Make It

 So the 'busa has been off the road again for the last little while; I learned three (3) painful lessons the hard way cruising down Fairbairn Ave at 2AM on my way home that night: 

1. Possums are solid little bastards;
2. When they decide to commit suicide-by-hyperbike they act like a Pete-seeking missile; and
3. Aftermarket ABS fairings are brittle as fuck. 

There was no sign of the little fucker when I went back the next day to pick up the pieces of my shattered left-side fairing, but there was enough of it stuck to the bottom of my left fork and oil-cooler that I reckon one of the local foxes got a free meal at the cost of Gideon's not-quite-month-old party frock. The oil-cooler took enough of a knock that it was spraying a fine mist of oil, and the possum got to take my left foot-peg with it to Valhalla. Fortunately JB Weld Cold Weld Epoxy is both oil, and heat resistant and seems to have sealed the cracks nicely, and I had a spare left peg from the pair I bought after the last crash. The fairings, on the other hand... 

I've spent the last month arduously gluing a piece back on, waiting for the epoxy the cure, then gluing down the next one, adding nylon fabric to the rear-surface for reinforcement where it looked necessary, then sanding back, levelling, priming, sanding, priming, filling, sanding, priming, and preparing. I finally got it to a point where I felt it was ready to take colour, so have laid down 3 x coats of the Metallic Blue I found quite fetching, then 5 x coats of 2K Clear Coat. I'll need to leave that for a few days to cure before I mask it off and do the lower section in Matte Black, so whilst I wait I have some time to kill. 

Workshop Music: Faderhead - Destroy Improve Rebuild

When not riding motorcycles at silly speeds, applying for jobs, riding motorcycles with reckless abandon, having emotionally-loaded encounters with my Ex, riding motorcycles at 2 in the morning, and sending possums to Sto'Vo'Kor, I've been putting a lot of time and energy into Making Things. It used to be that my focus was Fixing Things, but I got through my backlog a while ago. If doing the same old shit was going to get me anywhere I figure it would have ages ago, so in the interests of switching things up it was time for a bit of creation; I'm still recognisably 'me' tho, so my preferred building materials are still Broken Things, with a bit of productive destruction thrown in for fun. 

Like the mirror I made out of the tempered glass front of the old watch winder I finally gave up on trying to repair after something like 6 years. 

Whilst shopping for paint I discovered a product called Glass-To-Mirror Converter and thought it would be fun to try; I thought it might be good for making mirrored helmet visors or bike screens, but I really needed to test it to see how it worked first. Whilst introducing Dropbear to the original 1995 anime Ghost In The Shell one night around the start of the year I spent an hour or so carefully masking out a pattern that I thought would be fun on one side - a thin line, a thick one, and another thin one representing dot-dash-dot (the Morse Code for 'R'), and a pair of diagonals because I thought diagonal lines would break things up nicely and wanted to practice making diagonal lines. Before heading off to find some food we popped downstairs to the ghetto spray-booth I made in my storage cage out of the box Damo The Vet's new couch came in so I could show him how to lay paint down, then we did another coat on the way back up to put on the 2017 version with Scar Jo. I encoded an 'R' out of vanity, but I gave it to Dropbear when it was done because he has a thing for girls who's names start with that letter plus... it was finished, and I realised I'd stopped caring. 

Came out nice tho: 

I was shopping for paint because I had a small horde of parts left over from the 'busa - ordering a full, custom-painted fairing kit was about the same price as the three panels I'd broken, so went that way; it also meant that I could finally get rid of the gold-coloured 隼 kanji on the sides and replace them with silver. I've wanted to do blue highlights on my accessories to bring out out the blue mica in the Pearl Nebular Black (Suzuki colour code YAY) for... oh, I don't know... a decade and a half now, so finally I'd be able to without it clashing. The original guard had a pile of scratches on it, so decided to use it for practice. I must have fucked it up at least three times in one way or another and had to strip it back to the plastic before I finally got the finish right, but now it's been redone in Matte Black with a fetching Metallic Blue stripe carefully laid down in the groove. 

I'll probably fit it at the same time as I fit the repainted side panels - it's the same blue and black paint, so it might actually look intentional instead of a back-yard bodge. 

