don't read this, it's no good.
Oh, everything's happening and I'm not afraid anymore. Livejournal, you don't even know.
I got this nutty allegory running through my head and if i don't spit it out I'll forget it and I'll be miserable again.
So, I'm strapped into a parked car at night. The car started, and I was in awe of every individual light on the street. The signs, the streetlamps, the other cars, they all have something so uniquely alluring about them that I want to stop the car and investigate each one. I want to feel them and worship them and take them with me, but the car starts to speed up. I have less and less time to look at anything, and the outside examination of each light gets to be near impossible. All I can notice is the patterns that they make, the repitition of streetlamps and the constance of headlights. It's frustrating and boring, because all I want to do is park the car again and really look at anything at all, but I can't at all now because the car is flying past all sorts of nightlights. The speed I'm going is seemingly dangerous, and I can't move in any direction but the one I'm getting launched on. I have no control over how I travel, and that's frightening. The little lights are unrecognizable by now, and I can't do anything but wonder what the constant blurs actually are. It's like there's no reality at all anymore, and no point in trying to direct myself toward anything except maybe a brick wall. I close my eyes and scream and try in vain to stop the car that's hurling its way on some common but unforseeable road. This is when I go crazy, maybe, or maybe this is just that time when I learn how to really ride. I open my eyes, I accept the constant acceleration, and I love the congealed blur of lights. There's something very epic and indestructible in all of it. A passenger in a car who can't do anything but look out and smile at the neverending lines of red and yellow whose sources don't actually matter. Contentment isn't seeing every individual flash of light, it's smiling the smudge they all make when they're lost to speed. There's something grand in everything that's fleeting. I like it.
I got this nutty allegory running through my head and if i don't spit it out I'll forget it and I'll be miserable again.
So, I'm strapped into a parked car at night. The car started, and I was in awe of every individual light on the street. The signs, the streetlamps, the other cars, they all have something so uniquely alluring about them that I want to stop the car and investigate each one. I want to feel them and worship them and take them with me, but the car starts to speed up. I have less and less time to look at anything, and the outside examination of each light gets to be near impossible. All I can notice is the patterns that they make, the repitition of streetlamps and the constance of headlights. It's frustrating and boring, because all I want to do is park the car again and really look at anything at all, but I can't at all now because the car is flying past all sorts of nightlights. The speed I'm going is seemingly dangerous, and I can't move in any direction but the one I'm getting launched on. I have no control over how I travel, and that's frightening. The little lights are unrecognizable by now, and I can't do anything but wonder what the constant blurs actually are. It's like there's no reality at all anymore, and no point in trying to direct myself toward anything except maybe a brick wall. I close my eyes and scream and try in vain to stop the car that's hurling its way on some common but unforseeable road. This is when I go crazy, maybe, or maybe this is just that time when I learn how to really ride. I open my eyes, I accept the constant acceleration, and I love the congealed blur of lights. There's something very epic and indestructible in all of it. A passenger in a car who can't do anything but look out and smile at the neverending lines of red and yellow whose sources don't actually matter. Contentment isn't seeing every individual flash of light, it's smiling the smudge they all make when they're lost to speed. There's something grand in everything that's fleeting. I like it.