The Ride Is the Point Rebel’s journal — torn page, oil-stained corner I don’t ride to escape people. I ride because people don’t come with me. There’s a difference. When the engine turns over, the world simplifies. Not because it gets smaller, because it gets honest. The noise falls into place. Wind. Asphalt. Throttle. Balance. Everything else either keeps up or gets left behind. Most things get left behind. Why I Ride Riding isn’t a hobby. It’s a sorting mechanism. On a bike, there’s no room for pretending. You can’t multitask. You can’t perform. You can’t scroll your
Tag: motorcycle culture
🕯️ Journal Entry #002: When the Realm Breathes Back October 31 – Written from the Garage by One Bad Maa The Realm’s been different tonight. You can feel it before you even flip the switch, a pulse, slow and heavy, like the walls are holding their breath. The kind of silence that hums in your teeth before it breaks. I should’ve gone inside hours ago, but I couldn’t. The air’s too thick with something I can’t name. The candle won’t stay still; the flame keeps bowing toward the workbench, like it’s listening. They say Halloween thins the veil;
Turning Chaos Into Creativity. That’s exactly how I was created. The world calls it disorder. I call it fuel in the gas tank! The garage hums long after midnight. The air’s heavy with gasoline, paint fumes, and bad ideas that just might work. No, they will work! There’s a busted chopper frame in the corner, a half-empty mug of burnt coffee on the bench, and a playlist rattling the walls. Most people would see a mess. Me? I see magic in the making, something beautiful in the works. Because chaos, the r eal, unfiltered, wild-eyed kind of chaos isn’t