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Empty Mind, Get Out of My Way

Gus Savoie's picture

This always starts wrong, it just feels wrong. Hard to explain, but sitting here, watching the trains pass below, it just feels... like a vibration is passing through me that doesn't mesh with the rest of my surroundings. I feel, out of phase - to steal some corny shit I saw on a Star Trek TNG episode a few times. And it isn't so much that, it isn't that I don't feel as if I am HERE, but rather I just feel wrongly here. Like a mismatch to the frequency of the situation, as if in this universe of interdependent arising - every last happening fitting in perfectly with everything else in a nearly inconceivable perfect rhythm - I am somehow in the wrong place at the wrong frequency.

Of course if this were true, somewhere out there in this vast EVERYTHING is the part of the frequency that I am supposed to fit with - also feeling out of place... out of step.

of course if this REALLY was true - things would be incontrovertibly FUCKED. The whole works would cease to exist.

Of course, this could never be true - because everything is always where it is supposed to be moving and vibrating and all that shit all the time. There is no escaping this - it's just the way it is. Just because I can imagine such a thing just shows an ignorance of the truth.

In moments like this, I find solace in my over analysis of reality. The fact that I feel wrong is exactly right, and somehow that makes me feel better about it.

The thinly French robotic voice announcing my ride echoes through the labyrinthine concrete corridors of the station. I push my way down the escalator, walking with it like I'm in a big important rush. My duffle is slung over my back and adds quite a bit of mass to my otherwise shrimpy frame - and a bit of momentum to boot. I pass with a flurry of "excuse me” and "sorry" to the NPCs I leave bowled over and stunned and irate in my wake. My mom hates the way I drag my entire existence around in this bag - but I feel better this way. She thinks that some perv is going to ogle my because I wear the straps crisscross on my chest - like I have much of anything there to accentuate, especially through my insulated M-65, retro-chic army coat. If anybody finds that sexy... well I'd like to meet them and slap them for being such a loser.

Soon I'm pushing the duffle into the outside of one of the 70's orange moulded-plastic forwarded facing seats in the back of the last train. I sink into my coat, letting its rigid material cocoon around me until I can just peer out though the part in my bangs that fall down over the flipped-up collar.

I watch.