Friday, October 10, 2008

Yesterday I had déjà-vu a couple times.

Slowly curling around a highway off ramp in the late afternoon I watched a seemingly out of place grassy hill bathed in sunlight. It was a deep yellow and I watched the wind seductively wrap its curvy body in the silky grass. It rippled and surged under the invisible waves and I knew what in fact was playing on that hill. My fellow motorists were unaware of the impending danger.

Then late last night driving down a dark and slick Bloor Street I watched the streets teem with young blood. Globs of flesh protruding from thigh high stockings, networks of vein and bones mischievously dangling from short skirts and unbuttoned necklines gave pause for caution. Just because ghosts were following me shouldn’t preclude me from gazing as muscle and sinew worked hard against the unseasonably warm autumn air. It was warm enough to expose bare skin, but I bet it would rise and tighten under the gentlest of touches. I continued on…

I witnessed the romance of a haymaker, the betrayal of alcohol, the hyper vivid realization that we are not as strong as we appear and that maybe self doubt is a good thing. There are a lot of forces at work; in the grass, in my rearview...the most powerful of which is in my head, keeping me safe by telling me “I can’t”.

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1 Comments:

At 1:18 PM, Anonymous Santropol Courant said...

I had deja you!

 

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