No Handlebars.

the tunes work well with the words

Make me a certified member of the Lost and Never Found. I just want to wonder and wander, and smile at pretty girls under the pale moonlight. And similar clichés. I want the particulars to sort out in the wash, and I never want to worry about the details. I want to hit hard and leave mouths open in my wake as they say, “wow, there goes an original.”

I want to travel by train, and play the guitar with cowboys. Around a campfire. With coyotes howling the background. And I want someone to take the picture and put it on a pack of cigarettes sold in a third world country. But only to hipsters on vacation, not to the locals. Maybe local hipsters, if such a thing exists. I want my exit interview to be conducted in Spanish by a white person from HR, who grew up on my block in Michigan. And if she refuses, I’m going to ask for a translator.

photo by Simone Badour

I want to jump on a bandwagon too late. I want to make it rain. Like rain dance style, not strip club style. I want the Twins and the Vikings and the Wild to win their respective championships. I want Wolves season tickets, but I want the Blazers to win the title. I want to be a fly on the wall during the recording of a hit record. I’ll sit quietly in the back and drink whiskey from the bottle and order Chinese food for everyone. I want to be a local artist. I want be a regular at a local coffee shop. I want to take this shit abroad. I want to unite the masses, and ride my bike with no handlebars. No handlebars. No handlebars. I want to get caught on the bridge in a thunderstorm, and I want to watch her mascara run. I will offer her a tissue.

I want to find some more ice. I want the whiskey on this midnight cross country train to be a little smoother. I want to be a little more poetic. I want to say something. I want to be elected to higher office and resign after two terms. I want to lead people. Even if it’s just to the pub. I never ever want to take anything for granted. I want to give away drinks on trains to people who don’t ask for them. I want to charge spring break prices for people who do ask. I want to listen to Minneapolis hip hop in the middle of nowhere eastern Montana. And I want to watch a cowboy, in his boots, c-walk to it.

photo by Simone Badour

I want to take charge. I want to ride shotgun. I want to navigate. I want to paint a picture of you and sell it at the art walk downtown Los Angeles, and then use the proceeds to buy the bar a round at King Eddy’s Saloon. I want to die poor with a smile on my face. I want people to drink heavily at my wake. I just want all of us to be happy.
I want you to check out Simone Badour Photography


4 responses to “No Handlebars.

  1. Pingback: Tweets that mention No Handlebars. « The Anarchist Project --

  2. Well, I think you already are an original. And you are pretty damned poetic as well.

    I would follow you to a pub for sure.

  3. You’re going to be the c-walking cowboy, Sean Brown. And I’d rain dance with you any day.

  4. I loved every part of this post..except the part about The Wild. Tampa Bay all the way baby. Stop laughing. We did it once..we’ll do it again.

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