I was in my car, my small white thing that is maybe a few years away from death but for the current years serves me well enough, though it would subsequently refuse to yield to my will the next day. It was early in the morning, there was a painless sun out, an October sun that would intensify in the months to come.
I drove with the palm of one hand while the other fiddled with radio stations and cassette tapes. Distracted drivers may die, according to the TAC, but driving my car with my one hand had become a pleasure that compensated for other boredoms. I pressed a cassette into the player but reneged: the music needed to be softer. Why don’t I feel like being funkified if it’s too early in the morning? Are we more emotional creatures at night, would a bunch of blogging about feelings be impossible if it wasn’t for the darkness of night-time? Is that why we are condemned to take care of business at the emotionless hour of nine o’clock in the morning?
Prince’s When doves cry appeared on the radio and I gave myself over to it while I drove with my outstretched arm on the wheel and my shoulder linking to it popping up and down, my stomach jumping and contracting as I drove through the intersection followed by an L-plater taking her/his or his/her driving test.
I parked and suddenly I was on foot, knowing that apart from my Bolivia dreamtimes I never set foot on foot anywhere anymore, I had slightly lost my faith in my body. That’s the goal: to reduce my life to simply what my body can produce and what my mind can produce, and not be sidetracked by the irrelevant and mediocre sideshows all around us. But it won’t happen yet because I will not feel complete with simply what I can bring to the table. I will always need someone else’s input.
I was alone, on my feet, alone with my body, my person, and there’s all of these things out there in the world, lots of options, each day we can do anything, but there’s nothing to do, nothing that can be done that can change anything at all that does not involve the slow process of natural change. Everything stays the same, and I looked around and suddenly had a slight suspicion that the M.G. experiment will not end well. The working world had locked me out, I could not contribute any kindness to anyone, I just didn’t have any chances. Being alone in the sun in a decaying suburb will play a few mind games on a fellow.