25lines, redux

I’m not much a movie person – but I do enjoy film.

When I lived in Seattle, a highlight every year was the Seattle International Film Festival. For three and a half weeks, any social / work / me-work plans were peppered with plans to attend various films being shown by the SIFF. Usually when I watch something at home, I have to be doing something else. Anime or other foreign films with subtitles are especially problematic – they have to be especially good for me to partake, given they require my visual attention. (For example, Ghost in the Shell). Going to the theatre – I have to really want to see the movie before I’ll do that.

Guess I’ll have to check out the SFIFF later this year: http://www.sffs.org/sf-intl-film-festival.aspx

There don’t seem to be [m]any sites that let people come together around movies. Flixster doesn’t seem to fit the bill (not in the same way that I use Goodreads for books, anyway. The Auteurs comes closer, but doesn’t have everything.

Hm.

in the quiet of night the mind grows unquiet.
i am unable to sleep, but i am not fully awake.
my life dissolves into a stream of paradoxes.
the stress and pressure consume me, my inner peace is shaken.

but outwardly i am calm like a bomb. ready to go off at any time, but unassuming otherwise.
these days i find myself highly volatile. not necessarily bad.
but not necessarily good, either.

it is what it is. and so it goes.

my only hope is to narrow my focus. to slash and burn the unessential. to only do what is worth doing. to only say what is worth saying.

let everything else slip.

to err is human.

to forgive is divine.

…but i am human.

in the past i have taken the attitude that i should not tolerate more than a single transgression. today’s enlightened thinkers would tell me that i should be more accepting. that everyone makes mistakes. and i admit that for most people this is probably true. that we should, in the general case, be accepting, forgiving, and understanding. but i am not the general case.

if i am to execute on what i must, i must live by a code of honor. respect. such a code is to live freely. codified rules don’t restrict, they establish a baseline from which one can grow beyond. you can stop asking the same questions over and over and over and over.
that’s what it is, in the end. this is why i’ve started reading (and re-reading) philosophical texts lately. More on that later.

That said, I too make mistakes (more than most!).

Don’t hold grudges on mistakes.
Errors are to be forgiven.
It’s the spirit behind the mistakes, the carelessness or the mindfulness or the frequency, that should be considered.

individual mistakes, individual transgressions – these are things we should not hold onto. they can fall freely between the fingers, like sand passing through air.

but repeated instances are symptomatic of one’s character.
that is something you can either accept. so it is with friendship, growth, and caring for each other.

…or it’s something you can reject.
and walk away.

i dunno- i think a part of me dies when i dont know whats happening in my world

huh

interesting

well

i strongly suggest sometime

some block of time

i’ve done it for weekends

where you unplug

and quiet your mind

…

you’ll be surprised what you tell yourself when no one else is telling you anything

“I’m actually as proud of many of the things we haven’t done as the things we have done.” — Steve Jobs.

It flies in the face of Twain:

“The only things you will regret are the things you didn’t do”

Both should be carefully contemplated. I currently regret very little, but I have regretted much in the past. It passes through me and over me, leaving – ideally – only the lessons of the [in]action. My exercise of restraint is actually one of the things I am most aware of, and pleased with. I have demonstrated to myself – if not to others – that I am capable of saying no to something when I know that it should be denied, no matter how strong the desire, the emotions, or even the chemicals inside me cry out to be acknowledged and indulged. I can’t say it’s for everyone. I have definitely had my moments of weakness where I wished that I didn’t seem to operate this way, having a kind of auto-pilot rainbow guardian watching over the optimization of my wants and ensuring adherence.

But then I would say that resolve exists to be tested.

watched a TED talk this week at work that talked about living to 100. One of the points was to be a part of an awesome community. Reminded me of how I was always told to surround myself by people better than me. And that I do, very well too, when I try. And the last two weeks, I’ve tried.

old and new:

1 improv comedian encouraging performance

1 food scientist foraying into new flavors

1 architecture grad student sharing excitement

1 colleague teaching me and working together with

1 AI researcher into the future

1 mentor guiding me

1 material scientist working with nano-things

1 musicologist and fantastic carillon player

1 architect-come-college counselor

1 aero/astro engineer sending us to mars.

