Exuberant bubbles

as a hobby I take pictures of beer.

I like beer.  I like to hear the bottles rattle when the door opens to the fridge.
Sitting at a race, looking into someone's dirty face, who cares who it is, they have just finished racing.   Not back into the world yet, still with the gods.   I take my feet off the cooler, reach down, and not even ask.  Just pry the top off, and put it into the open hand.

This  season was snerking up on me.  With no Philly grass track, and no, yet, Phila. CX WO's, ta-dah, it was upon me....I race this Saturday and Sunday.

and without knowing it, it was handed to me, just put into my hand.
thanks to the love of  DCCoD , recognizing my need, I raced, what I hold so Beloved, Grass Track.   last Sunday, down in DE.  I went hard, felt the need to barf.  Felt the need to win.  Felt fairness, of racing a mix class of racers, and not needing to pass.   I got the chance to bury myself, to see what kinda suffering I have in me.     
                                   Photos: A. Rock

I am a boob.  Full of rambunctious exuberance.  Carbonation.   I don't race to win, to prove anything, I race, because, the top has been pried off, that after some undetermined time,  when the words 15 seconds is spoken by the official.   A signal, whistle, gun, green light, movement,  is given, and  I gush forth, explode into life, and do my job.   I am aflame.

I often try to put meaning to my life, to what and why I write or take photographs.   I doubt I'll ever figure it out.   but I do know, last night I could not sleep, and it was caused by, in almost such a simplistic embarrassed way, it was because of just riding around in a circle.  In a park, on grass, with friends.

Thank you.
my most sincere regards, dlowe.

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