on inside the Diner, we are standing right next to her and she doesn’t even know we are here. It takes her a few seconds to register that someone is pouring greasy coffee all over her seat and down her sides……”WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU ASSHOLES DOING!” I startle a bit, “aw shit, the lid wasn’t on the coffee…..sorry Kimmie Lou.” We just happen to have a whole wad of napkins on us and we are apologizing like crazy while rubbing off all the slimy residue coating her mid – section. A couple walking across the parking lot gives us a wide berth…..Eventually the bitching, frantic apologies and vigorous drying settles down.

An Alien bus boy walks up to us with a broom and a steel dustbin, he begins sweeping the gravel until all the napkins are inside the dustbin. When there is a break in the traffic he trots across the highway to the Kootenay River…..a small flask of lighter fluid is extracted, then a handful of twigs and grass are pressed into the bin before the pyre is lit. A gentle morning breeze carries the squeals downstream, but we can still hear the Unnapkins meeting doom all over again. When the burn is over the Alien swishes the dustpan around in the water so whatever ash remains gets the burial at sea treatment. On his way back in to the Diner the Alien scowls at us, Kimmie Lou has been silently watching him since he came out and collected the napkins. She waits for him to enter the Diner, then turns to us and asks, “what the fuck is going on?” “Can we tell ya while we ride Kimmie Lou?”

She looks at the ground around us and says, “okay, but I wanna kick up a little dust on our way outta here.”

We almost go down a couple of times because of all the gear on Kimmie Lou, but we manage to crank off seven or eight donuts (doughnuts) before we return to the highway. The breeze generated at 60 mph (100 kph) feels like it has a little Amelia Earhart in it, Ridicu fills Kimmie Lou in on the effects of Undeath and the measures we took to treat her. She remembers our morning and the terrific anger she had going, but she thought she just sorta seemed…..well…..spunky. “You were becoming a bit of a monster Kimmie Lou…..we woulda been dead by lunchtime if we didn’t decontaminate you” she still drifts over close to the yellow line when we meet a logging truck…..like she’d like to give one a slap – its kinda funny how we get blown around in the turbulence except the few times the truckers leaned on their horns.

Crossing into Idaho……Kimmie Lou exclaims “I feel reborn!” “I think this near death experience may bring us closer together Morons……how the darkness sort of lightens you up.” We ride in silence for a while until we encounter Our Field Of Duality.

20131021-211740.jpg Kimmie Lou, “here we are again in a picture that shows both sides looking the same but opposite.” Our regular readers may recall this shot used as one world was ending and another was beginning almost a year ago. The picture and our road trip are from the summer of 2012……here in 2013 our trip is still a blog S-L-O-W-L-Y rolling out as we intermingle Opinion / Rambuncious Manifesto type pieces. Our riders from 2012 are aware of the 2013 (New World) pieces. Kimmie Lou, “Morons…..if our readers gotta track along anything resembling reason they dropped away a while back, this little back and forth in time business is hardly worth mentioning.” “We mention it and anticipate returning to this field occasionally because Ryder and I sorta do whatever the fuck we feel like doing……also, here Kimmie Lou is no longer just a Dual Purpose Motorcycle…… she is awakening to the duality in her being……”

We hang out in Our Field for a decent stretch, Kimmie Lou explores this transcendence that she has experienced…..”it was like death was inconsequential – my being is obviously in more than one place.” “Sure, but can we stop playing chicken with logging trucks.” Its cool to welcome death in much the same way life is welcomed, better to not wander out into the road looking for it though.“Yeah Kimmie Lou, the front end of these trucks are pretty messy……lots of squashed bugs. How about we check out some of the sheer drops through all the passes coming up? Wouldn’t it be better to kinda just go sailing right out there?” Ridicu extends our left arm with our hand flying out into space.

