The Broken Sculpture

Broken Sculptures

i proclaim myself broken

i don’t want your life of perfection,

perfection isn’t happiness,

it isn’t the wild life i live,

or the one i strive to conquer,

life has it’s faults,

it’s downfalls,

it’s surprises…

it the wonderful unpredicted

the clock without hands,

i am not broken,

perfection is the photograph,

hanging straight on a wall,

while the truth hides in the cracks,

look under the sculpted faces,

see the saddened eyes,

the hurt that buries itself.

truth is seen as the enemy,

but isn’t it what sets us free?

by Rissa

Northern Coast Driving

We all read and seen everything about Highway One driving on the coast.   Sunset photographs or the Porsche on a winding road all get to see the attention of top down, wind through the air, coastal cruising.  Quite poetic I’ll say, because just about everywhere in the world the long stretch of ocean views between Mendocino County and San Luis Obispo County in the California appears in just about every national and international Porsche article.  What is it that hypnotized us between the aromatic romance of the road and well.. those we share our lives with?  Is such an inanimate object like an automobile suppose to drain us from our own freewill that characterizes our personalities?

One can test these questions armed with a full tank of high octane fuel and a packed lunch.  Heading south from Jenner is to drive along the Pacific coastline.   The area is riddled with fine ocean view dining, romantic lodging and an assortment of creative gift shops.  Mesmerizing scenic views will take you to spectacular cliffs and accessible beaches including Goat Rock State Park.  Do not fail to get out of your car and take the 20 minute hike to the water’s edge.    Shades of organic grass and trees, rocks and sand and scent of oceanic nature fill the air rooting life.

You become very aware of your tires gripping to hairpin turns of changing elevations.  Smooth gear transitions the various RPM and climbing in and out of turns swoops down on completions of miles.   It doesn’t take spoiler wings and an overkill of rear suspension to know your car isn’t going to fly off the edge, but rather you are simply going to hang, and hang hard.    Then toe heel pedal maneuvers while shifting at split second 6000 rpm red-lining your split second decisions hold you to inside curves as scenery blend and blur outside your windshield.  With only time to notice the slow motion articulation of gas pedal and sounds of grumbling exhaust the blackness inside your car is the only constant variable in all the movement around you.  Seconds of jittery distances of ocean blue water glimpse and horizon sky’s become buried in the moving angle of your car.

You become amazed centering a kind of charismatic zen pulling you like a magnet to hold your line.  Speed becomes second nature and all around you opens up into nerve with skill and back to nerve.  Psychedelic quantities of distance covered and your apparition of coastal location meshes into a oneness without variation.  Beach blue, splashing waves curls in the energy just like inside your motor, endless and complete, seeking rest.   The curves driving flattens out and you are moment to then focus on the straight line drive ahead, gobbling up what appears to be breaks in the center divide.   The orange needle on your speedometer going up and up, reaching long past double digits with the occasional feel of triple digit.   One can feel triple digit just with sound and mental upstaging without actually breaking the law can make this form of driving rather enjoyable.

Your mind wanders back to the time of 1963 when a group of racers all whom commonly divide efforts for motor sports the passage of octane moves the veins of a car.   Like the ability to travel time, you see the signs to take you through small towns and then the eventual larger city.