Life Among the Never-Winged

Once upon a time I was writing a book called, "Just Another Love Letter", about angels behaving badly. Now I just quietly ask myself each day, "What the hell am I doing?"

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Location: The Rocky Mountain Empire, United States

My friends always knew I was going to hell. My only hope is that God likes good jokes and bad redheads.

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  • Thursday, September 07, 2006

    Back from the Dead, or Blue-Eyed Bike Angels

    Marvin Hill -- I Dreamt of a Tree

    Or something like that. More like back from the flu, which made me want to be dead.

    Riddle me this; why is it that now that my little darlings are in school not one, but count ‘em, two days a week, I cannot find the time to write? And when I do, I write clichés like ‘riddle me this?’


    It’s the flu, right? I can blame that.

    Hey…lookie lookie, though. I’ve found an old, abandoned postling that never made it up here. Poor thing got tucked away about the time O’s dad went into the hospital.

    He’s fine now, by the way, thanks for asking. Back home with a portable can o’ oxygen, tired but alive, and wondering at how he beat the odds. 98 percentage points said he’d never make it.

    And O’s beating a dead sale. Seriously. His mailing company gave him an ungreased love-hug by sending the hey-we’re-having-a-sale! letters out AFTER the sale was well underway. The email list however – God love every little bugger I typed into Excel – those people, THOSE people, have shown him their rich, green love.

    So, without further ado, I give you my little abandoned post-thingy, which just happens to be about a specific breed of used bookstore customer:

    The Blue-Eyed Bike Angel.

    They bring their bikes in, after asking politely of course, and lean them against the front table, to nudge against the glass display case of manuscript leaves, scripted and illustrated by their opposites; monks who stayed in one place, in dark, smoky rooms, dedicated to their dogma.

    No, the Blue-Eyed Bike-Angel needs air and sunlight and long roads through cities and deserts and hills. Their dogma is all about freedom, wind-etched on tumbleweeds.

    Blue-Eyed Bike-Angels all have blue eyes; clear and bright and excited. They all have curly hair, mostly deep brown or black, sometimes sun-kissed to a sandy blond. They are shaggy ponies, helmet-free, spandex-free. Blue-Eyed Bike-Angels ride old bikes that weigh more than they do. Vegans they are, to a boy.

    Their skin is clear so you know their getting plenty of sex. And it glows, so you know the sex is heavenly. They break strings of hearts mainly by stumbling over them. They really mean no harm as they roll away.

    Blue-Eyed Bike-Angels will tell you they’ve crossed this continent and at least one other several times now on their bikes. Boulder is their Mecca, their organic produce stand, and their old college roommate’s couch.

    And they love the bookstore. You’ll find them roosting in paperback lit, They sit crosslegged thumbing through Hesse, Steinbeck, sometimes Lopez. You’ll find Blue-Eyed Bike-Angels in philosophy too, but not as often as you’d think. And they never leave without laying their books on the counter and digging through their dusty backpacks for crumpled dollars and eagle-backed quarters, sometimes pulling out a stray peso or Euro. They look at it for a second, bat their eyes at memories of Machu-Piccu sunrises, lavender fields, rain on their upturned faces, the pump and pace of winding roads through cypresses, past warm sleepy cows, tumble-down farms, languages spoken in orange and yellow. Finding love all the same, books all the same, bread, wine, late night conversations, all the same. All good.

    They smile. They pay. They roll away.

    Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want a Blue-Eyed Bike-Angel. But sometimes, I want to be a Blue-Eyed Bike-Angel.

    12 people left me a love letter:

    Blogger Irrelephant wrote in a love letter...

    NICE post. Makes me wish I lived in a real city, instead of this one-goat town.

    Riddle me this Batman...God I loved Frank Gorshin. *insane giggle*

    6:28 PM, September 07, 2006  
    Anonymous O wrote in a love letter...

    Hey - Who's Steinway?

    10:55 PM, September 07, 2006  
    Blogger Des_Moines_Girl wrote in a love letter...


    "Riddle me this..." is a cliche'!?!?!?

    Damn it!!! ;-)

    Beautiful post by the way! Loved your Myth of Linear Time story too! Hope you are feeling better. Having the flu totally blows.


    Bad choice of words - sorry! :-)

    6:58 AM, September 08, 2006  
    Anonymous clowncar wrote in a love letter...


    I tired to come up with some dumb pun involving Steinway and Steinbeck, but the best I could do was Tortilla (Sharps and) Flats, a pun so utterly lame it is unworthy of such a well-written post.

    11:20 AM, September 08, 2006  
    Blogger Nancy Dancehall wrote in a love letter...

    Ir: Who said Denver's a real city? CHICAGO now... And hey, you're close to New Orleans. There's a city I'd love to see.

    O: Steinbeck's half-brother. Was known for his excellent piano-playing and horrid typos. ;-)

    DMG: Thanks! Actually, it was the fever and chills type flu, not the stomach bug, thank God for small favors.

    Clowncar: I still give you kudos for the pun, especially since it mentions one of my favorite books. :-) Have fun in Sacramento.

    5:26 PM, September 08, 2006  
    Blogger Schmoopie wrote in a love letter...

    I've had a dream that I was a "Brown-Eyed-Bike-Angel." The open roads, warm rain falling on my face and the endless possibilities of cities and countrysides to explore. Don't get ME wrong, I love my life, but there is something almost mystical about a bike and an open road.

    7:35 PM, September 08, 2006  
    Blogger The Laughing Frog wrote in a love letter...

    Hmm. The only bikers we get around here are lawyers during the week. Definately the weekend warrior types who only trot out the bike on a gorgeous weekend afternoon.

    9:35 PM, September 08, 2006  
    Blogger amusing wrote in a love letter...

    Steinway. Had the key to the secret of life. Wrote "a rose is a rose is a rose." Liked beer in big mugs. And then went traveling with Charlie. Maybe on a bike. I don't remember.

    Gorgeous post. Awesomely fabulous. I kneel before you. I applaud. I cheer. Brava!

    12:23 AM, September 09, 2006  
    Blogger Bud wrote in a love letter...

    Damn! This is one you forgot you did? It's just beautiful. One of these days we have to write a song together. I have to finish the ones I'm rewriting, though. You make me see things way better than I would with my own eyes.

    4:17 AM, September 09, 2006  
    Blogger Nancy Dancehall wrote in a love letter...

    Schmoop: Oh, you know it!

    Frog: Yeah, and I bet their bikes weigh 8 ounces, and so do they.

    Amusing: It was on a bike. I remember being impressed by the custom-made doggie side-car.

    Bud: *thunk* <-- Me hitting floor. Thank you so much. I don't know what to say! Except, yeah, one of these days when you've got the time, absolutely.

    2:12 PM, September 09, 2006  
    Blogger Stucco wrote in a love letter...

    You know- I'm probably wired incorrectly at every level, but when I think about bicycles, I think about this idea I've had for a pedal-powered fucking device thing. My take on the Boulder-types? Near-comatose, addle-minded, granola-eating, patchouli-smelling irritations that need to get a bath and a job. On the plus side, the female versions rarely wear bra's, and they are remarkably naïve. "Hey there's a live squirrel in my pants that was cruelly used for animal testing by an unregulated cosmotologist. Do you want to set it free?"

    11:42 AM, September 11, 2006  
    Blogger Nancy Dancehall wrote in a love letter...

    You are the strangest man I know.
    But you make the best damn sodabread I've ever tasted, so I'll keep ya around. :-)

    2:09 PM, September 12, 2006  

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