The hoodie Dropbear gave me wasn't broken, although it did need a wash, but even after the smell of BO and boy-sweat was gone there was something I found offensive about it... or maybe 'offensive' is the wrong word here... 
not boring, either... 
Incomplete? 
It had these little 3M Scotchlite Black reflective strips on the arms and back that looked like someone aimed for minimalist, but landed on half-arsed instead.
It needed... More. 
I'm pretty sure it was Archangel by Pendulum that put the idea of cyber-angel wings in my head, so I snagged a free easel off Buy Nothing and a box of chalk, and did some prototyping with the words "wings", "feathers" and "speed lines" in my head whilst waiting for the nylon-backed reflector tape I ordered to arrive: 

Then I moved on to masking tape: 

I had a rough idea in mind based on sets of of 3; some might call that "predictable", I prefer to think of it as "a design language". With the basic theme laid out, I decided to break it down and started with the arms, going through at least half a dozen iterations before I got to an arrangement where the 'feathers' were cut to a ratio of 3:2:1, laid out slightly splayed when vertical so that when you bend your arms they look almost straight: 

The back took at least as many different iterations of the same "sets of 3" and "1:2/3:1/3" before I got to the layout I hated the least, but worked within the constraints: 

Yes, that IS a pillow I'm using to give it shape clamped to the easel - do you have any idea how hard it is to prototype something which needs to follow a human form using only shit you can find around the house or pick up for free? Likewise, I'd originally planned on stitching it all down, but that idea went to hell in a handbasket because keeping the strips straight whilst sewing with clumsy, nerve-damaged fingers was an exercise best described as "NOPE". Spotlight sells quite serviceable Fabric Glue Tape for not many monies, so I used that instead. I had grand intentions of using the tape to keep it in place for stitching but it's proven wind-, rain-, and generally bomb-proof so why turn something fun into not-fun? There's no ego-trip for me in making it harder for myself unless it improves the outcome, and this got the job done. 

The reflective paint is made using microscopic glass beads embedded in a grey paint, and the whole arrangement is pretty fragile - the beads rub off with friction, and the paint fractures with movement. It's already starting to show wear, bits are less reflective than when I first put it on, and some of the edges are starting to wear away. I considered looking for ways to protect it, make it last longer, then I realised...

Fuck it. It's not a bug, it's a feature. 

Over time the wings will fade, looking more and more tattered. 
Just like I have. 
Art imitating life, after a fashion.  

It's received plenty of positive feedback when I've been out, and I'm told it GLOWS in people's headlights. One thing's for sure tho: 

People are going to know EXACTLY who's in front of them. 
From half-a-kilometre away.

Not everything's been motorcycle-related... 

Pfft... 

No, of course it has. 

"Jinba ittai" has occupied an adjacent vertex to bikes in my mind's knowledge graph since the day I first heard it. You've seen the image I created by breaking down the font I found in Faderhead's More Is Never Enough clip into vectors, and rearranging pieces to build the kanji. A few weeks ago I finally got around to getting them printed: 

Whilst waiting for them to arrive I ran into Her randomly at Arbo after She'd Blocked me again. She told me just how poorly Her dog Millie's surgeries had gone, and how much money She was bleeding. I decided to put my art to a good cause, upped the asking price, and told everyone I was selling them for charity. I'd already thrown Her more money than I ever expected to make from selling decals, so it was VERY easy to put my hand on my heart and solemnly swear I was up to no good handing all of the proceeds over to help with vet fees. One of the first people to fling cash at my PayID was Damo The Loose Unit, who's also been taking lead on helping make Millie well again - his contribution paid the entire cost of printing, and more besides. Now I'm down to 24/50 of the original batch, and made nearly $400. 

Good deeds aside, pulling up at a meet and seeing my art on a dozen different bikes in a row is a fucking amazing feeling: 

I'm still playing with an idea for adding it to the hoodie rearranged vertically down the spine using iron-on vinyl, along with a line of logos down the front-left - Suzuki, 隼, Triumph... 

Eh, I'll get to it when it feels fun. 

