Sunday, May 03, 2009

Johnny Rumble:
Vampie...or is it Vampy?

I enjoy the night hours.  I sit in a darkened room, shadows cast by the flickering Sky Sports and the words of other people splashed across thier respective screens, and analyze what happened in the sphere of Johnny.  I can troll the internet, masturbate in privacy, and re-enforce my general ill will against man and all of his creations.

But really it's the peace and solitude I look foward to.  And when the Petrol Gods have deemed it so, I can cruise from the moment the sun dips below the Buttes to the moment it crests the Sierras, watching the endless ribbons of blacktop disappear beneath the wiper cowl and wonder why Saturn decided to build a car that has an invisible hood line.  There are few people on the road, and I usually have some old tune whispering from the speakers and out the cracked windows as I push the accelerator toward the floor and leave another stoplight behind me.  When they do occur those, the headlights can be moments of glory.  Another soul looking for thier moment of bliss.  At least this is what I'd like to think if I was alone and that car didn't have a headlight out.  Sex Point.

Entering strange urban areas is as exciting as it is frightening.  The dark road lights up with street lamps and headlights, other cars dodging the potholes Public Works refuses to fix.  It's a pin ball game at eighty miles and hour and the ball just entered the wormhole.  I scrunch down in my seat, turn Lowrider up to Volume 7, and cross over to the slow lane, imagining I'm in six-four Impala rolling fifteens and hydros. Clean, simple.

Keep Rollin' Rollin' Rollin',

Johnny Rumble

1 comment:

  1. can't believe cruising a highway (or driving) could be poetic, 'til I started reading your posts, at least

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