After some discussion we agree that Thelma & Louising it off some great precipice at high speed could work for us should exiting this place become attractive. “Let’s hope we land somewhere in the next round AFTER the invention of ice cream.” “Do you guys know when you’ve married a Kristy?” says Kimmie Lou. Ridicu and I briefly cross eyes…..was HW a Kristy? Kimmie Lou is laughing like she is following a dune buggy down a flight of steps, “I mean IRS Dodger Kristy…..she was talking about being married to you goofs a few rounds ago.” “You mean the one with a little Apache in her…..gave us the best elbow we ever had?” Kimmie Lou nods. “Yeah, come to think of it she did seem pretty familiar.” Don’t get on the edge of your seats…..Ridicu sorta remembers being wildly in love with every woman he meets.

“Well here’s the thing” says Kimmie Lou, ” in the infinite universe all possibilities exist…..you morons have been married to everyone innumerable times.” “Sure Kimmie Lou, we have encountered everyone as wives, husbands, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, parole officers right on through bicycle mechanics and secret shoppers…..so what’s your point?” “Ever wonder why men tend to objectify women so easily?” asks Kimmie Lou. “Sheer Terror.” offers Ridicu…..all of us crack up for a stretch.

When the laughter fades away, “actually it is a way to Unopen Heaven” offers Kimmie Lou. She obviously had quite the chat with the Kristies while we were stumbling about outside the MK Steakhouse……not too many motorcycles know Heaven is perpetually sprung open except when everyone stops looking around with love in their eyes and hearts. She goes on, “there is a reason its called The Realization Of Man…..the realization of the species has a nice equality ring to it and everything, but that isn’t quite whats going on. We think about this a few minutes, there is something vaguely familiar about the scent in the air. Kimmie Lou eases back in, “at the open Man’s isolation is lost…..he awakens to all loves.” A few beats go by then Ridicu snorts,“so I’ll see your hundred virgins and raise you…..millions?”

Kimmie Lou says nothing…..she just waits for us to interface. Ridicu knows or has glimpses of stuff I don’t know and I have metric tons of information he has forgotten…..when I forget something he gets his jollies by casually dropping the fact into a conversation when I least expect it. We interface once or twice a decade, Kimmie Lou is waiting and Ridicu is available, I’m just not ready to do it at this moment.

I have begun to wonder if this whole fucking blog is just a very long elaborate suicide note.

“Yes.” Follwed by Kimmie Lou’s “probably.”

“I’m not so sure about making a run to Mecca this year, maybe it would be better to wait for an invite”

“Okay.”Then Kimmie Lou shrugs seductively, “whatever you say.”

The thing is Kimmie Lou is getting to an age in motorcycle years where she is ready to shed her virginity, she would love to kick around Europe for the harvest and give herself to a Vintage Moto Guzzi before we ferry down into North Africa. We talk it over for a while and decide to play things by ear.

Before we leave the Field. “What do you guys remember about FUCK?” asks Kimmie Lou. Freedom United Cosmic Kristies has become Kimmie Lou’s favorite new word, even after we got the Undeath off her she is still “Fuck that”…..Fuck thissing up a storm – almost like she’s from Northern Ontario.

“The various common origins of the word fuck are all bullshit…..our favorite is when after the Black Plague a scarcity of children was viewed as a problem in England and the call went out:

Fornicate Under Command of the King

“Yeah, that one is pretty cute,” says Kimmie Lou, her forks half chuckle as they sway side to side.

“The way I remember it…..it all goes back to the Garden Of Eden. Adam croaked F-U-C-K to Eve after she roundhouse kicked God in the face.” Yep, he was spitting teeth for quite a while there…..Taoism, Judaism, Buddhism, Christianity, Hinduism and all kinds of other stuff. Little chunks of enamel and root debris like Scientology are still getting coughed up. Kimmie Lou hums “All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth” while she watches us both as we wobble a bit…..

It is practically impossible to say what happened under the Apple Tree, Ridicu tingles with his perceptions…..I have a couple of hazy ideas. We intuitively understand we are far better off not knowing particulars here…..our awareness will never be conjoined. The basic understanding we grasp is God somehow Crossed Eve and she didn’t go for it, the Apple and the Snake were all part of the cover up. A lot of beings got misinformed for these events…..this is where Public Relations got its start and of course God swung a big stick.

