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Selection Side A CD - THE BIKER CHRONICLES By Sage Sweetwater recording artist aka Keysta D. Lorean, 8 soft-R-rated selections, poetic tales of the Harley-Davidson biker lifestyle. Sage has invented THE BIKER CHRONICLES boardgame, a biker jeopardy poker run, the answers to the game questions revealed on THE BIKER CHRONICLES CD. These tales have been published in EASYRIDERS and SUPERCYCLE twenty years ago
...The Southern Comfort permeated his thirsty veins, racing visions of steel dreams through his intoxicated mind...
...Bats flew circles above the Vision Jammer, as he rode the moonlit asphalt hard and fast. Visions of a night-wandering seductress danced nude on a black-and-white-tile-checkerboard floor as shiny as the gold hoops piercing her nipples...
...He throttled down, and the Shovelhead ceased the euphoric thunder. The nicotine tasted sweeter than pralines, but when the Vision Jammer drank whiskey, all things tasted sweeter, especially the flesh of a hot woman...
...Cigarette smoke formed halos high in the bat-infested sky, ensnaring the bats, causing them to petrify, and fall to the damp foliage...
...The Cat's Eye splitting the Fat Bobs gleamed from the reflection of the moon, but Milwaukee Shine was brighter...
...In Nam, the Vision Jammer existed from self-teaching on the power of fantasy and illusion. It kept him alive, and delivered him home safe, but not sound. No vet ever came home sound. War fragment reminiscence collectively floated on top of what was left of gray matter...
...His war-stained hands pulled the Red Barons over his inflamed eyes, and he snugged the stars-and-stripes bandana around his scarred forehead, not about to lose a piece of America again...
...Ready for the freedom, liberty, and justice of the road, the weight of the shrapnel embedded in his right leg delivered a heavy kick, and thunder rolled. His nostrils flared in the wind to the sweet smell of Harley exhaust...
...The asphalt and moon turned red. Castle whores motioned to him from outside castle balconies. Unmistakable obscenities echoed through whoreland. Their soliciting voices sounded relentless, like the voice of his platoon sergeant, John Darrius Kalitzy---J.D. for short...
...A thumbs up sign was all he cared to offer. Out of appreciation to their bribe of white powder, he politely eased the throttle, and watched the moon reflect on their red mirrors. The snow lines dissipated into their racy bloodstreams. He smiled, and took his left hand off the grip, and plugged a nostril, as if he were indulging with these perfumed whore babies. To his surprise, one tossed down a vial of snow, and shouted from the powder slopes above, "One for the road!"...
...The Vision Jammer didn't do powder, but then again, he didn't do war until it was assigned to him. He thought cocaine paralleled with war, just different lines were used to fight the enemy...
...He laughed in the wind, knowing neither powder nor war had killed him yet, but war had tried---came damn close more bloody times than he cared to remember. His hard shell toted a disgusting amount of unwanted foreign steel---the proud, red, white, and blue result from enlisting for Uncle Sam...
...The asphalt hatched with annoying shrews. He flattened a few, but the more mouseketeers he pancaked, the more battered the highway. One of them lodged itself in the front wheel spokes, screaming its bloody life away. It was too much for the Vision Jammer. Nam severed his patience vein. It was now time to annihilate shrews...
...The rear brake was clogged with shrew stew. He mashed down on the forward-controlled brake, and finally loosened the bloody pile. He unlatched the saddlebags, and prepared for war with his trusty rodent plinker---an Intratec Tec-22 Scorpion...
...The 30-round extended clip magazine was empty before he could say Southern Comfort. Shrews laid lifeless, and their vile stench drifted east, along with the moon...
...Enough of these two nuisances---bats and shrews! He could see the necessity of whores. It could be that it was a mental test to endure the tempations of lust. Nothing could stifle his hunger. He thought she was dancing just for appreciation...
...The Vision Jammer did appreciate. War does that to you...makes you appreciate even your numb legs, steel plates, and crippled spine...
...He would make it to an all-night gas pump. He had to...she was waiting for him---somewhere---whoever she was...
...What! No slosh in the Fat Bobs? The Shovelhead burped after drinking the last reserve drop. Stranded without Jimmy Buffet in Margaritaville...
