The Black Rider

My Head’s a Flutter, My Mind Ablaze. I sift through my Senses and marvel over the wild trip on the Sunset Coast, moving at a meandering pace, a silhouette on the evening horizon, the Black Rider, sliding ’gainst the Western Sky.


Lying in a Field of Grass and Floating Lights, I watched the stars below me, flashing in a rainbow of Color, dancing free of their Constellations, bouncing and colliding in a whimsical celebration. My Guide eclipsed this tableau of explosions in the Void. I gazed down upon him, the slow grin creeping ‘cross my face answer to his query. In his Laughter my perspective shifted, Orion once again hanging above my view. The moment of Serenity passed; I rose, following my Guide back into the thronging mass, whirling Costumes capturing my Cosmos above, swaying before my eyes.


I plunged into the joyous crowd, a roar of Triumph exploding from my Soul, continuing even as I found myself flat on the bar floor. Fat Faces all around lifted me to my feet, their throats howling the same notes of Joy. At this bar, we’d sat together, already endured elation, already sung notes of Jubilee. On the Sands of Los Angeles we watched our Boys back East ride the surf we could hear breaking in the distance. The Brass Horns Resounded in the Lunar Eclipse! Morning had Broken! History had been made, our Prayers answered. That Dream in the Heart of every Red Sox Fan had blossomed into a glorious New Day.


I awoke to my final dawn in San Francisco surrounded by its Beauty and marveled at the New Day. The New Month had arrived, and my sister turned Sweet Sixteen on All Saint’s Day. With the passing of the Red Moon and the wild howling following it through the night, my saga in California had reached its climax: it had been the best week ever. It was time to go.


I’ve heard tell for years of a Festival in the flats of the Nevada Sand: wild, strange stories, images and descriptions, something truly awesome, akin to a religious experience and ineffable to all who venture forth into the open land. Though it lasts around a week, I found its energy burning through the veins of those enlightened ones. There formed a community, a bond between them all, and an openness to any who express interest in their creed. I found acceptance, no idea refuted, no image condemned, people free to express themselves without limit. Fantastic stories of Fire Breathing Dragons, Floating across a Moonlit Desert, Fresh Grilled Cheese Sandwiches. I found friendships formed, people enduring a singular experience bonding together. I found anticipation, drive towards the future. The Next Burning Man is eleven months away, and already the energy boils, people’s creativity channeling towards the next Cataclysmic Event.


I rested on the familiar steps of my Guide’s domicile, a place I knew well; where I’d seen others lay down in rest. ‘Ere long, my Guide came striding down the walk; his arms open in a welcoming embrace. My journey had begun here, four weeks earlier, reuniting with an old friend, and catching up on a decade. There was calm, craziness, there was creativity. We strolled through cities, reexamining each other’s lives, and our Roads ahead. At the start of my Journey, my Guide took me back to the beginning, back to the start. I took my first Trip, the surge swelling through my Body, the foreignness flowing through my Veins. Fur-clad, we roamed the Night, where we were admired as Objects of Beauty. My strides grew large, my stomach rolled. Inside and out, I found it all Gold.


When I bid farewell to Boston I did so with the fortunes of the Boston Red Sox determining my Fate. Back East, our Boys had their backs up against that mighty Green Monster in left field. They were up against the impossible, down three games to zero in a seven game set, and facing their Nemesis: The New York Yankees. Twice that hulking goliath, Papi, swung his bat, and twice his swing carried the day and promising a Tomorrow. And the Sox roared back into New York, the momentum of the swell carrying us into a rematch of last year’s Nightmare: Game 7, one game to decide it all. ’Twas the third time we’d stood at this spot, and twice before been leveled by men who’ve been re-christened with “Fuckin’” as a middle name. But our slumbering Cave Man woke, and claimed the title for his own: Johnny Fuckin’ Damon, Baby! And you say it with a grin! His bat connected, again and again driving the ball long, banging it Home. And the crowd went wild, myself overwrought in celebration, dancing through the bar in something soft and pink. And the tide broke against the Cardinals in St. Louis, buckling them under its weight.


Limbs intermingle. Participation folds into Voyeurism. Bodies move and attention shifts. Comparisons and Contrasts: People moving fluidly against Others. The Black Rider sauntered into the watering hole weary finally from the astral trip through the stars, yet entering the establishment the Pimp Daddy from Outer Space, a celestial Beauty on either side. The two trips had become one, and threatened to venture yet further into unexplored realms. Smiles, vivacity, mingling together, Laughter and music, a trio of notes sensuously accentuating the already vibrant air. Frolicking beneath a storefront, shopping for gifts, cigarettes shared while a smooth roller bounced in the street. The Lights grew dim, the Smoke heavy. Conversation faded in the San Francisco Night.


With my bags packed, I said goodbye to my California kin. Sammy, who’d been tearing bare-assed around the house, charged up to hug me farewell. Twenty-four years to the day my junior, Sammy and I had bonded over the past weeks, he teaching me how to change a “poopie” diaper and clean the lawn. Big Bob gave me a firm embrace, and a few words of wisdom for the road ahead. In the past month, we’d managed to thoroughly confuse Sammy with the influx of Bobs, so that by the end of my stay, in addition to: Big Bob, Little Bob, Cousin Bob and Daddy Bob, Sammy now knew Doggy Bob and Mommy Bob. Carol Bob drove me to my flight, opting for Bob’s Saab rather than the Beast of Steel Bob, which had recently come to inhabit the garage. With a promise of Art from ‘round the Globe, I embraced Carol in a last hug goodbye then turned to the terminal, my time in California at an end.


On All Hallows Eve, the World’s reality clicked off, werewolves and gypsies preying upon the land, winding their ways past the Tooth Fairy, resting after a Hard Day’s Night. Clad in shimmering rags from that Black Room near Venice Beach, I entered a Domain of Space Cowboys, and was soon carried along by the sound. We shot off into the Night, my rags leaving a glittering trail. People swayed and soared, my Trip again passing through a San Francisco Night. My feet carried by the beating drum no longer traced the trail of my Guide. I dance alone on a Path ‘cross the Sky, sparks lighting my steps, igniting Constellations amid the myriad of Color. My Guide had shown me the beginning, the Horizon now beckoned, my trail fading into the darkness, as I became the Black Rider that sparkling silhouette Chasing the Setting Sun.


I reflected on my week as I lay in the morning sunshine, the Cosmos on my left hand, Halloween on my right, and the rhythm of a Boston Bar in Hermosa Beach beating through my Heart. The Curtain had dropped, I marveled at the scenes that I’d beheld: Trips taken through Dancing Fields, Goals reached, and Expectations overwhelmed. Desires sated, and Dreams realized. The Sun moved from Left to Right as I slid down the coast one final time



“It is a Dream! I will Dream On!”