….and that’s just in-person. nevermind the countless phone-calls, and the incessant pen-paling, and the middle-of-the-night excursions.

the next two weeks should equally interesting, if different.

goodnight, cruel world.

Step 1: Potential. http://www.hypeless.net/25lines/?p=836

Step 2: Reality

The ability for someone to think about their reality, accept it, and dissect it is paramount if one is to let go of their fear, doubt, and self-hindrance. The most basic element of life, of understanding one’s existence is to think about the state of the world. It’s easy to be distracted by shiny things, it’s easy to avoid thinking about this thing that is most core. It is easy to implement a kind of routine that takes us away from ourselves, and thus from reality.

Escapism is easy. Reality is hard.

To dream of love is easy. To actually live it is really hard.

To live false hope is easy. To find and know true hope is hard.

To consume is easy. To create is hard.

We are, as people, input/output carriers. It would seem that we operate asynchronously (mostly) as far as communication is concerned. To hear and speak at the same time is to neither hear nor to speak.

So it takes great fortitude in order to take stock of oneself, with no sugar coating. No glaze layered on top of it. No rose colored glasses tainting how you view yourself and take stock of just a few things. In otherwise calm silence, taken away from the world’s distractions. (distraction is, of course, for another day)

What is it, exactly, that you were?

What is it, exactly, that you are?

What is it, exactly, that you want?

What is it, exactly, that you want to become?

What is, precisely, the difference between you as you are, and you as you want to be?

It sounds simple enough, doesn’t it?

The simplest things are usually the most difficult.

If I haven’t said anything profoundly stirring, it’s because this phase is the exact opposite of profound. It’s dirty, gritty, detailed, foul, and painful, at best when done right. Unless you’re super human, and some of you are.

Opportunity cost is very important to understand. In doing anything, there is the cost of the opportunities that you’re otherwise forsaking. If you’re working, you could be having fun instead. If you’re having fun, you could be working. So it brings out a multiplicative duality in all that we consider and do.

This extends far beyond most things that you would understand for yourself. And you can take it to varying degrees. I wanted to write about it as I was explaining to a friend recently that they were only considering the opportunity cost of leaving, when really they needed to consider the opportunity cost of staying.

To understand this, is to be unstoppable.

In all that we do, the way that we are – we reason with ourselves that we are a certain way, that we do a certain thing, that we decided something or something was ok. In this case, we were talking about jobs, and money as cost. What if you stayed until the end of the year, you knew you would get a million dollars? Most would not leave. You would stay, right?

But if you believed in yourself, and you thought you could make 2 million in the same time, you would quit.

An oft-remembered conversation during college I had with my closest friends was one where we reasonably assumed that we could pursue something, and that we would potentially payoff $50 million each, and we walked away.

Now looking back, we want to say that we were stupid, but I’m not so sure.

Anytime you’re doing anything, you could be doing something different. Know well what is worthwhile, and know what will let you have the most fun. In all things, intensity, whether business or pleasure.

This song has been making me feel a welling kind of lament. Partly missing Japan, partly missing the feelings from that time, partly from listening to the lyrics (which I’ll admit, I mostly rarely do…)

What happened here?

The butterfly has lost its wings

The air’s too thick to breathe
And there’s something in the drinking water.

The sun comes up

The sun comes up and you’re alone

Your sense of purpose come undone

The traffic tails back to the maze on 101

And the news from the sky
Is looking better for today
In every single way
But not for you

World citizen

World citizen

It’s not safe
All the yellow birds are sleeping
Cos the air’s not fit for breathing
It’s not safe

Why can’t we be
Without beginning, without end?
Why can’t we be?

World citizen
World citizen

And if I stop
And talk with you awhile
I’m overwhelmed by the scale
Of everything you feel
The lonely inner state emergency

I want to feel
Until my heart can take no more
And there’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t give

I want to break
The indifference of the days
I want a conscience that will keep me wide awake

I won’t be disappointed

I won’t be disappointed

I won’t be.

