Creative Flow
Thread started by
MyOneAndOnlyPost at 11.1.08 - 11:11 pm
I achieved flow once. That's right. Let me explain Holloween night of a Los Angeles critical mass. I began observing the gathering at Wilshire and Western, alone. As always, alone. No music inside me. Just the observer. Picture me leaning against a post, looking against everyone. The scene consisting of Laugher, Smoke, and Sensational Excitement. However, all incognito, because of "the law". Alright. Then, "Lets go.. lets ride", everyone began moving. First stop, Ralphs, six pack of Stellas. Went outside, "hey fellas hang on to these two bottles as courtesy, let me take that from your hands", (suction.suction..suction…blow out chronic smoke from a ten inch shaft), "thank you, have a good night, be safe ". Mind you I downed the remaining 4 bottles instantly. Do you follow this? Please fill in the rest, I mean connect the dots consisting of the blunt intersection mishaps, yelling, and background music either sung or played on portable speakers arriving to Ralphs. (not to mentioning the Hamlet I met, who stood in line with me to purchase his wine, who claimed in Shakespearian language that his attire was not for "holloween" but was collecting dust and was worthy of putting on for this particular night just because). Back to my experience…..The ride picked up, after I shared a J with a "red turban wearing middle eastern" and conversed with "video game dude". After witnessing amazing endurance filled bikers I parked my chrome fixie against Rite Aid to walk around the parking lot. A quick dance with a transvestite and 50+ year old horny hunny, I was in another reality. A reality which introduced me to the one and only women I've come to know from Panama. She was maybe 22, Sexiness and Character combined into a gorgeous body in a blue top and white (nearly transparent) shorts. The ride picked up again after dancing, meeting cat woman and her boyfriend. We went "somewhere" I cant exactly recall how I came to read the Normandie and Washington street signs. "Oh Shit!" I said to myself optimistically. " I need to find Hollywood and Highland and ride Metro. I broke away from the pack. I felt amazing crunching energy from my legs to Western and Hollywood. When I got there…Traffic like a mother fucker. Sweeet! I began breading the Hollywood Blvd. Can you fathom what I mean? Visualize this…I'm riding at my top speed @ 52:16 cog ratio. I only see brake lights and two lanes of nearly parked cars. I hear music briefly as I pass open car windows yet dominated by the sound of my bike chain churning. One block down from Western on Hollywood I say to myself…..This is cycling ecstasy! After that, I didn’t exist in the process. "I" couldn’t have existed, because it was too fucking dangerous for me to think or reason. My instincts were now in control. I must have been crazy to allow instinct and muscle control to communicate in unison. But I did. My body and fixie were One, I was the extension of the machine. Remember, zooming through condensed traffic, hundreds of cars, millions of lights, and me on cloud nine. Once I hit Vine and Hollywood, I lost my hearing. I became the jet on auto-pilot regardless of aviator. As I sliced across the first car that opened a gap in the first lane, cut back across a few cars ahead, dove back into the center dived through lanes ones and two. Neeeeerrrooom, now another fixie… he came a hairs width close off the path playing out for my destined wheels. "what's up, tooo crazy huh! I yelled. Not knowing where the fuck he came from. Then we synchronized awareness and scared "Hollywood" tourist memories of October 31st with the thought, " Look at those guys on bikes, they're fucking crazy, no toooooo crazy, they're FLOWING!" YES, we were flowing without consideration of past, future, or danger. We were aroused by the challenge of keeping a few inches away from rear view side mirrors, cars passing intersections, pedestrians, and the occasional drunkard leaving out the back door of a limousine. Once we glided like birds close to Hollywood and Highland, cops in riot gear guided us through a detour and circle of another quarter mile to the Metro station escalator I rode to get home.. sweet.. home.
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