This is one of my all time favorite movies, I actually have the soundtrack on vinyl which is how I discovered it. But more to the point not to be morbid, but to have someone play the Stones on the Organ at my funeral... Wouldn't that be cool?

I have a doctor's apointment in 7 hours which means I should be asleep - which I am of course not. I'm not in the mood for sleep. I'm not in the mood at all.

Fuck it.

Well I discovered something pretty neat on the Enfield:


So what you see is the crankshaft on the drive side of the engine. The first picture shows the 3 bolt holes that Enfield uses to mount the inner primary cover - this is the cover that the chain linking the engine sprocket (off the crank) to the clutch sprocket (which is off the gearbox). So this chain, the alternator and the clutch all run inside of this chain case which is sealed and there is an oil bath inside.

On my Norton cases I had an issue - there was a bracket which you can see in the 3rd picture which is supposed to hold the stator (part of the alternator) which screws into the crank case inside of the inner primary cover. The Norton cases I got to replace Dad's didn't have mounting holes for this bracket.

As it just so happens the mounting holes for the Enfield Inner primary cover line up with the bracket designed for the Norton. The downfall is that the mouth of the inner primary cover is too big - that I will solve by making a bracket of my own - that will fit between the stator bracket and the crank case.

god damnit my hands are acting up - I'll finish this later.

Norton/Enfield

Had a long talk with mom today. It ran all over the place but ended up back at the Norton project. The killer questions were "Is this practical or sentimental?" and "What would your father think?" We discussed ideas and possibilities. What does the Norton really need? An engine. Does it have to be a Norton engine? Well... no... What about That engine? It'd work... And you have it.

In the end it was decided that for practical purposes as well as saving about 5-8000 dollars that the Enfield engine I have leaning up against a wall could work fine. The expensive issues are the same as the Norton. Clutch mainly.

The Enfield needs some sprockets, some new bolts, some rings, and an ignition to be running. The oil tank was going to be tricky but mom is buying me a new set of crank cases for christmas.

At any rate this is now the plan. This and the Suzuki. It'll take a few days to get used to it, but I should be in full support by friday.

Love for Inanimate Objects.

This is my Flask:


I have had it since I was 15. It has held very little alcohol over the years, but it has seen a great deal of my life, a decade of loyal service, thats as much time with me as some of my best friends. It has seen the darkest aspects of my life, and it has seen some of the brightest most happy memories.

It's been across this country with me four times. On a trip with my Mother and Father to the Grand Canyon, on a trip with just my father it went to Mexico with us. On a trip to California with Stevie, and on a sole motorcycle journey across the United States in my pocket.

On many occasions it carried just water. To some parties that I have attended from simple college parties to seedy parties that were hosted by people I used to work for it contained water mixed with powerful ground up pain killers. It has been to many a theater production and was even left in a bin with a curious looking cop at a courthouse when I went to jury duty before I turned 21. I assured him it was just water - which wasn't the case (I'd forgotten it was in my pocket) - and he was very nice and dropped the matter.

The flask is stainless steel, 8oz, it is scratched, dented in places. I recently out of boredom taped it with a tar based roofing patch and then three days later spent four agonizing hours trying to peel the shit off - which is why it has a rubbery tar like coating in places - which might wear off eventually.


These are two of my pocket watches:

I have quite a few actually. My prize watches are really quite old, I even have a key wind Elgin. I have my Great Grandfather's Railroad watch. I have some prize watches that are really quite beautiful in Gold and Silver, I have a watch that was presented to my Great Great Grandfather on my mother's side by his parents when he turned 18 - it has a picture of him in it from when he was a mere baby. That is the watch of a man who owned Steel Mills back when this country really was one of Industry.

These two watches are new and battered. The one on top I carried all through high school, it was made in Russia, cost $50 in 1998, and keeps almost perfect time. I actually carried it through several years of college, and even now still carry it, it is in the suit I wore to my Uncle's funeral a few days ago.

The watch on the bottom I got while I was out in Phoenix because the one I rode cross country with did Not survive the trip. This is another 18 jewel watch - like the Russian version, but with a watch movement in it. Also mechanical, also keeps perfect time, with a french name it was made in China. It cost a little more that $50, it cost $100 to be exact - that includes the inscription on the back which on top reads "John A Greenman" and on the bottom "1984 - " which is my sense of humor and my intent to keep it as a using watch until I am either old and grey or in the ground when I am 30. Who knows?