I saw a face
It was a face I didn’t know
Her sadness told me everything about my own
Can’t let it be

When least expected there she is
Gone the time and space that separates us

And I’m not safe
I think I need a second skin
No, I’m not safe
World citizen
World citizen

I want to travel by night
Across the steppes and over seas
I want to understand the cost
Of everything that’s lost
I want to pronounce all their names correctly

World citizen
World citizen

I won’t be disappointed
I won’t be.
She doesn’t laugh
We’ve gone from comedy to commerce
And she doesn’t feel the ground she walks upon
I turn away
And I’m not sleeping well at night
And while I know this isn’t right
What can you do?

Today was an ordinary day of conversations with people. I thought I’d share some of them with you, since most people only ever see few dimensions of me. I thought I’d try sharing more. Most of it is just me spewing nonsense. Enjoy!

—–

Me:

the undisciplined mind
will seek to consume everything
you must know what it is that you should read
if you read everything, your mind, like your reading list
will be cluttered
know well what leads you forward, and that which holds you back

—–

Me:
who knows what will happen
i may disappear, only to re-emerge a tango dancer in south america

Them:
is she planning to stow you away to chile or something?

Me:
no, but she unleashed in me passions that operate on their own accord
it’s like
a part of my mind, rusty mind you, activates
it’s like an alter ego that just emerges, everts
ACTIVATE
RECALLED TO LIFE
TAKE CONTROL
COMMAND SYSTEMS OVERRIDDEN
SPEECH PROCESSING SECURED
and then comes to life and does whatever it wants, says whatever it wants
decides whatever it wants
with no consideration for me

Them:
haha apparently one look at a girl like that and the wisdom of the stoics disappears

Me:
i know!
that’s why they’re amazing
they cause great inner struggle
it exercises restraint
and let me tell you, it is difficult, and i LOVE it

—–

Me:
just be mindful of it
i mean
i know, painfully more than most
like the duality of the said vs. the unsaid
carries over…
once you say something, you can never un-say it
and that’s powerful and dangerous
a single misspoken word can cause a lot of damage
Seven, just Seven words I’ve said have changed my life for the worse, and I don’t know that I will ever recover from that
biting your tongue on the other hand (literally) helps immensely

Them:

ugh- ok, couple of thoughts went through- first was yup, completely agree- second was, hmm, interesting- why do i not value my words much anymore? i need to think through this more

Me:
ok, i have to head out
let me know if you have any supreme insights

—–

Them: well, the difference being that we can only travel in time digitally
Them: whereas we can travel in place physically
Me: we can in our memories
Them: ok, fair enough

Me:
like space-time serves as a hash to memories
you move in space
and that’s the part i’m interested in digitally
how you can use, explicitly, space as a… hash key for the brain
to remind yourself of the past there
like you listen to music and remember that era

—–

Them:
we should go back
well
we WILL go back

Me:
yeah
but it’ll be different
so we need to make sure it’s better
it’s like an arms race of awesomeness with our past selves

Them:
haha i like that

—–

Me:

assume God exists, and assume He has access to perfect information, and assume afterlife
do you ever think
about the kind of statistics there are then?
they must be amazing

i hope in the afterlife
there’s a kind of stats breakdown
like when you play civilization
end of game breakdown of the entire game
this is the closest i can find:

http://media.photobucket.com/image/civilization%204%20end/Vessiel/Civ4ScreenShot0214.jpg

it’s just a chart
at the beginning of your civilization
to the end of the game
so imagine God has a giant spreadsheet
and can plot like
number of people alive
number of kids
number of married people
number of adulterers alive
at any time
you know
births per second
amount of suffering on the planet, objectively
amount of suffering, measured by the attitudes of all the people
and how those levels change

THEN you could zoom in
to a single person and plot
take it down to your own personal life and given all the people you know
when, on any given day
were you and a friend both thinking about each other at the same time – and then juxtapose that on top of everything
how often do you and anyone you know think about each other at the same time
fluffy, quaint little things that we can never know in life, but you could find out afterward

people who like you, and how much
or people you made angry, and how much
they stayed angry for how long
windows of opportunity to date people who liked you
like you just barely missed it!

this might be a short story in the making
i just got really excited

or people could ask questions
how could we have stopped 9/11
and He would be like one day
Johnson went to the bathroom 2 minutes early
and because of that…
and we see a several year version of run, lola, run
on the planetary scale

—–

I wanted to share more, but wordpress was being difficult. Oh well.