In the meantime I have an idea for something that can hang in a window... a mason jar or something like it, which has been broken and glued back together kintsugi-stylez with some of the leftover Mirror-To-Glass paint sprayed on the broken edges. My theory is that when the sun shines through it the light will reflect off the surfaces and refract through the pieces, spraying sparks and shattered rainbows around the room. I ran the concept through Gemini to see if it had any suggestions on how to pull it off, and it said: 

"This is a brilliant, "mad scientist of decor" kind of project. The aesthetic you're describing—internal reflections and fractured light—is essentially 3D puzzle held together by hope and chemistry," then it helpfully added, "it won't be watertight or food-safe."

Hope & Chemistry. 

Sounds like the sort of name I'd give an Art Project... 

If it's right, it should look something like this: 

And when I'm done, I'll probably just give it away.

Time to go practice smashing glass jars... 

Destroy. 
Improve.. 
Rebuild... 

Moving fast with nowhere to go...

 I've been standing here looking casual and relaxed with my eyes focused on a light on the horizon though the dark-tinted visor of my helmet so I can keep my head stationary whilst I concentrate on controlling the muscles in my neck and shoulders, carefully measuring my breaths to hold my lungs at 50(+/-20)% capacity using the same technique a sniper might to steady their aim, and I used to use to maintain position in the water when riding the current during drift-dives, to minimise the movement of my chest so that I could remain absolutely still for the last 6 seconds. In another 4 seconds I need to move as quickly as possible one half-pace left and three fast steps left again in... 2... 1... go. 

Safely out of shot, I flip the dark visor of my helmet up and take off my gloves as I count 3 seconds... 5... then give it another 3 to be sure before walking back over to the Triumph, check the app on my phone mounted to the headstock which is linked by wifi to the camera sitting on a tripod 3.1m away, and see how the shot came out: 

I nod to myself, finally satisfied after the 4 or 5 previous attempts hadn't quite worked, take my helmet off and pull the thumb-sized torch off my keyring to try some light-painting. : 

When I got home some time after midnight I sifted through and culled the dozens of setup- and test-shots I'd taken, ran the two that had come out the way I wanted them through a quick colour-correction, and posted them to Instagram with the caption: 

"Been ghosted so much, sometimes it feels like you can see right through me..."

knowing that She'd probably never see them. 

Phase 5 Opening Theme: Pendulum - Cartagena 

2 days later I was sitting on the balcony watching the rain clear up and decided to go see if I could find some puddles with nice reflections in them to take photos of. I picked a tshirt which sent a different message to my last photo session, loaded backpack with camera gear, and hit the road. I spent 45min or so covering 29km without moving further south than Parliament House scouting out spots that might have nice angles, eventually winding up at the far-end of the Museum to play with the colour-shifting lights on the braille-wall, but nothing the camera caught was grabbing me. No one was hanging around Mirrors on my way out, so I gunned it up Lawson Cres at my now-typical 100-ish-kph when I glimpsed the lights of the foreshore at Henry Rolland Park where I'd been taking photos with Dropbear and Ruby 10 days beforehand, so I headed over there. It took longer to find a spot where the lightpoles and benches were spaced out and the curve of the embankment angled just the way I wanted it, then adjusting the Triumph's parked position a few millimetres forward and an inch or two to the right, and work out my body position, spent an hour or so taking photos, and after only 26 takes eventually I got one in 2-esposure-stop HDR just the way I wanted it: 

Jason was dubious when I shared it with him - he's still checking in when he hasn't heard from me in 4 or more days, and I've made a game of making sure he never has to. By then I'd kept the streak going for over a month. 

"You'll probably know better than me but those street/path lights not doing you any favours"
"Using what I got. I'm practicing, so using the environment that's there...
"The light was tricky, but look at how I lined up the shot with some guide lines added:"

"Wow
"That's pretty cool
"I wouldn't even take those into consideration"

<s'ok, I don't really expect anyone to> I thought, any more than I'd expected anyone to be paying attention to the specific 30-sec snip from the last track of the new Pendulum album which had been playing in my helmet throughout the photo shoot, and I'd tagged in the Instagram post I put up later that evening with the caption: 

"On my own playing around with light in darkness"

3 days later I received a message and screenshot from Gorgeous George: 

"You're loved apparently 😂😊"

And just like that, on Xmas Eve, after months of sitting around the Dairy Farmer's Hill Carpark, chatting with random strangers, helping people who really should have been wearing their P plates adjust their grips and levers, occasionally exchanging contact details, and riding around on my streetfighter more and more like a fucking hooligan whilst wearing a helmet with a bloodstained-chainsaw grin, I realised that I'd been accepted into the Canberra street-riding community. 

