Poet Horton

Twist of Life

I come from a rather large family, eight of us to be exact. Five brothers and two sisters. I’m in the middle. Born to a military family we traveled a lot so I was always the new kid on the block. Not that that wasn’t hard enough as it is, but I had to follow my older brothers and the one sister through school, time and time again. Fact is, they could read and write, do the alphabet forwards and backwards and count in two languages before they entered school. This seemed to frustrate the teachers for some reason so the school board came down on my folks stating that it was their job to teach. Whatever else was said I’m not sure, but when it came time for me to go to school, the teachers all assumed my parents had already taught me so they neglected to even attempt to teach me anything. Therefore I never learned to read and write until around the fourth grade and only then because of my mom giving me comic books. That itself was the beginning of the system letting me down. This kind of action plagued my youth. When we returned from Germany the US school system was just starting integrating the schools. I was sent to one called “Lula G. Scott Elementary”. A one time school for Blacks that the system surely didn’t care too much about. But even there I was a bit of a problem and wound up having the school system shut me out again. This time they promised my folks that if they kept me out of school that they would graduate me and even allow me to attend any after school functions if I so desired, just so long as I didn’t enter the school itself, especially during school hours. Needless to say, I graduated from that school then it was on to the next one. All in all it was pretty much the same wherever I went, so I never really went to a complete school year and wound up dropping out completely after one day of the eighth grade.

It wasn’t long before my character started getting me into serious trouble. Not just with the law but with street gangs and other hoods. Eventually I wound up being busted and sent by the courts and the military’s “Champus” to “Boys town”. This was a place outside of Cincinnati, Ohio called Mount Alverno, a school for wayward boys run by the “Brothers of the Poor St. Francis”, an order of monks. I was there for three and a half years, but did manage to run off a few times while I was incarcerated there. I also broke quite a few records while there. I’ll talk about my time there on another occasion. I will, however say that an incident hat occurred while I was in “The Yard” actually turned my life around somewhat. And that I owe much of what I’ve become, (the good part of me that is), to one Brother Victor Callahan. He showed me trust, and his actions still influence me today. I owe him a lot. And I often wonder whatever became of him. Mt. Alverno was torn down in 1971 shortly after I was released back into the world. Which explains why I was released I guess.

About me:

:
I’m an old school harley ridin’ hardass with attitude. I’m over 50 now,still puttin’, and still an asshole. I grew up in the 60’s and 70’s, built my first hawg when I was but 12 years of age with the help of a coupla local hardcore tramps, now long dead, (but not forgotten). In my some 40 odd years of ridin’, I’ve ’bout seen it all, and been participant in most that. I’ve served in both the Army AND Navy, and honorbly discharged from both. A bad attitude with three failed marriages and one rightious ol’ lady who’se managed to hang with this old dog for well over 30 years now. I’ve ridden to and thru 49 of the 50 states and about 28 or so countries. Hopefully I’m remembered by a few with some degree of favorability, and to those that’ve found me unlikable, well, they can STILL kiss me where the sun don’t shine. Now I’ve been witness, as over the years tastes in sleds have changed, as has the “biker” community itself, and even how motorcyclists in general are now percieved. Myself, Well I believe Harley hasn’t really built a motorcycle since 1966, but then again thats just my opinion, and ya’ll know what they say about opinions! And one more thing…ownin’ a bike don’t make ya no biker! and bein’ a biker don’t make ya no badass! shiny up now ya hear!?

Never judge a book by its cover

“See us here we heathen type
smoking evil weed from homemade pipe
with greasestained jeans
and unkempt hair
a big ol’ “hawg”
and no underwear

filthy mouths and wicked minds
a form of life of the lowest kind
we fornicate, we fight
we ride, we lust

we eat like pigs
no-one we trust

uncouth, unclean, uncaring we
and naught but this they ever see
 so we flip the bird
and laughing shout…

” WE ARE THE PEOPLE OUR PARENTS WARNED US ABOUT!”

