Burning rods and banging broads shirt

My uncle, bless his ass, used to have this beat-up old Ford pickup that belched black smoke every time he hit the gas. He’d drive it down to the lake every summer, and the smell of the motor mixing with the sunscreen was basically the scent of my childhood. Thinking back, I remember him grumbling about how things were “burnt out” or “on their way”, especially after a long day of fishing. This idea of something nearing the end of its usefulness, worn down but still functioning, always seemed to be wrapped up in his way of seeing the world. Maybe it stemmed from that truck.

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We’d sit by the water, casting our lines, hoping for a bite. My dad, a man of few words, would always say, “Just wait, son, it’ll come.” And he’d be right, eventually, after a lot of silence and a lot of patience. It’s funny how those quiet moments, the ones where nothing much seems to be happening, are often the ones that really stick with you. The sunlight dancing on the ripples, the feeling of the rod in your hands, the weight of the anticipation – all of it built something that’s hard to define. I still remember the way the sun would hit the water during the sunsets.

One time, I was maybe ten, and I got so frustrated that I started reeling in my line even though I knew the fish hadn’t bit yet. My dad just chuckled, a low rumble in his chest, and told me, “Patience, kiddo, it’s a virtue.” He’d always say things like that, little sayings, nuggets of wisdom, thrown out there casually. It was a life lesson I didn’t appreciate until much later. Those slow, steady rhythms, the patient waiting, are really the ass of everything.

That old truck and my dad’s sayings always come to mind whenever I think of the concept that is Burning rods and banging broads. You hear it and immediately think of a lot of different things, right? The wear and tear, the eventual breakdown of things. The pursuit of joy, whatever that may look like for the person involved. It’s a phrase, maybe a bit crude, that conjures up images of intense heat and frenzied activity, a fleeting moment of excitement before the inevitable cooling down. The images that appear in your head are different for everyone and that’s the beauty of it.

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I guess the appeal of something temporary, something that burns brightly but quickly, is something we all grapple with at some point. It’s that desire for something vivid, something that ignites the senses, but at what cost? There’s a certain thrill in the immediacy, the feeling of being completely consumed by the moment. But the aftermath? That’s when reality sets in, when the embers cool and you’re left with the ashes. I often wonder if the price is worth it.

So, in the end, whether it’s a fishing rod that’s seen better days, a moment of reckless abandon, or the memory of a sunset over a lake, it all boils down to the same thing, it seems: the fleeting nature of experience and our constant search for connection, meaning, and a little bit of something that makes us feel truly alive, even if it’s just for a little while. I am not saying to take any of it too seriously though. I also think sometimes we just need to enjoy what we enjoy.