Ghost Writer

I had two names in mind for the post title, Ghost Rider, and Disjointed.    

There are some tricky parts at the Wissahickon, especially if you are not good.   I look back at the past, my riding style, I think, if I would have gotten off the bike, gave it a push, it would have rolled straight down the rocks, no problem.   I've found that me trying to take control, to steer, and not just let the things happen in the best way happen, f's it up.

I learned back in college that if you reprint something, that if you take a printed quote and use it, that the quote itself becomes more credible.   That's what politicians, movie adds, and a lot of blogs/tumblr/shit  do.

and, ... it still works.

if you remember a few post back I put up a picture and wrote a bit about this tomb stone, of Richard Harding Davis.   Located, in the graveyard behind Bob's diner.

I got one of his books, and started into it.  Its good, in a different era style, for sure, but good.

I sat outside the Mann Music Center the other night, drinking some beer, reading my book, and listening to the music, for free.  and I  dog eared this page,
I wanted to remember this part

that despite living in a hut, and dirt, the women, wore clean white gowns,.... that made me think

  it's like me, I'm the brake that's rubbing, that if I just relaxed a bit, took it in, opened up,    If I just could be a bit more nil, that the effect on life would be better.     That impossible things, ... are... really ....simple.


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