Reflections of a Morning Drive


Let me paint a magical dreamscape. Let there be the sands of time. Giant mountains protruding from the earth, like bones ruptured through the skin of some massive earthly person, cast against the brilliant orange glow of the burner just beginning to heat the nights chill away. I’m driving towards it, around the coils spiraling larger and larger, away from the darkness that lay back at the house, inside those walls. I have slept but not rested and it’s time to do it all again. My sole recompense this painting is, the black, grey and white mingling with the blue and orange. I could drive until I mesh, evaporate into this image, dissolve into beauty and nature. I could never again work, content in this moment, beauty beyond words, gargling my spittle with eyes drooped open only by the helpful pull of gravity.



Where am I driving? To where? To what end? To fill my blind binary monetary contentment? It keeps the tears of heavy clouds off my head. It keeps me warm when the air molecules are close together. It fuels my very cells with the proper vitamins and minerals they need to function, to grow. Well I say forget all that. Give me a chisel, to pry apart those damned molecules and thrust my warm body in the resulting cavity. Give me a sledgehammer. I’ll beat the last drop from that obese cloud, crying for the terror I’ve committed, laughing with bleeding knuckles and keen sensitivity. Throw the computer out the window, to where it belongs, in nothingness, give it no heed, offer it not the significance of meaning.

I often like to think of how it would look to see people floating around on roads absent their cars, in that same sitting position. How silly it would look, to have hundreds and thousands of people sitting next to each other, in front of and behind each other, no one communicating except for the frequent curses and slanders we profer one another when scared to anger at a near head on collision. Take away the dangerous projectile metal and you’d have soft flesh bumping, jiggling, contorting, farting, squelching. Take away the car and the seriousness of the situation goes with it. To have that same reaction if you almost bumped into someone in person would seem absurd. Imagine, if you’re turning a corner on foot and someone cuts you off, nearly knocking off your hat in their haste. What do you do? “What the fuck are you doing!”, really emphasizing that curse. “Hey ASSHOLE?! Learn how to walk!” You flip him the finger, cause who was he to scare you so? But he nor you can simply drive off and never see each other again. You just walk behind him in awkward silence.

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