But that's not where any of this started, not really. 4:32PM on Friday November 7th isn't really where either, but it'll do for now because that was when I met Dropbear. 

Wednesday and Sunday afternoons were times I'd decided would be my Regular Arbo Times, usually from ~4 - 6:30PM - in September/October it was late-afternoon, leading up towards sunset, around the time people would wander up after work, but a time which I knew would be Safe because unless She'd changed her schedule She'd knock off at 5:00PM and head home, take Millie for her walk at 5:30PM, get back around 6:30PM, get her shit together by 6:50PM, and fang it up Parkes Way to arrive around 7:15PM, so if I was gone by then I had a window of opportunity to exist, and connect, and not tread on Her turf. "She doesn't own rider hangouts, and it's a Public Space, so I'm allowed to be here, right?" I figured, "This is one spot out of many, and word will get around pretty fast that I've been hanging around here so if She wants to avoid me it'll be easy..." plus it was picturesque and a fantastic piece of track to practice my cornering. I was adding Friday afternoons to the list because I was trying to spend less time at Peacemaker, but I could still catch the tail-end of Happy Hour if I was moving by 5:48PM. 

When I pulled up there were cars in most of the spaces, but there was plenty of room to reverse in next to a 2001 Triumph Speed Triple 955i, plonk myself down next to its owner, and join him in staring into the distance. 

"Nice 'busa." 
"Thanks man, sweet Speed - fucking classic streetfighter right there..." 

The conversation rolled on like 160kph from 80 in 4th gear; I'd had mine for 15 years and counting, he'd not had his for not very long - it was a cheap replacement for the Suzuki Bandit 1200S he'd only just recovered from binning; I was riding solo after a traumatic breakup, he was riding solo after a traumatic breakup; he was heading to FNR, I wasn't because that was Her patch, and I didn't want Her to think I was going to places I knew She'd be trying to find Her; he said he was having some problems with his suspension and rear brake, I told him to save the $50-100 he was going to spend and and bring it over mine the next day instead; he agreed and went to FNR, I went to Peacemaker for a pint with New Friend Lou. 

Later that night I was bored and antsy, so decided to head to Kita for a late-night Teh Tarik on the 'busa: 

On the way home I crashed it - a wrong turn, a dark street, a headlight dipped a little too low, and what I though was going to be a straight-shot through Narrabundah to Jerrabomberra Ave and Monaro Hwy turned out to be a dimly lit T-intersection covered in gravel. I grabbed a fist-full of brake, felt the front wheel wash out, and the next moment I was sliding down the road on my right hip and armoured shoulder, watching my beautiful bike spin down the road ahead of me leaving a trail of sparks behind it. 

"Because fucking of course I did..." I thought as I picked myself and the snapped foot peg up off the bitumen, then deftly lifted 230+kg of 'busa back onto its wheels and rode it home with my right boot perched on the heel-rest. It wasn't until I was nearly at Kings Ave that I realised just how easily I'd picked the bike up, and remembered that I'd not have been able to do that a month or two ago, when a skilled chiropractor started fixing the scoliosis I'd been living with for something like 30 years. 

It's amazing the difference it makes when your muscles aren't being dragged out of shape because your spine is actually something close to straight; I won't say that I went from living with constant pain to an agony-free existence overnight, but, y'know... a month or two later it sure does feel that way. Likewise, I could tell you that I went from relying upon drugs to sleep to none at all and that babies don't sleep this well, but I'd be lying and I remember saying I didn't do that; I now take FEWER, and LESS POTENT drugs to help me sleep, and I sleep a hell of a lot better for all three of those things. The other thing, which led to my being able to lift my bike again, is that I can now LIFT again. I used to try to build some strength and muscle with a pair of 5kg weights and never seemed to get anywhere; suddenly I was blazing reps with the 5's so hard I upgraded to 8's, then added a pair of 12.5's (although I had to back those off when I discovered I needed to rebuild some of the smaller, supporting bits of my shoulders first). When I caught up with Scott the other day he commented that I was standing straighter, head held further back, and my shoulders were squarer. I've definitely noticed that there's a bicep emerging when I shave, which is... good for the self-image.