The point is that we - some of us - build relationships with objects. Someone has a favorite jacket. Other's have a car which they dote on. Many of us have objects that mean something to us, either because they were given to us by someone we love, or because they have ridden through so many years of service.

Objects are Very important to me.
You will find that I have a story for just about everything I own, the cheaper things don't last, and the things that do last become a part of you.

The Vanson leather jacket my father bought for me so I'd be safe on the bike, which I wore to his funeral and rode cross country wearing.

The Norton Atlas headlight that sits on my bed which saw dad through 10 years of night roads with a lens in it that he got at a 24 hour race he was part of.

These headphones next to me I have had them since they I was 12 - a christmas present - they are the same as you see the Americans wearing on the sub in "Hunt for Red October"

There is a putter Beer Mug next to me with the initials of K.F.P. That stands for Katherine FitzSimmons Peffer - my Grandmother. She and her husband got a match set when they were married. Incidentally these mugs were made by Abercrombie & Fitch (made in London) before the company lost sight of what it was and became a company selling clothes to Teens - something which pisses me off a bit because its harder to tell who's gay now because all the straight boys dress in A&F and look queer. Humph.

I have a wool Jacket at the foot of the bed made by Filson, got it for Christmas some years ago, it's been through a TON.

This bed I am in was my parent's. They broke it while making love when my uncle was visiting when I was a little kid. Then when my brother and his wife broke it and I had to fix it I found Dad's fix and was both proud and mortified. I'm sure they'd ALL be mortified if they knew I'd just written that. It's apparently a family tradition to break this bed while making love - something I'll have to live up to, yet I fixed it with aluminum bracing so I'll have to work harder at it.

I have a letter that my father wrote me when I was 17. It's just words on a page, paper, inanimate, and yet it is probably worth more to me than anything else in this world:

Life

I'm slowly getting the hair figured out. Pure stupidity - or perhaps just not knowing... I was using the wrong end of the comb.

I got 3 bits of tobacco today, I got 50g of Navy Deluxe - which I had smoked once in Phoenix and remembered liking, I got 3oz of the Saint John's blend which has a real kick to it, and I got 3oz of the Elm Park blend which is smoother.

My pipe, the new one is developing an interesting look to it, as you may remember it was white clay. The clay around the stem has turned a dark brown and in some places a golden black. Then just before the bowl on top it is still almost pure white. My side of the bowl is a deep ashen brown, which lightens as you move around the front of the bowl. The bottom shows some signs of wear with some scrapes and a chip or two which I have no solid explanation for. The top quarter inch of the bowl just before it flattens out is a golden white. The top of the bowl near the fire pit =) is black of course, and there is a tobacco crust wrapped around the very edge of the inside of the bowl.

For the moment this is my favorite pipe, but who knows how long that will last? I move about them, switching up and smoking them as I feel. They are all old friends, and some of them were dad's old friends, a couple were my great grandfather's old friends - I have pictures of him smoking a pipe very much like the one I smoke now.

As enjoyable as the tobacco is, and the pure act of smoking the pipe - I love to watch the smoke itself as it swirls into the air it almost seems like its dancing. Twirls, rings, and waves - I find it to be incredibly relaxing and even beautiful to watch. I am still working out a way in my head to capture this on film. A flash would kill it, but its best seen in a room that is lit, but not overly lit like the sky. I think my best option is one of dad's old cameras with a light meter and the lens controlled manually holding the shutter open using the second hand on my pocket watch. I think that will be the best way. I will have to dig out a couple books and try to find a shutter cable (screws into the camera so you can take pictures from a bench using your thumb to control the shutter).

The Ergometer arrived today - as you very well know. I got it down the stairs still in the box by myself using my leg as a stop with the weight aimed down at me. Putting it together was fun, Pop would have criticized the instructions which were only good if you looked at the pictures real closely. For example 3 braces had to go together to form the support for the fan, and the instructions showed these as one unit. The two bars were different lengths and different bends by the brackets - forming different angles. You could have put them together about 6 different ways and 5 of them would have been wrong. Study the drawings and you'll get it right.


