I do alot of thinking in my car. It should be viewed as a bad trait to do too much thinking in the car. Sometimes I am so distracted and aloof that I startle myself back to concentration, my knuckles white from gripping the wheel. I am amazed at the passage of such complete vulnerability. It would only take a lane change just a shy away of predictable, or a sudden braking, and perhaps my reflexes would fail me for that brief second in time, and my car would collide with the car in front, and my body would keep moving that same speed and become one with the now-ductile substance surrounding me. It would cave in like a hungry mass of surging dark water, engulfing a breached pocket of air to meet an equilibrium of space and density. It would be fast. Maybe it would happen before the activation time of the entire body's surface of nerves, before the brilliant crackle of lightning hot pain.
I try not to think of these things.
I grow excited when I merge into the river of metal and glass. It beckons me as if it has flowed for eternity, waiting for my inevitable assimilation. I find it fascinating that it sustains itself based on one simple principle: that every driver in the flow is a rational human being with decent coordination and reflexes and that each driver not interrupt this delicate balance of such high speeds with a human mistake. And this happens of course, or we would never have to worry about 50 car pile-ups. There is a certain loneliness within the confines of the car you occupy; there is a zen-like solitude that can be experienced, even admidst the many other bodies that surround you, and this solitude is what gives way to the dangerous periods of vulnerability that sadly grip the unfortunate and compel them to make the one simple mistake that initiates the chain reaction of collision and causes a momentary lapse in this great river of transportation. But sometimes I can admit that I enjoy freeways.
Concentrate baby, concentrate, there's no need to be afraid.
The clouds were spread across the failing sky today, they were spread with some unseen airbrush along great walls of cotton, and their soft, rippling surfaces were painted across with gradients of the colors of the setting sun. Where is my camera when I need it?
My hair was buzzed off today. It feels fantastic.
-The Piece out