I was certainly a bit achy when I went to sleep later that night with an inbox full of confirmation emails from the small pile of parts I now had on order, but the grazes on my leather jacket had been treated and were now mostly invisible, the graze on my new helmet adds character, and apart from a few bruises which would fade before the week was done I was none-the-worse for wear.

The next morning I threw 3 months' rego on the Street whilst drinking my coffee, and had my tools together in time for when Dropbear turned up. We checked his Speed over, confirmed the parts we needed, and whilst cruising to Fyshwick in the FrogRocket we started the trade stories. By the time we got there it struck me just how quick we'd been running through the "getting to know you" dance - I'd tell him about something that had happened and he just... got it, no explanation required. Likewise, when I made a clarifying query about part of his, he'd just nod and say "yeah, that." Not having to explain why something had left me gutted, or defend my right to feel something, was one thing; being treated like an instant mate by a guy who wasn't even alive when I got my first bike, and not like some weird-old-guy or ersatz-dad was just a little bit special.

Back in the basement-garage we fitted the springs to keep his exhaust in place, tweaked his suspension to give him better corner-feel, and adjusted his rear brake so it... y'know... worked, then...

Then we went for a ride.

An hour or two later we'd run up to Arbo for a hot-lap to test his new suspension settings and a cigarette, he showed me where Flags was, then we went the long-way up to Mt Ainslie trading the lead back and forth on our Triumphs as we jinked around cars at 120kph. I took photos at each stop, and posted them to Instagram with the caption: 

"Look at us being Triumphant..."

I didn't expect Her to ever see that either, but if you want to mark your calendar with "The moment Pete's life finally turned around (4096x2072, 1/1216 sec, f1.7, ISO 50, 6.57mm, Nothing A024)", 7:01:46PM (-35.270439, 149.158056) on Saturday the 8th of November, 2025 is probably about as precise as you're going to get. 

"So what's with all the photos?" you might be asking. "and who's this Gorgeous George guy anyway? Are you hanging out with that Doctor who stitched you up?" 

Well that's another story you're going to have to wait to hear... 

... for about 2 seconds because fuck it, we're only at 2100ish words so based on recent stats it's early-days yet. 

Back when I was heading up to Arbo with a regularity you could set clock by so long as it wasn't COSC-certified, on an afternoon who's dates and events I can't in any way remember, I pulled in just past a Honda CBR650R and Yamaha XSR900 parked side-by-side, reversed in at a respectful distance, took a seat on the composite-rock wall, and pulled my phone out to check my messages. The rider wearing a cheap, too-big-for-him suit wandered over, spoke admiringly of the 'busa (which I'd learned to capitalise on; whether Gideon is a 'panty-dropper' is unverified, but 'conversation-starter' is undeniable), and we got chatting. He'd just had a job interview, hence the suit, and was out for a ride with a mate. 

"Yours the CBR... 500? 650? Sorry, they all look the same..."
"No, the XSR. The CBR650R's my mate's."
"That's a Yama, yeah?"
"Yeah, 900."
"Man, I'm rusty on the smaller bikes. Nifty-looking cafe-racer... 
"Wait... CBR650R... is that...?
"HEY, OSCAR!"

The other rider, still wearing his helmet (because that's a thing the cool kids seem to do these days; She used to do it all the time) looked over, feigned sudden acknowledgement (because there is precisely one bike like mine in Canberra, and I knew that he knew who gets to ride it) and waved. I wasn't going to push it further than that because last thing I heard he was a Very Close Friend of Hers, but fucked if I wasn't going to be friendly and polite even if the situation was seriously fucking awkward. 

"Sorry, I kinda know that guy.
"Anyway: Pete."
"George."
"Nice to meet you. So what was this job interview? Reckon you got it?"

