An Awakening

I have returned to reality from a dream. Waking up in a panicked flush - today is the day! Today I interview Evel Knievel! The Bionic Hero! The last Gladiator!

But upon my arrival to consciousness,  I experienced a bone-shattering crash of a realization.

Where have I been? What was I dreaming of?

Evel Knievel. Or...Robert?
He is not imortal like he is in my dream. In our dreams?
Evel Knievel is dead.

Did we kill him? Or are we somehow keeping him alive? 

The Goddess Descends

My arc begins to turn. I begin to curve down at my prey like a hawk going in for the kill. The world around me is on fire. My mouth is hot and ready and my eye’s are ice cold as they fix on the landing ramp. I will land this interview.

I could die here in the air. Leave my soul hanging in this iconic position. I’m sure when I finally meet Evel in person he’ll have that feeling. He’ll have been there. I’ll know him because I’ve flown like him. I’ll have reached an intimate place that no other woman has reached with him. My questions will be lust for his mind.

I pull tight on the handlebar of my bike and let its mechanical head rear-up. Standing on my Olympian-throne I come closer. I have succeeded in finding the invincible inside of me. I will awe the crowd. With my trophy of Evelness I will return to the ground with no broken bones, no splattered blood, no injuries except that of the earth yielding to my impact.

I see a passionate red!

A dark intense blue!

Then as the ramp reaches only a few feet away,

                                                A bright white flashes AND….

Flying is Nice

Flying is nice. I could fly forever. Forever in the midst of a cheering crowd. From up here I can see everything and everybody. Every heart in the audience-filled coliseum is sputtering towards the flight they wish they were out having.

I can see from here the three lives of Evel Knievel. There’s the Bobby version where he was at some point born, played with little plastic motorcycles; at some point was a teen, at some point had fears, at some point will age and die. Then there’s the Evel Knievel that everyone comes to see. The cyborg Knievel who was born on a roaring bike, lives to fly through the air, and will live forever, invincible to any tough spill or landing. Last, there’s the man behind the helmet. The man who could die. The man who has to keep up the show of an Olympian while soaring through the air towards a possible death. This is the version of Evel I am being right now.

I know what I need to do to hit this landing right. I know what I need to do to survive and get a good cheer. However, the temptation of the invincible, flying, goddess is hard to not get swept away in. The crowd thinks Evel can do anything. Can I do anything?  Could I just keep flying? I don’t need to land. That’s the dangerous thought. I’m invincible. I don’t have to land. I can just go up in the air and burst into flames like a phoenix before I hit anything. I am the cyborg melding with my motorcycle, the steal-eyed hero, the fearless immortal.

I look ahead of me with this newfound blaze of forever-flight. But at the edge of the landing ramp is Evel. At my desk. Staring at my pad and paper. Waiting for the first question. And I realize I will have to land, and I will have to land right.

For now though - as long as I don’t forget about the final part - the cheering, the confidence, and the flying is nice.

http://ftfworks.org/

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Past the Take-off Ramp

I’ve been collecting my thoughts like one would collect rainwater to measure its downfall. I have a lot of them and I am starting to know them now. I’ve been almost in a state of meditation. After my moment of apparent trials: yelling at friends, panicking, facing more wild dreams… I was burnt out. I had crashed my bike too many times on the start up ramp and I needed to stop and recollect my bones.

I’m ready to go again. I had another dream three nights ago, and I’ve had the same one each night since, but this one isn’t driving me insane; this one is my answer. The dream goes like this: I’m sitting on Evel Knievel’s bike at the front of the starting ramp. I’m wearing white. This time it’s not a bridal gown like so many other dreams where I’m being attacked by Evel’s ex-wives. This time it’s nothing virginal or sacrificial. This white represents my power. I’m a goddess, or an angel, or something.  I’m in control.

I rev the engine and I’m the one with the steel eyes, I’m the one with the flames, I’m the one with the mechanic infrastructure. I look ahead of me and see what I need to do. I know what I need to ask. I know what I want. I am flying, I am not panicking, I am not mundane, I am not afraid. Below me I see the dark cavern where I have been waiting. The lions, snakes, acid, and demons hoping for my failure are only manifestations of my past struggles. Now I fly over them. I don’t think about the landing, that time will come. I don’t think about my take-off, that time has past. I don’t think about my crashes, those times do not define me. I fly up and separate myself from the cold Earth.