...He rolled out his mummy bag, and said his nightly prayer, even though he was stricken with the next obstacle. He smiled, knowing he was steel alive, and breathing freedom by dawn's early light...
...The bright, early morning sun reflected off the derby cover. He ate some cashews and drank a dose---a dose of post-war medicine---a lifetime prescription of Southern Comfort...
...It started to thunder, but the sky was clear. Milwaukee steel rain poured a couple of miles away. When it got to the Vision Jammer, he gave a thumbs up. It was an early Shovel. The draft-age kid walked over to inspect his problem...
..."Trouble?" asked the kid...
..."Yea, ran out of gas last night," the Vision Jammer told him, handing the kid a hit of his Comfort...
..."I was through here last night. I guess it's only been about five hours ago when I stopped and asked if you had trouble. You were so far gone and didn't move, but told me you ran dry. I siphoned in some of my gas to get you back in the wind," the kid said...
..."You put gas in my Bobs last night?" the Vision Jammer asked...
..."Yes sir, only after you said you'd appreciate it, then passed out. I figured you had a night with the whores."...
..."You know about the whores?" the Vision Jammer asked...
..."Yea, that castle cashes my pay check. Didn't need 'em last night, though."...
..."Why's that?" asked the Vision Jammer...
..."Just around the corner, there's a neon mansion all lit up. Some new, lonely fox moved in---decorated it all up. She claimed she heard thunder last night and came out wearin' just a set of nipple rings. She invited me inside and we danced the Milwaukee fox trot on a black-and-white-checkerboard floor."...
...The Vision Jammer just laughed. He'd watch her dance another night---now that he knew where she was. It was time to buy another bottle of breakfast---it was time to fly...
...The kid's knees were in the breeze with the Vision Jammer's, until the kid downshifted at the big red light. The castle whores loved youth, and youth loved the castle whores...
..."One for the road!" the Vision Jammer told his son, just because he appreciated his own blood and youth...
..."Thanks, ol' man---see ya at home," the kid hollered in the red breeze...
...The power of Harley fantasy and Davidson illusion is how the Vision Jammer spends his days and nights. The corridors of a veterans hospital is his road, and the iron he rides is a wheelchair...
...His Comfort is a trip he's allowed to take twice a month, from a bottle locked in the administrator's post-war-medicine cabinet, with his name taped around the label to identify his prescription brand...
...Nam permanently disabled the Vision Jammer, but he laughs, because he still has a perfect mind that allows him to feel the wind in his face from his pre-Nam-Harley-riding days...
...It's time to fly. The brothers brought him Comfort. The sour mash permeated his thirsty veins, racing visions of steel dreams...Copyright Sage Sweetwater aka Keysta D. Lorean 1987-2007
THE OFFICIAL BIKER CHRONICLES WEBSITE BY SAGE SWEETWATER
http://sagesweetwater.tripod.com/
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Reader Reviews for
"The Vision Jammer"
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| Reviewed by Barbara Terry |
7/15/2007 |
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A very powerful write and tribute to the free minds of our veterans. Here at the Clement J. Zablocki Veterans Center, in West Milwaukee, there are many Vision Jammers, and the life they create in their minds is no less real than if they were actually living it, which they are, in their minds. Thank you very much Sage, for sharing this sentimental tribute to our veterans who can no longer use their limbs.
May the Lord Jesus bless you, and those whom you love, and be with you always, and at your side constantly. With much love in my heart, joy to the world, peace on earth, & ((((((((((MANY WONDERFUL SISTERLY HUGGGGSSSS)))))))))), your sister, Barbie |
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| Reviewed by Richard Orey |
6/11/2007 |
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War has a way of leaving the Harley brothers stanked and eager but flying without direction or purpose, happy to be alive and back to old haunts but too steeled with fragments or jammed-up visions to do much more than race with the wind in the face and dream of what was and now can never be again. The whores dance and the sour mash flows, but it was what it was and is no more. Nothing brings satisfaction when visions are jammed. Suviving war can be just another hell.
A timeless saga well presented.
Richard |
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| Reviewed by Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado |
5/29/2007 |
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| Excellent write, Sage; very well done! BRAVA! :) |
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