I ran into George again with Oscar a week or two later after acquiring a new scar on my arm, and chatted some more, then again later-still, sitting around with Mia. "Polite and friendly," I thought to myself as I masked up and be friendly and polite to another Very Close Friend of Hers. 

"Ey Gorgeous George, 'allo Stranger."
The motions of "how've you been" rolled through with casually warm tones expressed with an undertone of guarded superficiality, which led to me asking one of the typically empty questions you throw into a conversation when it starts to run dry: 
"So, big plans for the weekend?"
"Don't know yet, might have a date," Gorgeous George replied, because of course he fucking did. 

<freeze-frame>
The thing you need to understand about Gorgeous George is that he generates a Cognitive Dissonance Field.
You meet him, and he's absolutely unintimidating - medium height and slight build which suggest a complete lack of threat, sandy hair tussled in a way that can only to be the result of careful de-reconstruction or having just pulled off a bike helmet, a smile which exudes just a bit too much casual charisma, and ice-blue eyes which look at you earnestly and project such utter sincerity that puts you so immediately and perfectly at-ease that your lizard-brain goes into full-blown Admiral Akbar mode.
You find yourself bracing yourself for it to be a trap...
... which somehow doesn't spring because it was never there in the first place. 
He's simultaneously modest about his abilities, and utterly assured that he's the fastest motherfucker in the room.
Because he is.
It's not ego; it's simple fact and he knows it, but it's also not arrogance because he straight-up doesn't care. He's demolished me on rides and shrugged off congratulation; I've passed him on the outside of a corner and pulled so far ahead that I already had my helmet off when he pulled up to the stop and given me real, meaningful tips on how to be FASTER. 
He's the only person I've ever met who achieves gravity without mass, magnetism without a trace of iron, suave without a hint of smarm.
Of course Gorgeous George has a date this weekend; when you put all the pieces of him together identikit-stylez and feed the image into Nano Banana with the prompt "what is this?" you'll receive the reply "This is an image of the taxonomic ideogram depicting a calculated construction of what it would look like if evolution and selective-breeding were to create God's Perfect Fuckboi". 
And it will be absolutely and undeniably correct whilst also being completely and utterly wrong. 
Gorgeous George is both none of the things he appears to be, and everything it says on the tin.
Both parts of my brain want to be friends with him whilst fighting to the death over why the other is full of shit. 
Let them fight.
I was going to be either way. 
</freeze-frame>

"But next week is free," he continued, "come to FNR, my crew'll be going for a ride."
"You know I can't go to FNR," I reminded him, even more for Mia's ears than his, "it's my Ex's patch and I REALLY don't want Her thinking I'm there trying to find Her." 
"Nah man, send it; you need to stop being afraid of your ex."
"But..."
"She's not been going to FNR," Mia chimed in, "and when she does she's been turning up in a car."
"...
"Why would She be turning up in a car...?"
"Some fucker tried to steal her bike - she's been off the road for like 10 weeks."
"Shit... what...? Damn... She was so happy when she got that, we went up to Sydney to pick it up," I showed them the photo of Her grinning like a dork leaned against the Suzuki GSX-R750 She'd owned for all of 4 hours at the point I snapped it at the Marulan BP we stopped at on our way back to Canberra, "did they... how much damage did they do?" 
Conversation ran through the professional- and mechanical-ineptitude of Eye Candy Motorcycles and the crime-rate in Queanbeyan. 
"See? She's not even going, you're fine."
"...
"...
"I guess... maybe it'd be Safe? 
"But I'm not showing up alone... what would people think?"
"Fine. Meet me up here, you can arrive in a group."
"..."
"C'mon man.
"Send it."
"I... OK... fuck it.
"But if She's there I'm just gonna keep riding...
"...
"... and if I leave in a hurry, you'll know why."

So 8 days later I arrived at the Friday Nite Ride nexus-meetup at the tail-end of a convoy on my Triumph with Gorgeous George and his friend Kaesi, with the thundering of my pulse in my ears drowning out the sound of prejudgemental guilt I felt for having the audacity to even be there in the first place coming out of my helmet comm's, scanned the crowd as we did the lazy bog-lap I'd never told Georgeous George I'd need to do, and after a panicked false-positive pulled up, reversed in, and got introduced to a crowd of new friends. 