Knowing a little about everything means you are interesting to most, in a bounded sense. And you’re never bored. Knowing a lot about a few things means you are very interesting to few people. But with those, you can interact with great depth. Intensity.

If you can master just one thing, you can become infinitely more interesting to not only those who care about that thing but to people who are otherwise uninitiated. True mastery means you can bring forth what others can only begin to appreciate the hints of. The ideas you can express grow strongly with such a foundation. So it is with understanding and appreciation. Most books describe very simple ideas that can be digested in a single line. But what ideas – and there are many – require story after story, or setup after setup to fully impress upon us their magnitude? I try to read books that require full reading. Unfortunate, because then you can’t easily skim. But so it is with Quality.

I was explaining to someone a single episode of a television show. And I realized that I could not fully appreciate the subtlety, and the true message at the very end of the episode without fully having experienced it. The full episode, with its character development, depiction, and narrative. The season, and in fact the entire show. That over years, the character would behave in one manner, and then in the final two minutes, after facing great strife, change their behavior. The magnitude is inexplicable, but hard to grasp.

Music lends itself to the same. I’ve found that after listening to the same song for years that one day I can start to hear the subtlety in the tone, the delicate composition that is made in the layers below the most prominent surface melodies and beats. That the more you listen to the same artist throughout their growth, the more you can appreciate their musical style developing, bits nurtured, the impact of bandmembers leaving and joining.

Today it seems like most people are preoccupied with finding the newest, consuming briefly – vegging out, if you will, on the music, and giving less depth and appreciation to masterpiece works. I of course do this as well in some respects. For me the purest listen is with the lights out, perhaps with beverage in hand, no distractions, no other disturbances. For certain albums, I’ll even put on blindfolds to deprive the self of distraction, focusing on the album. I know some friends once had listening parties, when an especially anticipated album would be released.

IDEO says they like “T-shaped” people. Well, most people have the head of the T. It’s easy, especially today, to like a little bit of everything. But what do you like a lot of? What do you do a lot of? That’s what sets you apart from everyone else.

Muse |myoōz|
noun
(in Greek and Roman mythology) each of nine goddesses, the daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne, who preside over the arts and sciences.
• ( muse) a woman, or a force personified as a woman, who is the source of inspiration for a creative artist.

What do I take from the muse? What do I give her?

Who would be the most appropriate?

Sylvia Plath?

Anais Nin?

Susan Sontag?

The forms of those who are transcendental. Elevated. Excellent. Those who have passed from this life, so that the inspiration and image that their legacy leaves behind can be interpreted in brilliant ways, captured. Physical forms are mostly meaningless. Surface beauty is the most common. Beautiful people are everywhere you turn. No, that’s why the inspiration comes from the mind. The voice. The exterior is just the shell. So many people focus on the exterior when developing themselves because they worry about surface judgment.

Stylistic.

How you look. How you dress. How you act.

And in so much of life, this is true, and people will use it to perceive you.

But the inspiration has to come from within. A boundless fountain of expression internally.

Inspiration does come from within.

The new year is a socially accepted time for change. A somewhat forced introspection and stock taking. When you mistakenly write 2009 and you have to fix it, you Remember.

In school, the break away from most peers was sufficient to excuse large changes. The winter break, shorter, meant that you could change but there was some reason behind it. It wasn’t suspect but it didn’t permit everything. Summer on the other hand allowed a wealth of excuses for an identity shift.

Camp. Play. Friends. Parties. Bonfires. Travel.

I made a habit of shifting every time it was permitted. Sometimes big, sometimes small. In school it was a great way to try on new selves. New face, new hair, new scent, new ideas, thoughts, social attitudes. New face.

Thirst is nothing, image is everything.

So I shift now. Reconsidering everything, ignoring nothing. Careful deliberation on the minutest of details, evaluating every temporal draw, every aspect of my day, every social interaction, third party, and yes, even every thought. Every hint of a thought. I choose to design my life not because it is easy–To drift aimless is the life I will never have (again). I am unable to prevent the inferno that burns away every last bit and reconstructs, piece by piece. So each term draws to a close and I find myself rearranging faces to make a new face. Burning the exterior to let the new and improved (ooh, shiny!!) inner self bubble forth.

