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Jun. 25, 2007 I am somewhere in Dade or Broward County, and I am out of the car and onto the parking lot. The pavement is blacker than black, because it must have been done over, and this coupled with the night makes my think of the abyss. There are white lines that are of course demarcation lines for parking, and though they are not lit up they seem lit up, from within, these holy white painted twentieth century lines. The times of staring out car windows as the landscapes go by are almost over but I don’t realize this. The end of the eternal daydream is at hand; only it was not a daydream, but a reality purer than any of the realities, than what they claim to be reality itself. The fluorescent light from some huge store is there, and the other people have to go in, so I am left there for moments, with the abyss of the black asphalt and the holy white lines both. I walk on a bit. I thought my shirt was light, but it’s not light enough. There is a Coke machine and I thought there was a black man sitting by it but I am wrong. He walked by, between it and me. He was about forty but looked sixty at first glance. He had green eyes and was of medium height. He looked at me and knew me though he didn’t know me at all. These exchanges. They mean nothing to people. There was a lady like that in Martinique. There was a man like that on the steps outside of some church somewhere. I stood around the Coke machine for a bit, and gulped in the night. The traffic sounded like waves. I always liked the sound of the traffic. The waves of metropolises. I walked across the way some, to a strip plaza, and near the end or on the end was a small shop. I want to remember the light being yellow inside, but something tells me it was white. It was as if it was white inside and when you were on the outside, the light cast out became yellow. There was a wall of cigarettes. This was the most beautiful thing. There were packages and cartons. It was a nicotine candy store of quiet delight. There must have been every color of packaging known to humanity. I could see smart black letters, and white letters, and glossy green packs, and matted blue packs and to look there it was something Zen, but I never did figure out why it was Zen. I bought Winstons, and went back out to towards the sea sound of the traffic and the abyss and the holy white lines. I thought existence was the strangest thing, the most peculiar thing. I looked at the bone in my wrist continually. I tried to count from one to twenty in French over and over again. I tried to start reality over and over. Driving driving driving. The longer the night could stretch out, the better. The night was spacious, sprawling, somehow magnetic, infused with humid breezy joy, offering itself through way of providence, and awake in the dream of itself. ------------ Email Brian Michael Barbeito: Brian1750@Hotmail.com Comment on this article here! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
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