So Completely Alive


After a nice visit with the Swaffords I headed out to my bike to head home. I’m tired today because I woke at about 01:30 this morning and was awake for two hours before getting back to sleep.

After a nice visit with the Swaffords, Phillip and Jen–

After a nice visit with the Swaffords, Jen and Phillip (Cedar was already in bed) I–

I’ve been taking the Ducati down to visit the Swaffords most every–

No, it’s not the Ducati that goes to visit, it’s you.

So tonight, like a lot of nights lately, I hopped on my motorcycle and headed down the road to visit the Swaffords. This is one of the best times of year for motorcycle riding. I’m enjoying being in Alabama and excited to leave it too. That looks like it’s going to be June now although maybe sooner because tonight I got a call from one of my best buddies I deployed with– with whom I deployed– he’s one of my best bros– I got a call–

Correa called me tonight. We went to Iraq together. Not tonight. In 2003. He said he– well, actually he left a message on my wall on Facebook and told me to call him because he’d had some bullshit with his phone and–

Can you believe all this shit about the Christians who don’t want to sell pizza to the fags in Indiana? WTF Christians? Don’t act like that! It’s fucking annoying. And not just to us fags.

I was talking to by bro tonight, the one I was just telling you about– not Correa who went to Iraq with me but Phillip who lives just down the road. It’s their house I go to when I’ve been getting on my bike lately– getting on my motorcycle lately– getting on my Ducati Monster lately– 1000cc lately– if I die on my motorcycle, know that I died happy– and don’t whine like a little– I wish their was something you could say that meant, “Don’t whine like a little bitch” that wasn’t misogynistic. “Misogynistic” is not the easiest word to learn how to spell. I learnt it a few– LEARED!– damn, sorry, lighten the fuck up! I learned it a few years ago and do you want to know how I remembered where the “i” and the “y” go? I just remember that it starts with “miso” like the soup– fish soup to be exact. And that’s how I remember it– fish soup– now that’s misogynistic.

So Correa called me from California tonight. He said he might have my RV sold for me to someone in Cali. When he told me who the potential buyer is, I nearly swallowed my bubble gum. It’s Sergeant Major– well, I can’t tell you who it is because he ain’t bought it yet. If he does, I want to tell you the whole story of him– he’s– he was the Marine that I — well, he’s still a Marine because that shit’s for life. But I mean when I was still in, he was the Marine that I respected the most I think– or at least I can say he’s the Marine that I met during my six years that– I mean “who,” not “that”– who I was convinced loved the Marine Corps as much as I did. (or is it “whom?”) It’s a good story. I hope he buys the RV. I want to tell you that story. If he don’t, and you remember it in a few weeks (that is, you haven’t heard noting about no high-ranking enlisted Marine that I–

Well, if you don’t hear a story about a high-ranking enlisted Marine within the next few weeks, send me a message or remind me in the comments and I’ll try to pretend like he wasn’t the one that was possibly going to buy the RV and ended up not doing it. Goddamn, I hope it don’t happen like that. I really need to sell that RV.

So when I got done visiting with Phillip and Jen Swafford tonight (Cedar was already in bed) I went out to get on my motorcycle and head home. I didn’t pull the visor down because to tell you the truth it was kind of dirty. I noticed that before I got on the bike at the house to head to the Swaffords but it had already taken me a few minutes to get out the door and I didn’t want to miss the sunset so I didn’t go back in to clean the visor. Riding toward their house is a great view of the setting sun. So I decided I’d just go ahead. I actually have two helmets. One has a clear visor and one has a visor with limousine tint. I could have gone back in and gotten the one with the black visor. That wouldn’t have taken as long as cleaning the clear one but I wouldn’t have been able to see the sunset as well and the trip home would have been really hard because it would be dark when I was coming home and– I remember when I first got the bike and I was living in Hollywood. I only had the one helmet so I would switch visors back and forth. Sometimes, I’d end up going to the sex club while it was still light– is that true? That doesn’t seem right– anyway, for some reason I would end up being at the sex club with the helmet that only had the dark visor and I remember riding home at night– late at night– well, actually closer to dawn after having had sex with about twenty guys and flying along 101 North with the limousine tinted visor on my helmet. God watches over fools, drunks, babies, and apparently sex addicted motorcyclists as well.

After visiting the Swaffords tonight, I got on my bike to come home and even though I knew I would have to flip down the dirty visor once I got out on the highway (I usually try to get the bike up to 130mph between their house and the four-way-stop in Parrish)– so anyway, on the little country road between the Swafford’s house and the highway, I decided I’d just keep the visor on my helmet up so I could enjoy the scenery better. The road is beautiful! Alabama is beautiful. I love riding my bike/motorcycle/Ducati/Ducati Monster–

on country roads.

So I’m riding along this beautiful country road letting my bike dance back and forth to Lorde which is pouring into my bliss-intoxicated brain via my Bose ear buds (who’s a lable queen?)– maybe not me. I just want you to know their good fucking ear buds. Get you some. Listen to good music. Ride your motorcycle on country roads. Life is good.

I was riding toward the highway and– on my God! I just realized something. I hadn’t really remembered it until just this moment typing this to you! I had actually just thought, before what I’m about to tell you happened happened, “I’m riding on a country road just after sunset with my visor up. That’s a good way to get hit in the eye with a bug.” And I had forgotten that I had that thought until just now (finally) got to that part of the story which I had fully expected to be the second sentence when I started typing this blog post. But anyway–

I was riding along this country road, happy in my motorcycle meditation when WHAM!!! I got hit in the eye by what must have been a huge bug. I actually wondered if it had been a bat or a bird. It hit me so hard it made me swerve. It hit me so hard in the eye it gave me an immediate headache. It hurt bad! And I laughed. I often laugh when I’m in pain. And you know what else is weird? It hurt so bad and– well, it hurt so bad and so there was (of course) part of me that said, “Wow that sucked. I just got hit in the eyeball by some kind of fucking baby pterodactyl or some shit.” But then there was another part of me that said, “Ow, that hurt like shit! That was fucking cool!”

Do you have that part? Or am I just crazy? Do you have that part that when something happens that brings you so completely into the moment because of its unexpectedness you think it’s really fucking cool? I mean I think I was pretty much very much in the moment already– doing my motorcycle meditation– but it was– hey now no wait, that’s important– being in the moment is a good thing! And it’s one of the things I love so much about riding the bike. I’m much more able to be present in the moment when I’m on my motorcycle. If I die on my motorcycle, do me a favor– be the cool one. Be the cool one that says, “You know what? Jeff died doing his thing! I’m glad he died doing his thing rather than rotting away in a hospital bed in another twenty or thirty years. Sacrificing twenty or thirty years to die doing your thing is a fucking good thing! Here’s to good things!” But don’t worry. I ain’t tryin’ to die or nothin’. I’d rather ride the motorcycle for another twenty or thirty years.

So taking the raptor to the eye was painful but it was one of those “WOW! WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?” moments when you’re so completely alive. (There were some of those in Iraq.)

Have you had those moments? I choose to judge them as good. I choose to recognize them as glorious celebrations of life. Celebrations of the unexpected kind. So if I make my transition to the next life via my Ducati, you can rest assured that I was probably having one of those moments. That would be cool as fuck. Because that would mean that in the moment of my death, I was completely alive!

See y’all tomorrow.

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