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epistle log 20enty 2wo
drive
71 north at a steady 2600 rpm (old school cruise control) wishing i could sing today, but my jaws still ache (minus four teeth) and the swelling makes me more nasal than usual.
i love to drive. alone. airing it out on the highway, letting the car settle into the rhythm it wants to run in a beautiful amorphous hum, both mechanical and organic. the car sings for me, and i resonate with it, sliding into the channel made by the road, not the broken l i n e s.
i learned early in my driving experience that looking at the l i n e s could get you anywhere on the road, even guiding you off of it. looking at the road, though, not directly but holistically, sets you on the invisible path, in a groove, and connects you to the road in a way that the l i n e s could only divorce you from.
if you drift from this channel, blown by the wind or drafted in by a semi, you feel the discomfort: you don't see a convergence or intersection of your projected path with the roughly parallel l i n e s that purport to guide you.
another case of thinking too much, a recurring theme and constant struggle to mediate between brain and soul: contemplation and action.
or is it just me?
03|07|99