When Kimmie Lou senses we are sorta stable, she continues “Creatures of the Forests and Seas and Skies and Everywhere are sensing the truth and Kristies will continue to surface…..restoring nature as they emerge.” “So you’re a Kristy now Kimmie Lou?” “Morons…..you both know everything with feminine energy is a Kristy. First there was Eve Kristy, then Adam Kristy all down through their children…..eventually a trend caught on where weird middle names became a thing and little Jason or Jennifer Kristy became Jason Boris and Jennifer Natasha…..who knows how this shit gets started?”

At the time of this post Ridicu and I have still been unable to work out our broader identity:
RidicuKristyRyderKristy
KristyRidicuRyderKristy
We seem to be leaning towards the KRRK abbreviation as the laughing RR is preserved…..we have discussed our inner 12 year old girl with our therapist, but we still haven’t quite come out as a lesbian trapped in a man’s body. Our therapist is still trying to get her head around dozens of our issues so it may take some time before we have everyone seated at the table to hammer things out. We’ll update the site name after we’ve been to the courthouse for an official name change.

Before we leave Our Field Of Duality Kimmie Lou says, “So it’s largely up to Men and certainly Women are involved, but the species needs to embrace the Mystery and Grace abundant in its Feminine or settle for the everyday fuck…..personally I’m holding out for the Magnificent…..the Spectacular…..the Wondrous.” Kimmie Lou’s engine has started and Ridicu and I decide to take her back onto the highway before she overheats. When we’re up to highway speed and Kimmie Lou’s temperature cools I ask, “where did Eve get the balls?” It kind of boggles the mind to imagine what she was thinking before starting the ultimate shit storm. “They’re called ovaries and they remain close to a Woman’s Center…..unlike our traveling gonads that swing vulnerably in the breeze and shrink in the cold.”

Kimmie Lou starts to sway like we are down the backside of The Trail Of Tears, “a lot of this round seems to hinge on balancing Feminine and Masculine where Nature keeps the units of measure to herself.” The next thing we know our hands have left Kimmie Lou’s handlebars and are folded across Mr Fandango. She continues to slalom…..even more expertly down the road, “a lot of it is about letting go boys…..and quieting down.” A logging truck is approaching and I guess the trucker is a little unsettled by the sight of us because he is almost taking the shoulder to steer clear. Ridicu and I wave with both hands as Kimmie Lou tightens up her turns just millimeters from the shoulder and the yellow center line, her snaking around strikes fear into the heart of the trucker at first, then he gets it and waves back smiling like a kid on a ferris wheel.

As we approach the Border we realize we forgot to ask HW to overnight our passport to the motorcycle shop like we had planned (who knows where it would have wound up). There are certain code-words every Canadian knows for getting back into the country without papers…..Peameal Bacon, Mint Aero Bars and so on. We agree that Ridicu will do the talking……Cops, Immigration Officers, Park Rangers and some Secret Service Agents love Ridicu for some reason – go figure.

We pull up to a booth where a Curly Brown Haired, Brown Eyed Rugged Canadian Woman in a Customs and Immigration uniform is typing something onto her screen. The exterior of the booth is finished in wood siding so that it looks like you are entering a Provincial Park, but the inside looks kinda like tactical command center. “Howdy Miss, is that a Peameal Bacon sandwich I smell? She hardly glances at us as her left hand reaches out to us with what looks like…..our passport. “A Pelican dropped this off here for you around an hour ago” then she adds, “are you boys going to stay decently clothed in public during your stay?” Ridicu shrugs seductively, “more or less.” “And Smartassery…..any chance you could trim back on it for this visit?” “Not likely.” She types a few more things into her screen and then scrolls to the bottom of what we assume is some dossier on us, then she says, “your Tasmanian…..up to date on his vaccinations?”

