Les Os Vieil et Nouveaux et se Cassant et les Os sont (2008)

They tell me that my bones are riddled with hairline fractures. About a thousand of them. It's very strange to know that something inside of you that you never even used to think about -- your bones -- are dead and dying.

At the end of my last surgery, they couldn't get the right leg to align with the left leg so one is shorter than the other.

It means I can't run.

Strange. I can command my body to run and it wants to. But it won't follow through. Walking quickly is about the best I can do. Please don't tell me that my motorcycle days are over because I don't want to hear it.

When I am able to sleep, I dream of being on my big bike again.

Fully half the bones inside your flesh are metal or ceramic anyway, Writerboy. So much of you has been ...

Full Description

They tell me that my bones are riddled with hairline fractures. About a thousand of them. It's very strange to know that something inside of you that you never even used to think about -- your bones -- are dead and dying.

At the end of my last surgery, they couldn't get the right leg to align with the left leg so one is shorter than the other.

It means I can't run.

Strange. I can command my body to run and it wants to. But it won't follow through. Walking quickly is about the best I can do. Please don't tell me that my motorcycle days are over because I don't want to hear it.

When I am able to sleep, I dream of being on my big bike again.

Fully half the bones inside your flesh are metal or ceramic anyway, Writerboy. So much of you has been replaced. Those of us who think we are so irreplaceable are simply living in a fantasy. Not only can you be replaced but so can your constituent parts. They can grind the bad parts off your bones as well. The first time they wheeled me into surgery, I saw a power saw and I fainted. I was going to be out like a light anyway. On the bad nights you pray that you don't have to endure the agony of waking up one more time. Ending it doesn't sound all that bad. You have become the pain.

You think about it but you don't make any moves toward it. Not overtly. If death does not become you, you do wonder what does.

You stare at the ceiling thinking sleep might come but it can elude you even when you are beyond exhausted. How can mere sleep permeate these dead bones.

There is a simplicity to many answers.

The dog at the end of the bed is one. You two have bonded in ways you never knew were possible.

She has guided me through a lot of raging traffic.

She has also guided me through the traffic of a lot of rage. It is this two way street of enormous reciprocity. Like autumn is to spring. Like leaves are to the ground that waits for them and us.

Then there are the people who come to you.

The ones who climb into your bed. Not unlike shadows in pajamas.

Barerfoot. Their toes like ice.

To hold you.

To be held.

Sometimes they remind me of the way people held onto me when I drove them around on my bike. There are two kinds of people. There are people who hold onto you for dear life period. Their hands around your waist.

These are usually women.

Then there are people who only hold you (tight) when no one is looking. When they think someone might see them, they get real stiff and you can tell they are struggling to keep balanced so they don't fall off.

But the second they think no one is watching, they've got you. Around the waist again.

These are always men.

At first, I put a set of bones as the background for this graphic which will go into the video we're making. But the cliche. So I removed them.

Then. Rope. Yes.

Not unlike connective tissue.

But how do you illustrate pain.

Like leaves. In autumn. Falling everywhere to reveal a nakedness you knew was down there.

Leaves that soon enough will be burned.

They crack when you move them bones.

Like popcorn.

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