Moonshadows

Volume 3, Issue 2, stick it to the man edition

I have generally been the straight man among my friends, many of whom I love and respect as agents of chaos. But then, this is sort of like how as an athlete I would always compare myself to the fastest pros and would always come up woefully lacking. Compared to some, many, of my friends, I’m a square. But I have never sat really comfortably with the status quo. Uniforms and flag waving and large crowds make me nervous, the suburbs scare me, I question authority, and I love a whiff of anarchy in the air.

BIKE, and its editors Steve Casimiro and Rob Story, for whatever reason, gave me a real long leash. They let me explore my own emotions and creativity, and they let me say things in print that could be considered legally questionable. In this instance they let me wax poetic (and repackage some lines I had actually written a few years earlier after a full moon ride on a head full of LSD). I owe them a solid debt of gratitude. As I do my chaos sowing friends. Rest In Peace, Jungle Jon. Wherever you are, I hope the cops have wooden legs and shitty reflexes.

YOUR SHADOW ELUDES YOU.

Gliding beneath the hallowed silver and black of a pregnant moon, one poised to give birth to demons and werewolves and dark creatures of a fecund imagination, looking down at your silent black companion, at that silhouette, you can neither catch it nor escape from it. The shadow leads. The shadow follows. The shadow waits.

Your shadow is never tired.