Then we went for a ride. 

Running around late at night practicing my photography was Gorgeous George's fault as well in a roundabout sort of way, although Dropbear provided plenty of encouragement of his own. On one of those afternoons sitting at Arbo he was talking about wanting to get some nice photos of his bikes, and having a whinge about how much money motorcycle-centric photographers charged. 

"Well... I've got a vaguely decent camera I keep meaning to learn how to use - if you can show me some examples of what you want I'll do it for free. I've got a lot of time on my hands, and I could use the practice..." 

We tried a few at Arbo here and there, and I was talking about it with Dropbear who wanted to try some near Carillon with his new girlfriend Ruby. They were the ones who taught me the main rule of motorcycle-photography; "no plates, no faces," is mainly to do with records of people breaking road rules, but I decided to adopt it generally anyway because I find it incredibly liberating. I hate having photos taken of me because I'm completely unable to pose naturally. I'm fine if someone snaps me when I'm not paying attention - sometimes I even look pretty decent, but the moment I try to make my face smile something happens to the fabric of the universe and what shows up looks like someone left a rubber clown mask draped over the collection of bobble-heads they keep blu tack'd to the dashboard of their car whilst it was parked in the sun during a heatwave. Give me a mask to wear, especially a biomechanical skull with blood dripping off its chainsaw teeth, and I actually look pretty fucking cool... even when being a bit bromantically silly: 

I got some REALLY nice ones of all three of our bikes one afternoon Gorgeous George joined us because of course they already fucking knew each other - turns out he ALSO owns a CBR650R: 

I took to saving them to a public share on my private photo server, which on a whim I published as Jinba Ittai. Whether that was before or after I designed a custom decal from the kanji probably wasn't worth remembering, but what I really should remember is to put in the order for the prints because it'll be, I reckon, pretty fucking cool: 

"So... now what? Where's all this headed? What's the plan and what's the point?" I can imagine you asking yourself, and the answer is: 
"Fuck knows. Nowhere. There isn't one."

I had plans, I thought I knew where I was heading, and I failed those Phases so hard I got Blocked from ever getting there. I don't know what I'm going to do next, when job will happen, and...
I've stopped caring. 

Welcome to Phase 5. 

I know that tomorrow is a public holiday, and Dropbear and Gorgeous George were talking about doing a Mt Mac run. 
I know I have a design in my head for a nifty pattern using reflective tape I want to sew on the back of the kevlar-lined hoodie Dropbear gave me in exchange for the new front brake master cylinder I paid for. 
I know people who are spinning up a new ride crew called Sanctum, and have invited me along to the photo shoot they're doing for promo pics and vids, which should give me a chance to try out an idea for another ghost-style photo, this time where I roll the bike into the frame from the left-hand side with the lights on, then stop and sit still for the rest of the exposure to I get the light-trail effect, and both me, and my Buzzsaw helmet, and my Triumph look a bit intangible. 
I know that I'll do all of these things when I feel like it, for the sole purpose of having done them, then post them to Instagram, and if people like them then that's great for them, but beyond being interesting enough that people want to hang out with me I really don't give a fuck so long as I have fun doing it.
I know that half the things I make I won't care about once I've finished them, and will just give away because the point was to work out how to do it, not to keep whatever it is.
I know I'm stuck here, and for now I don't have a whole lot better to do, but filling my days with weird creative projects, pretentious photography, sitting around Arbo talking shit with strangers, keeping Dropbear company when his depression is biting just a bit too hard, getting wheelie lessons from Gorgeous George, and rediscovering how to have FUN has been making that a whole lot easier to deal with.

I know that no matter how much I'd love to share all these things with Her, She'll probably never see them.

And I know I'm going to do them anyway because I CAN, and I fucking feel like it.
I'm not doing any of it for Her, I'm doing it for me.

Rabeh would be SO proud. 

But y'know, I've said it before, and I may even one day say it again اگر خدا بخواهد:

"Rebirth (or Resurrection) is never gentle, let alone kind. You have to die before you can be reborn after all..."

Oh my god 

We're going for a ride...