But amidst the many faces, who is Simon Templar? Behind the masques, who am I really? If I can dance with a dozen faces, then my true identity must be the inner, faceless, self.

We drop in, fallen, dropping from the sky. An aluminum body holding us in sunlight, falling with a daring grace through cloud cover and darkness. Onto another plane, smooth and polished to catch us, falling.

The airport has always been the lungs of the city. Breathing in and out, lunging people inward or expelling them out. Into the lungs, I move to the trains to carry me into the heart, the city is alive amidst the barren lull concrete. The city floats by, the train is silent. Th track cuts through the backyards the barrenness the bridges overlook forgotten suburbia, old decaying history. Culture is expelled everywhere you could look, stored upon year in the colours of it all. The line of houses staring into the sun, faceless drill marching every sunset.

Into a tunnel; the abyss. The stations live beneath the feet of the city. Stray light penetrates in the final hours of day changing the colours. Into the abyss again.

It howls at us, angry for he violation we bring with us, through and through but out of sight. The train can never be forgotten. At the outskirts is where I love it, above ground. She smells like peaches, her. Lips holding it there, her tongue darting around it, to touch every drop.

The car smells like peaches and everyone is wearing white earbuds, The Mark. The train is the equalizer, everyone rides the train, needs it, wants it to carry them. The cities with the trains have hearts to them, even if the tunnels bowl at us.

They always howl at me. A bittersweet welcoming call back to the street.

“You! You have returned! Hawooool”
In a dirty, rust trodden voice as the metal grinds the track.

The abyss cuts us off from the world above even if we choose to cut ourselves off from the people next to us. The drone of the howl tearing into the silence, we are all forced to listen.

It’s here, in the dark, that the city speaks to us, when we learn to listen.

the beginnings of this came to me on approach from EWR to YQM. had to start writing it the moment i got back to my room.

Part 1: http://www.hypeless.net/25lines/?p=828

Part 2: http://www.hypeless.net/25lines/?p=832

Part 3: http://www.hypeless.net/25lines/?p=834

Part 4: http://www.hypeless.net/25lines/?p=885

———————

Into the mouth. Into the belly. Into the cold, unknown night, I followed this mysterious form.

I hoped I was either on some really messed up five-coffee trip or this was some sort of subconscious hallucination. Or maybe I shouldn’t have accepted that guy’s cookie. In either case, it would make the otherwise dull drive a bit of entertainment. In my silent chamber, I rode on.

Chased her into the mouth, engulfed in concrete. Asphalt mines opened up into the earth and encased us in a dark light. Her board didn’t have wheels, it grew into a snowboard, riding a plume of light energy flushing forward. The hood of our car snarled, barking with the chase. Alongside us winter beasts chased, an unleashed zoo? The mountain kingdom leading us on. The road started rocking back and forth back and forth and I knew it was water. Liquid splashing concrete, hard unpoured, coming apart and falling back into place.

The sky above us went black, went white. Confused about it’s own identity. Uncertain skylight hard protection.

Encased in mist, in snowfall, in the elements of a cold day, crisp in bite, but damp in composition.

My driven beast was surrounded by a dreamlike mythic. Beasts, friendly some, angry others, followed us from the rear, rode alongside us, escorting us safely. We fell into rhythm, our cadence giving us a kind of predictable rhythm. The road was slick, wet with dampened, melted rain.

We rode on. For hours, how we rode. Hard. At the slightest disturbance, of a twitched eye from my family, my cargo, the scene would vanish for a second, but resumed when i returned to an unnatural calm. I followed Gabriella on her board, the engine coughed, struggling to keep up. She was fast, but rode with fluidity. With oneness.

Still water calm. Tranquility. The chaotic nova of imagery around me drew out from within the unquiet, the murmuring mind

I followed her until the end of the highway. We took off into the hill, the dogs leading me along the side of the road. The wolves batting away at the dust. The fox on the hood, looking into the darkness, guiding forward. The daemons pulled my chariot home.