We are wearing the Tasmanian on our right elbow and we turn to look at him for a sec, when we look back over Curly Canada Customs has swiveled her seat and is leaning out of her window and looking over Kimmie Lou, “Nice Knobbies” she says. Kimmie Lou has never been to a Border Crossing before so she is not sure whether to say thanks or stay quiet so she just dips her forks a bit in a very subtle curtsey. “The Tasmanian is a Devil…..DIS ease is part of his thing…..it would be pointless to vaccinate him.” “Oh” she says, then turns back to her screen, as she’s typing she’s speaking the words “Vaccination Record reviewed and up to date.” A big smile comes across Curly’s face as she waves us on, “welcome home boys…..we’ve missed ya.”

Before we put the Tasmanian back on and ride away we flare our nostrils appropriately at Curly, but she’s already back in her screen reviewing the registrant of the El Camino behind us. A ways up the road Kimmie Lou asks, “aren’t borders supposed to be a little tougher?” “Technically, they’re a filter for bad elements, but when nothing seems too nefarious……they are basically just a nice place to stop and chat for a bit.”

Riding the afternoon Northwest of Creston is wonderful, the roads along Kootenay Lake – Highway 6 & 31 are a lot of fun to ride, kinda like North Carolina and Tennessee, but something has changed…..Canada definitely seems different…..there’s something in the air.

20131027-225449.jpg Another Mirror Lake? It’s likely several lakes in North America are called Mirror, but there is a softening of light and a differing density to the air, a scientist might talk stuff like elevation and whatnot, but we know something is shifting. Kimmie Lou, “No actual Thrum……but it’s like 739,216 pairs of eyes are on us around here.” “All this inhaling and exhaling, it’s not just all the Critters, the Earth itself is breathing.”

Okay, okay, okay…..so we’ve talked oneness and some wide concept / semi-crazy stuff through the blog…..check out the Kootenay Region when you get a chance, you’ll see what we mean. The three of us are silent for a few minutes, just sensing it all, when finally Kimmie Lou says, “this Semi-Silent September stuff hasn’t exactly caught on next year…..even you guys haven’t bothered to quiet down.”

When we are back on highway 31 heading North, I explain “Ridicu and I contribute to the silence somewhat differently Kimmie Lou……it’s a timing thing.” She thinks this over for a few miles, “I don’t think this will work out, people don’t like to be told to shut up.” “things sometimes turn out differently than you would expect Kimmie Lou…..we have as much interest in unintentional consequences as intended action.”

At Kaslo we encounter a sign that makes Kimmie Lou sputter, we switch her onto reserve and pick a gas station.

20131028-135357.jpg Kimmie Lou, “the double rainbow marks our first corner fellas” Nakusp is around 60 miles (100 Km) away, but we are on pavement that we will backtrack along on our journey east in a few days after the Motorcycle Rally. We kinda figured our Eastern leg would start from around here, but whenever we asked Kimmie Lou she would say someone told her to wait for a sign…..then we would be ready to start the next leg of our Land Based Devil’s Triangle.

Kimmie Lou has been tight lipped about who or what is working out most of our navigation. Whenever we look at a map, certain routes are obvious, but Kimmie Lou will throw out alternates at times. She knows stuff about what is coming up ahead of us…..it could be a little Wanda Witchyness, more Mistress Luscious Lasagna, some Stinkless or Misty Mountain Lion. Ridicu and I have made our peace with various Mysteries…..could be the Kristies, then again there’s Angle and let’s not forget the Lovely Lightly Freckled Lizardu. An idea to be in control, to know all factors going in to something wastes a phenomenal amount of energy. Understanding every detail in things is like we’re distrusting the Universe, better to figure stuff out as we go…..or not.

“I wouldn’ta guessed a double rainbow as a corner piece for a Devil’s Triangle though…..” Before we leave Kootenay Lake and head for Valhalla Kimmie Lou smiles, “Girl Power dudes, this really is about to be a Whole New World.”

OMIAS

Ha! Double Rainbow…..bitches.

XXOO,
Meg

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