The wonder behind the “Thunder”

Memorial day always brings out a bit of angst in me. Don’t get me wrong here, after all, I’m a two service vet with two honorable discharges. And I fully support the actions of those members of the new Rolling Thunder crowd that commemorate the service of veterans everywhere and so show their support with this annual run to the wall and all. But what tics me off ever so slightly is this rolling thunder claims of their all being there for the first rolling thunder! That, my friends, is a load of bull! For one thing, the first event took place a few years earlier then when they’re claiming it did. Not only that, but the first run was over a helmet protest and simply escalated from there. Hell, the “Wall” hadn’t even been built for crissakes! The reason I know this was because I myself was there. The idea originated in the nudie bars in DC where many of us congregated at the time. The original crew were made up of one per-centers and radical independents, the unrecognized motorcycle society that so few wish to acknowledge. But like so many factions of our world, it has been turned to other meanings, much like the “Hog Riders” association taking the nickname of our Harleys and making it into some yuppie free for all, club patches and the whole nine yards. So is the way of “Rolling Thunder”. They’ve managed to do much the same with the handle given to the sound of gathering sleds of an underground nation.

Well, more power to ‘em, let ‘em go for it. Watch as they try and make respectable a tiny section of our life. Only thing is, if you look close enough, what makes them up these days are simply part timers and weekend warriors, old taggers that’ve found a new release in an old world. Like I said before…there are so few of us left, you rarely see the reality of what lays hidden behind the facade of today’s so called, “bikers”!

Music?

As I lay listening to the music on the satellite TV hookup, had it tuned to the 70’s station first off, and after searching all the stations and scoping’ on them for a bit, I’ve a pure opinion of the crux of today’s music the new youth are listening to…they’ve BUTCHERED it! I mean really. Of course the stations only go back to the forties but they cover each decade from the 40’s to the present. And they do it decade by decade, so you can actually get a fairly good grasp on the growth and/or destruction of the quality of lyrical expression over the years. And let me tell you, when one century ends, the sudden decline might just amaze you.

Music used to be a celebration of life’s trials and tribulations, with the whimsical and sometimes off the wall song thrown in just to keep ya grinning’. Even country music covered the realities of life with a bit of the dramatic, but the music was good, the rhythm was there, and you could not only relate to the songs but you could actually understand what the heck they were saying! Now-a-days you’re lucky to get the title right after hearing the same song a half dozen times wondering each time if that is indeed the same song?! And its more trash talk than anything even closely related to real music. I’m sorry if you don’t agree with my assessment of the musical trend. And if you are inclined to actually like that “rap” stuff, then I offer my sincere condolences for your lack of taste. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I hear some ZZ Top in the other room! Bye y’all…

To Show or not to Show..what was the question?

My youngest girl and I really did have a pretty good time at the antiques show in Brimfield, despite the fact we didn’t exactly break any sales records. The price of gas along with the setup fees and motel room rentals and the feeding of our faces takes a bit to catch up on when it comes to such shows. But we did manage to come out ahead enough to make a slight profit and get a few bills paid in the process. This was the second time my youngest got to go with me to this particular event. She really enjoys doing the markets with her Dad. And I really like having her assistance. She’s good company and makes me not miss bringing one of the bikes along. Although she likes taking a ride on the old rat bike nearly as much as her mom does!

“Brimfield”

Once again I got rained on at Brimfield! It would seem that the rain gods just won’t allow me the good fortune to get through a whole show in yankee-land without my getting wet! I’m beginning to have second thoughts as to my continuing to set up at the Brimfield Massachusetts antique show. While many of the dealers that I know continue to talk up their profit margin with tales of them making anywheres from 8 to 75 thousand dollars in three days. I can’t seem to break the 2 thousand mark for the life of me. And its not because of my gear, for crissakes, my gear is as good, and in many cases better, than what they carry. I’m sure some of the braggadocio is simply that. But I do see many of them making the big bucks while my booth is lacking in visitation. A lot of it may have to do with location. I have been offered by several other dealers to set up in their fields for a longer period of time at nearly the same costs. AND, they have more to offer then where I am at presently. Guess I am going to have to give it some serious thought if i am to continue doing the show there. maybe it is time for a change after all!