The dreamrun vanished, and my family awoke. We stumbled inside, and withdrew to our quarters.

Of course, she was waiting for me in my room.

Of course.

Katara: Are you saying I’m a liar?

Sokka: No. I’m saying you’re an optimist. Same thing really.

—
I have been an optimist. It pains me to realize it, but I find it has been a misplaced optimism, which in turn further finds fault in myself for not catching it earlier. Thus, I have lied to myself.

Perhaps it is not bad to be optimistic to begin. I dislike cynicism and distrust. But when I am made to think that someone is aspiring to betterment, I can’t help but cheer on, support, or even collaborate. And that has been the worst for me. I must confess that my mind, feeble as it is, is forced to compile and audit the successes and failures in this respect across demographics.

By now I should have learned that whether it pleases me or not, I think better of people than they think of themselves. Some would say I am unfairly placing people on pedestals, but we’re not in high school anymore. We are all familiar with the states of being and acceptance. No, I choose to see the greatness, the talent, the Excellence in people. And for that I am always punished. The individual, like the mob, does not in fact want to be great, talented, or Excellent. These are burdensome and detract from the pursuit of reptilian bliss. No, they just want to tell themselves, and others, that they do. And that is, of course, fine. It is never my place to opine on others’ choices. I have myself made the most erroneous choices myself in the past.

No, but it’s a permanent reminder that I do, in fact, make erroneous choices quite often and even today. That in trusting people who say they want something, I make the lamentable mistake of believing them. That they might say something and not back it up I find wholly unbelievable. And so I live the lie with them.

But why should this be a surprise? There are varying degrees of wants, no? Even for me. And if most people aren’t steadfast enough to *truly* want, then why should the individual be any different from the despised hypermediocre masses? We are defined not by intention, appearances, words, or desires. We are defined solely by our actions and our inaction. To think that anything else would set us apart is a grave fantasy.

For the matters of one’s life, why should another push when one digs on their heels, why, when the mass of their body, rotting with an unwashable stench of stagnation, refuses to budge? When the old ways persist, are permitted to persist, and are even perhaps encouraged to persist? That new patterns are dissolved as easily as they are formed, and with haste? That the tinniest of will is dissolved by the newest distraction? No, there is no why. You mustn’t. I mustn’t. It is possible, sure. But is it worth the time? The effort?

No.

Let this be a reminder to me, so that I may always follow through where I have said I will follow through. Let me walk where I say I will walk. Let me act where I say I must act. Let me do as I know I must do. Nothing else really matters. No wonder I’m a shitty poker player. I hold ‘em even if I every instinct tells me it is time to fold. To let go. I’ll always be an optimist in the beginning. There no reason to be soured forever, at least not in the beginning. But as true colors are unsheathed?

DJ always told me: “Never be married to your position”

Read: always be ready to cut your losses, learn, and get the fuck out.

Amen to that, brother. Amen indeed.

Found written earlier:
————

http://www.hypeless.net/25lines/?p=626

i am
like a satellite – executing a burn to broadcast my waves beyond you
like a rhodes – my sails are drawn tighter against and into the wind
like a viper – tilt and yaw preparing for jump of precision power
like a red car – leaving the past in my dust
like a tower – rise tall and Seeing into the distance
like the fire – burn hot and bright, sharing my light
like the surfer – pressing my body against the power of the water, carrying through it and over it, into the very forces from whence we came, returning there again to know the saline womb within myself.

i am become Balance, Symmetry, and Form.
i bring Order to Chaos
————

Chaos is something that has been fascinating since reading Jurassic Park.
I remember the iterative curves marking chapter divisions.

We complain a lot about stagnation. Rigidity. Predictability. Calm.

Chaos on the other hand isn’t ideal either. Unbridled, it is madness, it is raw power.

Uncontrolled power causes destruction. There is a time and a place for that, but if you don’t want to destroy (or be destroyed) it would be good to think about how to ride chaos.

I think that’s why I’ve always been taken by the notion of the controlled stall ever since middle school, when I learned about the X-29: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grumman_X-29

To enter chaos, fully, but then to be able to balance and navigate it.

True power.

the beginnings of this came to me on approach from EWR to YQM. had to start writing it the moment i got back to my room.

