Warped Scene of Hell’s Angels

Fallen From Heaven: Warped Scene of Hell’s Angels Bohemian crazies with taste for metallic flesh. Roaring engines Smoking mufflers; burning on black asphalt. Maneuvering between faded yellow lines. Relentless urban outlaws poised like demons on sculpted choppers. Malodorous psyches in expertise with dirty beards, matted hair, Death’s-Head insignias, Swastikas, mirror-shades, sleeveless Levis, armpit grease, motor oil stained skin, skull bandannas, ink of the loner’s crest, dirty cigars protruding from cracked lips…. Twisted Mamas and Old Ladies ride on backs of barely legalized Harleys, grasping hands around wild tacticians. Devious humor emerges sour from perspective of tavern to public eye. Exaggerated tales from loyalty to madness; allegiance to only brethren or bike. Outcasts huddle in unity. Bandits remaining distant from society’s clinch. Sexual deviants with strange and appalling mannerisms. Pillagers squealing from town to town, for another run. Dead-beats with prowess on the dangerous road. Proud wearers of emblems and colors; destined for the bondsman with a wrinkled dollar or the lone highway as a collection of road-kill. Drunkards, daily beasts raging loudly in cesspools of survival. Screaming mad gibberish into the air from influences of Marijuana, LSD, pills and drink. Conformists to ethical codes but individualists to the rest of the land. Supremacy within radical circles: Satan’s Slaves, Gypsy Jokers, Presidents, Hangmen, Misfits, Nightriders; among numerous foes… The Hell’s Angels prepare for showdowns with weaponry of various creativities: automatic rifles, knives, bar-stools, pool sticks, broken bottles, chain-whips, fists, teeth and the like. Anti-social towards biased reporters and authoritative swine. Thriving for media attention but naturally inclined for contempt or uncontrolled rage. Mystique of these vile hoodlums deteriorates with increasing press coverage. The Hell’s Angels are convinced of their misunderstood personas. Egoism inflates like a stretched-out balloon in a child’s hands. They became an outlandish and transparent reality within cultish nature. Yet each man creeps into deeper abyss while ignoring the descent. Luxury of pain when one has no more options. Battlers of status-quo, grasping hypocritical philosophies of old, struggling against present, corrupted in consciousness of themselves.