Over the Hill

Shit. The light is green. Facing into the wind, I struggle. I am going uphill and I see the green light ahead. Undoubtedly, as soon as I reach the top of the hill, and the crosswalk countdown comes into clearer view, I will see I have four seconds to make it from the top of the hill to the light. That’s not going to happen. My one reprieve, my one last grasp of hope, that of being able to cruise downhill after using my every last bit of strength to get to the top, is diminished. If I attempt to run the red light, I’m battling a convoy of two ton machines that just escaped from the highway; my Schwinn frame is no match for them. The light is still green. I have three seconds. Green = go. But going ^ hill = (-)velocity. Therefore, green now = stop.  Or yield at the very least. These symbols are supposed to be clear: perfectly translucent enough for all of the population to follow for a society to run smoothly. And now? 

Now the signals are confused. Does not compute. I thought I could go, but instead must halt. Stop. All of the signals say “Go for it,” but that’s according to the old system. Stop. Begin anew. Yield to the new way. To yield: harvest, crop, produce. Therefore, to yield = to gain. To progress. To move forward. To go ahead, as green once defined it. And red?

Red doesn’t mean stop. It doesn’t mean go. It doesn’t mean yield. It doesn’t mean, but is not meaning-less. It implies: perseverance, imagination, strong will, a quick wit and ability to get back on the bull. That charging bull that sees that apparitional red, toreadored away while blood-red eyes focus on the goal. Red means keep trying. Because things change. Rejection, detraction, convulsion: it passes. 

The light turns green. I pedal forward.  

Did He Hit His Head?

Did he hit his head?

God is in the details. But I was enveloped by bigger things. There were a few stars obscured by clouds. The City was beaming and it was Everything; the Lake was crashing and it was Nothing. My ears surrounded by seductive horns and triumphant percussion. His arms went straight up. He swayed to the right (he’ll regain his balance). He leaned to the left (oh shit). He went down. “Fuck, dude, are you alright?” “I’m fine, let’s keep going.” “Let’s just take a minute.” “Nah, let’s keep going.” 

Karl X Johan - Flames (uncompromised cut) from Emotion on Vimeo.

Did he hit his head?

We continued along, we caught up with the others. We took a new way, we found the river. The River. The intersection of Everything and Nothing. One becomes the other without schism: they flow into each other. The lights of our City are the stars of our generation; reflected on the water, shimmering, waving to us, it is the manifestation of starry night in 2011. 

“Did I hit my head?”

I am an atheist; God is in the details. So why did I feel the need to focus on one individual leaf of the trees that were zooming past, zero in, and try to grab it? I didn’t want a handful of leaves, I wanted precision: I wanted one.single.leaf. on every tree. And I was already plotting on the next tree before I had picked the leaf off the first. 

“Did he hit his head?”

I’ll never know that answer. My focus is backwards. Is my focus backwards? I should have paid more attention to the details. I hope it’s not too late. 

Perhaps the City is Nothing and Lake is Everything.