Morbid Filler

Should I pitch a fit about motorcycles?

Actually, why would I? It accomplishes nothing useful.

Then again it is also true that the latest Bug Martini brings to mind less pleasant associations with the two-wheeled demons.

Triptych detail of 'Bug Martini' by Adam Huber, 11 June 2015.Like how it seemed really weird, once upon a long lost youth, how it turned out that as everyone fought over loud music to the point that they had to make up general noise ordinances, someone somewhere tried to exempt Harley Davidson motorcycles specifically. That kind of hurt the rebellious glamour of the legendary bikes for some, but nobody really cares. The thing is that if I try to compare rap music and McDonald’s, it wouldn’t make any sense to you, but that actually has a small chapter in the story.

Never mind.

There are the bikes that can still be heard racing along the state highway near my home, and I do mean racing.

Or the time … I mean, you know, the first time your child sees a scene and knows someone has died. Seriously, the bike pretty much exploded when it hit the car. Maybe not in the fiery sense, but it was scattered in small pieces. Luckily, the body was out of view.

I don’t hate motorcycles. I just need filler. And, well, I don’t know, blame Adam.


Image note: Triptych detail of Bug Martini by Adam Huber, 11 June 2015.

Going Out In Style

Corpse on a MotorcycleIt is often said that funerals are for the living, so I’m not sure what to make of a story out of San Juan, Puerto Rico. Morticians at the Marin Funeral Home paid homage to David Morales Colón, a twenty-two year old shooting victim, by arranging his body for display at the wake on his motorcycle.

No, really. If you don’t believe me, the story is up at Jalopnik, which pulled its coverage from the Guaynabo tabloid, Primera Hora.

Corpse on a Motorcycle, AgainBut no, I’m not sure what to think. I mean, part of me despises grandiose funerary rites as misguided therapeutic rituals for the survivors. But then, there’s also a part of me that wants to follow Timothy Leary and Gene Roddenberry, to be shot into space and allowed to decay from orbit. (See Ray Bradbury’s “Kaleidoscope”.) Given the extravagance, though, I think it would be much more fun for the living to shoot my remains out of a cannon. You know, just for the hell of it. Leave ’em laughing, that sort of thing.

So, yes, that part of me looks at the late Señor Colón on his motorcycle and thinks, “Yeah, that’s pretty cool. Ride on, zombie.”