Part 1: http://www.hypeless.net/25lines/?p=828

Part 2: http://www.hypeless.net/25lines/?p=832

Part 3: http://www.hypeless.net/25lines/?p=834

—————————————

The road was slick. Rain had just fallen, an hour, maybe two, prior. Rain in December. I remember seeing old men in golf shorts in February in the middle of North Carolina. For a guy who was used to sliding down the golf course through late March (April some years), it was just bizarre. But for home, it was raining. These little weather trends add up to start feeling like the end of the world.

I just assumed I’d be the one driving. Flew into Moncton to save time / money. It’s a good 90 minutes from home on a clear, clean day. With slick roads, you always have the threat of black ice. Better to take it safe, even if you’re used to 20 over the limit. You just don’t fuck with black ice. It’s ice. And it’s black. It fucks you up. Snow tires, even. Studded snow tires. Great for snow, not so great for clean roads, wet roads.

Eased up on the pedal, fell into rhythm. Road the road like a dogsled of steel harness and bench. Red in the butt to tell other sleds to stay back, I was on fire. Glanced to the right, glanced in the mirror. They were all knocked out. It just made sense for me to drive, wouldn’t let dad bully me into giving it to him. In silence, I drove my family home.

The road was pretty straightforward. Just a bit wet. No one else really on the road, just a truck here or there, poor guys.

Snow started falling. More angel dust.

Fog. Visibility tightened up, and I couldn’t see further than my low-beams. You never punch up your head lamps in fog, cause the reflection off the mist punches back. You see nothing. Blinded white.

Eased up on the throttle, slowed down further. Still fast enough that a moose would wreck me (and walk away) but this road didn’t really have many of them. You never knew when they wanted to take a stroll, you never knew. But slow enough that Gabriella pulled up next to me.

I took another glance around the car. Asleep.

I looked back at her. Parka pulled over her silver blonde hair, pulled tight. I could just make out her upper visage. She looked like she smiled at me – you can always see a smile in the eyes – and then led. Her board in overdrive, at unrealistic speeds, but she seemed unrealistic, didn’t she? She rode on ahead, cutting a path through the snow.

The snow started to float around her, together we cut through it cleanly. Anything the light of my dogsled touched was warmed and opened up, the road was ours. Traffic seemed to be non-existent on this particular stretch, too. Hadn’t seen a car in miles. The dogs from the engine broke free, galloped, loose in front of us. Unleashed, they pulled the throttle back up, pulling the aluminum chassis and my family along with them. The snow coated their fur, coated them everywhere. Encrusting their faces with white dust, angel dust everywhere.

Gabriella led the dogs. She didn’t drive them, they simply followed her.

She looked back at me one more time. Raised her hand to point at me. And crooked her finger, beckoning me to follow.

As if I had a choice in the matter.

She pointed forward, and her finger tip went nova. Light, purple and white, burst free from the tip of her index, and a tiny pea of intense glow shot forward and fell unto the road. I could barely make out the silhouette of the light-pea explode into the road, distorting my view – no, distorting the road. The asphalt distorted, writhed in pain, in pleasure? And became fluid. A beast emerged, at first seemingly a sand-worm, a worm of concrete to engulf the road, made of the road. But it seemed more like an unagi, or nessy. Made of purple light, and Gabriella rode on in.

I glanced into the purple mouth, glanced around, my cargo still asleep.

I followed her.

the async detachment feels stronger out here. it’s clear to me why i cannot be here for long periods of time. the timing is off. the time zone is off. it feels colder, inside. the higher, the fewer. things close earlier. things operate… on a schedule.

it’s a great time to disconnect, not a great time to want to be connected.

it’s true, we all have our own worlds we live in. some we share, some we keep away.

and physical distance makes it easier to lock people out. to ignore. to not reply. to be aloof.

but man, the jet-lag is getting to me. would rather shift it, be the other way.

i’m just typing words now. i’m not sure what they really mean. and i’m not sure they do either.

“Concentrate on visualizing the flow of time. It must move, not you.”

The last few days have simply passed through my fingers. There’s only a week left, and I know it will pass through me just as plainly. I need to finish all that I’ve started.