Death Of Religion And The Leaves Of Change
Article By: Jimmy Frizzell
Originally Published In The February 2018 Issue Of Cycle Source Magazine
The world is louder and crisper as the temperature starts to drop and the wind has no barrier to slow it down. Riding doesn’t come as frequently when you have to strategically plot the optimum layer combination that will still fit under your leather. Eventually, you just throw on the Carharts and a pair of welding gloves and go for broke. No bad days. While the fallen leaves have pretty much vacated the side of the roads to the point, they won’t cause much of a riding nuisance my backyard is riddled with a nice thin blanket of tree rot, and it annoys me to no end. I hate leaves, they hide the dog shit, and metaphorically speaking this world has too many leaves.
It seems to me that there is less of an emphasis on the goal and more on the perceived process. Everyone wants to be a rockstar and no one wants to do the work. The sheep fall prey to a delusion of grandeur and fail to look past their new plastic idol’s bullshit persona. It’s a popularity contest, and the biggest pile of crap catches the most leaves. Now, my problem is that I’m stuck in a god damn excavator talking to myself for the better part of the day. After I get home and the kids are passed out, I bury my head in an art project or a piece of my bike; I spend the entire day stuck in my own head. The result, stupid analogies about dog poop and maple leaves. If I did drugs, it may all be just that much more romantic. I hate images and most of all I despise the idiots that fall for them.
For me, Motorcycles and art go hand and hand. The chaos and the beauty of both are inviting, ritualistic and healing. I want to be in my own head laying paint or carving roads. I don’t want life to interrupt that process, and the destination or the finished piece of art is the final product. It doesn’t matter how I got there; it doesn’t matter how anyone gets there. Let what you have done stand for what you are capable of. No one cares about the struggle until you’ve succeeded and the only thing the world loves more then a rising star is a falling one. The art of being selfish is a dying enigma lost to the politically abiding mutated socialites pandering to the mass appeal of a Stepford wife ideology. Selfishness is the great motivator, you succeed only to satisfy what burns deep inside you, and you’re only able to go as far as it drives you. When you pander to the masses, you tarnish your own vision to obtain tainted merit. Nobody knows what the f#@k you want, they golf clap your existence away because they don’t want to be rude and the dick next to them just follows along because the food chain thrives on mouth breathers, the chain reaction of socialization distributes false accolades until the smiles are spread like Ritalin in an elementary school. The masses grade on a curve, they always have.
Selfishness and originality go hand in hand like beer and pretzels. You don’t have one without the other being in the mix. And quite possibly breaking away from the norm and creating something that is hated shows that you’re actually doing something right for a change. Go in a thousand percent with your fist to the pavement and show the world how much of a f#@k you don’t give, but actually mean it.
Builds are beginning to clone themselves with art and culture a close second. Shit’s getting too safe and vanilla. People are too afraid to put their feelings in front of everyone else’s and that shits getting stale. Long live the assholes that say fuck all and bury themselves in the build completely losing touch with reality only to emerge pale skinned, emaciated, teeth stained of cigarettes and coffee completely batshit crazed over what they just conquered. Fallow the vision and screw the etiquette. We are all going down one way or the other it might as well be on our own terms, by our own actions. Stop being polite, start being honest, bring back the edge, because the world only falls in love with assholes. There’s are a hundred and one people doing it the right way, the safe way, the popular way, someone has to go against the mold, fallow their own path because without them, nothing will ever change and the leaves will blow endlessly.