In sleeping I have woken up. I’ve got my track. I am no longer spinning in circles. Evel, what do you fear most? What do you think about in the air? What was your first flight like? 

http://ftfworks.org/

https://www.facebook.com/pages/FTF-Works/411034938965143?fref=ts

You know who Evel Knievel is...right?

Well… I’m lost. I have my interview with Evel Knievel in just over two months and I have been everywhere from completely confident to 5 steps away from entering a psych ward. Now I don’t have anything.  This past couple of weeks has been nothing but a series of trials.

For example, last Monday I met with a rather new friend from work, and while I know I should have been talking with her about more interpersonal matters, all I could talk about was this interview. I went on this rant about the dreams I have been having, the questions I was going to ask, my possible romantic obsessions with Evel, my horrible fears that the ground was going to fall out beneath me and I’d be cast into a never ending fall towards a deep abyss of ignorance, all while being followed by Evel’s flaming, steel eyes and a haunting voice jeering at all my failures... I had another dream recently but we won’t get into that… Anyways, I was going on this rant and my ‘friend’ juts in with the most ghastly remark: “and who is it that you’re talking about?”

“…Evel Knievel!” I flared back with the most dejected facial expression I could muster.

“And who exactly is Evel Knievel?”

“What do you mean who is Evel Knievel? Who is Evel Knievel?! A man risks his life practically a million times for the sake of inspiring the public and you don’t know who Evel Knievel is?”

“Listen” she said with a deceptive air of comforting, “I gather that he’s this stunt man from your generation, I gather that you’re really excited to interview him, and I gather that you think he is, or was, a very important person… but do you really think he’s that important to get this worked up about? You’ve got a life too.”

At that point I was simply furious. Who doesn’t know who Evel Knievel is? And who has the audacity to compare my life to his! “My life isn’t Evel Knievel’s!” I shouted in just about tears “My life isn’t Evel Knievel’s, neither is yours, neither is anybody’s, and that’s the whole point!”

Then I, needless to say, stormed out of the coffee shop, marched home, and just flat out screamed for about two hours.

…Maybe I’m getting a little overwhelmed with all of this. But really, this is the most important thing I’ve done with my career thus far. You can’t just demean my work like that, and you certainly can’t demean the life of a man who basically gave up his for the sake of the public! Even if he’s a bit of a madman, that’s better than a bored isn’t it? At least that’s my excuse… 

http://ftfworks.org/

A More Practical Adventure

       I walked into a coffee shop the other day, sat down, and thought to myself “why the hell am I going crazy over this?” I have two and a half months before the interview. It’s just an interview. It’s my job. I am not headed off to marry Evel Knievel. I’m not going to ever understand the inner workings of his soul. He’s not going to take out a pistol and shoot me in the head just because I want to know what it was like when he purchased his first bike.

         Or at least I hope he won’t.

         Essentially, I will ask him the questions that I need to ask, I will get paid for it afterwards, and I will use that money to walk into the same coffee shop, get the same coffee, and stare into the same creamer thinking I see reflections of a more adventurous life.

         “Wow, I am sorry S.O.B.” I heard run through my conscience in Evel Knievel’s voice. So I got up and ordered a different beverage.

…Adventure.

         Though I was thoroughly content with my spontaneous outburst of an alternative routine that day, the second I hit my pillow I also hit my deeper fears. Why don’t I have a motorcycle?

          I’ve asked this question a million times: Is it really that I have an obsession with Evel, or do I just have an obsession with Evel’s life? Do I want Evel’s life.

          I could see that. World’s top female daredevil! Watch this Greek goddess sore! Every bone in her body has been broken! Twice! And she still charges off the platform in flaming, metallic high-heels!

          Perhaps I could start dreaming about that rather than having these crazy nightmares about Evel Knievel’s crushing essence.

           Or maybe I should just stick to my mini-coffee revolts until I get closer to the interview.

We’ll see.