I remember when I was about 14 we got an ergometer so that my brother could train for the Saint John's crew team. I used to go down to the basement on Morningside Road and pull, just pull until my muscles were screaming - I actually had muscles back then. I'd listen to Rage Against the Machine's Evil Empire record and just PULL. At the time the erg was in the basement next to the boiler - away from the machine shop under this hanging 25W light bulb which burned your eyes if you looked directly into it. The Type B erg was much more industrial and Al had put a Nine Inch Nails sticker on it.

It later moved to the front porch which was a room, but had no real foundation - thus porch. Dad had found this training program which I can't find, but essentially the first time you got on you pulled as HARD as you could to pull 1000 meters - that was your 100% From that you could figure out what your 90%, 80%, etc was... and each day you would pull a different percent starting low and working your way up. You had one rest day - normally monday - and at the end of the week you would pull a 1000m at you 100%. I remember Al and Dad would come down as I was beginning to fail and cheer me on sometimes.

The mind is a funny thing when you're on an Erg. No matter how strong or tough you may be, that machine finds a way to beat you down - it is ALWAYS the boss. So your mind begins to tell you - "You dont have to pull an hour, half an hour is enough" or "You've done good - you can stop now" and you have to fight back and ignore the screaming pain in you joints and the horrible ache of your muscles and just keep pulling. I once found that if you imagined you were pulling away from a sinking ship - pulling for your life that you could keep going.

I used to be strong. Today I pulled for 5 minutes and felt like I was going to die after, I was literally spitting up blood, shaking, and could barely move.

Tomorrow (which is right now) but later in the day I will do it again. I might do it two or three times a day and work until I can pull 6 minutes, then 7, and you get it. I am tired of looking like a refugee. I am tired of having no stamina. I may HURT like hell all the time, and I may have to rub testosterone on my shoulders every day to keep what little muscle I have, but you know what? Hell and Death will not keep me from building myself back into a human being. Fuck it. That's what I say. Fuck the syndromes, fuck being in bed all the time. Fuck it all! "CRY HAVOC AND LET SLIP THE DOGS OF WAR!"


At some point in the last few weeks something changed in me (again). I had guys from the forum complimenting me - pictures of me from before Dad died. That's why I shaved my beard, to please them. And you know what I got complimented anyways. I will continue with the hair - I LIKE the slicked back look, but I am taking a special interest in learning to get it JUST so. Because I want it to look good. I want me to look good again. The doctors are doing there part and I have to do mine. The doctor says what dad used to say - exersize (I have now idea how to spell that) and so I will. I am going to get FIT and the Erg is going to be my instramint in doing so.

Start reading real books again, starting with "The Sailor's Odyssey" and just get my life back on track. I may be a captive in this body and in this basement a lot of the time, but I am going to do everything I can to make myself bigger and better while I am here. I want to be able to get my health under control and succeed at something for once in my life. I want to have something more to my name than my Saint John's diploma. I know for a fact that I can be somebody someday, and not just someone who offers Gay Teens good advice - which I do take some pride in. For what its worth, all the shit and death that has enveloped me over the years has made me more compassionate and maybe, just maybe a better person. Who knows who I would have been if things had gone the right way instead of so horribly fucking wrong.

Anyways I am done, I am done for now. I feel GOOD. I know that can slip away. Sam felt good told me it was the best he'd ever felt since he got away from those people, and then he killed himself. So I do get that just because I'm on top of a mountain one minute doesn't mean I wont fall off a cliff.

Someone I respect once told me to "Aim for the moon, because even if you miss you can reach the stars" - korny I know, but you know what for a long time I believed in that, and then it seemed that I burned up in the atmosphere. Well I'm going to get myself strong enough so I can take another shot.

What else have I got?

The Erg arrived today. Pics later of getting it down in the basement and setting it up.

Listening to "Midnight Special" by CCR, feeling totally fucking stoned from the medications, and looking up at the suit I'm going to put on in an hour so that I can drive out to Canton MA to go to the funeral of one of my favorite uncles. Then I'll drive to Dorchester MA where he and his wife lived for the "gathering" that follows a funeral. My god, its just not fair.