newest experiment

now that the adrenaline has finally subsided from its swirlings, check this out:

I succesfully got into the worst biking accident of my life today! Hooray!
And my reward? Give me a few months; we'll see how long these injuries endure.
Fortunately the golf ball between my skull and forehead disappeared as quickly as the short cement pillar summoned it's ugliness.
Areola, I'll miss your full circumference. Left arm bicep skin - good riddance, right? I mean, seriously, that was where my only tattoo was gonna go, so Ha! Take that society- as always I'll opt for au natural. As Jordan Lykins so eloquently observed, when looking at my current appearance, one cannot help but be reminded of a poor dark sailor after receiving forty lashes, or Jesus as they raised him to the cross (minus a thorny coxcomb). Shoulder, side, arms, forehead, bright red painful streaks - I guess my fecitiousness is only to mask my sincerely apologetic undertones. You and I both know that this is all very Stupid. I've done many stupid things before, to you and me and others, but this one creamy-whipped top them all... Stan better have seen my fancy foot-trick as I raced across that busy overpass connecting Del Taco and Rite Aid. He certainly got a dose of trickery once I'd lost all control, and my usually-immaculate movements were destroyed by a rush of sliding concrete on flesh, tumbled arms and my head's halting in a collision of timeless disagreement.

The Goonies.
"Good enough, for you it's Good Enough, for me it's Goooood Enough" those notes that were already singing through the summer air, something happened to me in these few seconds of unworldy confusion. Something that was so fast, so quick, so unexpected yet so vivid happened to me while Stan and Phil watched on. Something really happened. Something so real and incredible that immediately after I was done, I'd gained one of the weirdest memories I'll ever have. Here goes:
Goonies was playing in my head, and then the fastest dream ever. The dream was this -
Goonies morphed into sounds and pictures that make no sense but are all familiar, and then it was like somebody flipped through television stations with the sound on, only so fleetingly that all I could hear was BLLLLRPRPPschshRP, and like staring at the sun for too long, I had the images of this dream etched into my retinas, immediately...so that as I looked up at Stan I already wanted to tell him about it. The sounds I heard, the things that just whipped across my mind. And I think now, it's incredible - it wasn't during falling that I had heard and seen these things, it was in the seconds before. I had my foot out, stupid tricks, and then came a moment when I completely knew I wasn't going to make it. In that moment, and just before and just after, that's when I had the fastest dream ever. That's when Goonies became blrrrpeys and bikes and kids became a dance of colors and ideas. It was the fastest thing, and as I crashed I didn't even know I hit my head. Stan had to tell me I did, since that ominous golfball was hiding already beneath my skin. He also told me to stay still...but I know better than that. In confusion, there needs be decision. I decided that I needed to get the heck to the nearest safe place I could find that was not on the cement walkway of a busy freeway overpass.

5 minutes later I was ahead of the boys, bloody, biking up to Rite Aid, washing one cut in the bathroom, stealing their breakroom freezer's ice pack, and sitting with Stan, shirtless and torn up, talking and talking and talking and talking. Talking. But Stan, oh Stan, the good good man. Until we were beckoned to leave the building, he stuck right there. He heroed me, when I needed a hero the most. I have had very few times in my life when I, Mikie Beatty, am so helpless that I am reaching out my hand for a hand to save me. And today Stan was there, a hero, with his hand outstreched for me. I love you Stan.

Darin picks me up. Darin's driving, I'm burning. We get to the house and he lets me take my course of care - so that as I scream and groan and gnash my teeth in the bathroom, while my wounds disinfect and my body settles into it's new state, he patiently lets me take my course. So Darin you have my hearty thanks as well.

And now here I sit. Alone at Heather's. Covered in neosporin. Kind of an adventure I guess. What's sweet is that when all is said and done the truth of it is, these cuts look pretty rad. They're the perfect way to let a bunch of road rashes and chest gashes happen to you, almost like I chose to put them in their respective spots artistically, rather than them just happening by chance. My face, a sort of important tool for an actor, remains almost completely unscathed (aside from one golfball's trace).

What have we learned here?
HA. Haha. Not really about riding bikes, not really about showing off or cautiousness. Instead, I learned that the human body, when kept and physically well, can withstand some pretty darn gnarly stuff. Even though infection is possible, and pain will ensue, I now know that my body is in this case way more in control of Me than I am of it. And so body, I salute you, your independence, your quickness to heal, your accuracy, and maybe from now on I'll respect your functions a little more thoroughly than I have been. Because I love you body. You're my instrument for beautiful music. I won't let my selfish desires or moody dispositions take away from me my most important friend in life, You.