“Split-Apart”

There seems to be so few of us left. That is, people from my unrecognized society. Us Bikers, old timers, true one-per centers, radical independent nomads. and a half dozen other tags we’ve been given over the years. But there is your “ol’ lady”, not “old lady” but “ol’-lady”, (Trust me here, there is a difference), to whom you’ve committed yourself to, almost always but for a short period of time. But every so often, a man catches sight of his “split-apart”, that one special half of you that so few in life ever get the chance to know. Once the two halves make contact, there is nothing, and I do mean nothing, that could or would not be forgiven. The reason I bring this up is because of the ongoing drama being played out with the Hogans. You know, Hulk Hogan and family, from WWF to TV stardom etcetera, etcetera. Anyway they are being touted as the worlds perfect match, the clean family of moral standards, yada, yada, yada. Thing is is that ol Hulk had himself a little tryst with his daughters now ex-best friend and I guess ol wifey either walked in on them or the daughter did, never the less she is divorcing him over it. That’s when ya know the present love of your life just ain’t the one! I mean really, over a little indiscretion like humpin’ another woman?! Get real, and it works both ways too. Now I myself never did quite understand the concept of jealousy. Now I can see where a little light-hearted jealousy could possibly spice the relationship up a step or two when it comes down to it. But not the stupidity and grade school playground crap that we hear so much about these days. Forget it, it’s really pretty simple. If the love you hold for each other is pure in its essence and you have truly committed yourselves one unto the other, then there is no question as to the possibility that something or someone could come between the two, (or three), of you. (I had to add the “three” cause ya just never know!).

Anyway, your split-apart is the one mate you’ll grow old with, that is, if either of you is fortunate enough to even get to a ripe old age. Why, every indiscretion, every disagreement, all differences of opinion or beliefs, even any action that could possibly hurt one or the other’s feelings…is completely forgivable!  Now this doesn’t mean you won’t suffer the consequences of your actions. Just means she’s gonna forgive for dallying with that waitress down at the diner right as shes swinging the baseball bat at your head!

Below is myself and my lovely “split-apart” of over 30 years now!

On to Brimfield…

For several years I’ve been going to a place called Brimfield, in Massachusetts, to set up a booth of Native American gear, cowboy gear, antiquities of all sorts and collectibles ,ranging from the mundane to severely eclectic one of a kinds rarely seen anywhere else. Billed as the largest Flea market in the US, it offers what no other market has. The rule of thumb is that if it can be found for sale, it can be found in Brimfield!
This year my youngest will once again accompany me to the market for 4 to 5 days of working the retail, wholesale, trade and hustle business of the flea marketeer. She loves doing the markets with me, and with Brimfield being the largest and by far the most exciting, she is about as excited as a school girl can get over such things. But she really does have a good time with her ol’ dad, selling and trading our wares with the public at large. Gives her insight as to the character of different people, aids her in mathematics by her dealing with money repeatedly. She has learned different methods of packing and storage, setup and presentation, reading maps and figuring out directions.
This year though, what with the price of gas constantly rising and the frailty of the buying public’s fears about the economy, may be our last hurrah for awhile, at least when it comes to going all the way up to Massachusetts and dealing with paying high setup costs, out of sight gas prices and a faltering economy. We may be stuck doing the occasional yard sale or local flea markets if things don’t pick up soon. Between my failing health, aging and other family issues, long drives several states away could very well become a practice of the past. But you never know, things could always change. And I’m hoping they do, after all, it’s what I do!

Once again…

Seems I have someone who enjoys sending me short films based on the realities that most people don’t really want to know about. Thing is, although I must agree with a boatload of the evidence that surrounds the events spoken of, I do not always agree with the assumptions often alluded to by the makers of such films. For instance, if Michael Moore were the filmmaker involved I doubt I would even subject myself to watching any of his opinionated diatribe. But thank goodness neither of the films I’ve studied lately has anything to do with the retarded lard-bottom of butts ville. Still, one must question just what is fact and what is simply conspiracy theories. None the less, I must thank my reader for passing these on to me. They do confirm much of what I already know to be in line with the truth.

Now for the latest of questioning films that bring pause to what may or may not be believed, copy this link and paste to view:  http://video.google.com/videoplaydocid=7866929448192753501&q=loose+change+recut . You may, or you may not, believe! The choice is yours to make, I only point the direction in which to begin your search for the truth of things.