Out of Apathy pt. 4

Silent as the tomb of a long dead memory encapsulated in the furthest regions of the cerebellum, the car ride is agonizing because of the labor to come, but relieving due to the chance to ponder so many questions. Along the road there are no street lights, the glow of the headlights fills the dark void in front of the vehicle, showing the yellow painted line down the middle of the road to keep people from swerving off course. The shining horizon is lit up by city lights; an eerie purple glow fades into the inky black void as the sky climbs higher and higher. A metaphor perhaps on this existence here on the Earth, looking up there is a desolate expanse littered with widely dispersed specks called stars, but down below is a vibrant glow of life and happenings. Then why does it seem so dead down here and so alive up there? Looking at the sky during prehistoric times must have been a sight because there was nothing to hinder their brilliance from the eyes. Painted in various shades of purple, red, and blue with a black background, the night sky would have been marvelous. It is too bad that things like that are largely only imagined for most people because of the rapid expansion of civilization.

Traveling down the road, it becomes brighter and brighter as the city approaches, a sprawling metropolis complete with everything the consumer needs. Sex is available for purchase on most corners, as well as drugs, and one can severely inebriate himself to the point of unconsciousness, such is the existence of so many unhappy people. There are so many warnings prohibiting such activities, but it is a continuing occurrence and one can only ask why would people keep up their self abuse? Perhaps it is to escape the banal of their day-to-day lives. Unhappiness can have a profound effect on the weak willed, and absolution seems to be the most enticing offer presented. Many blame their God for making their lives miserable because they need a scapegoat and are not willing to recognize their own faults. God cannot be blamed, it is merely the creator of all things, and, though its energy exists in all things, it endowed humans with free will to make their own decisions. Just because God doesn’t come and fix every person’s problems does not make them its fault.

This is a truly human aspect, not willing to accept blame for mistakes. Why is this so hard? Why don’t people realize that by accepting their mistakes they can then learn from them for future reference? One makes so many mistakes in life, and there is no time for trivial dwelling. This is just one of the recurring ideas that the late night drive can provide. Is it the silence and loneliness that helps initiate these spiteful thoughts, or is it the world itself seeping through the pores within the cool night air that passes through the open window. A hand extended outside the window provides so many interesting thoughts. The wind dresses itself around the hand, surrounding it, holding it, and moving it in any direction it wants. Passing between the fingers and cooling the sweaty palms, it exists and yet doesn’t exist; it is there, but it isn’t. There is only the effect of the wind, but no real evidence of its existence. Such a beautiful idea, the wind, one can attempt to describe it, draw it, or picture it in their minds, but there is never a clear image because it exists and doesn’t exist at the same time in this world. The wind is somewhere before the beginning, but after the end. It flows through and around all things.

The routine night drive becomes a religious experience. It seems to be the only time to escape from the madness of the surrounding world because there is nothing for miles around except vast, unlit roadway. As the city approaches the stars fade and the night sky glows. The feeling of oneness dissipates, just like the stars, creating a feeling of anguish pulling hard against the chains of working life; a slave to the almighty dollar, to put it in a crude fashion, but in all actuality that is the only way to survive. Other systems that try to eliminate the capitalist way of life fail due to the factor of human nature, and so the toiling must continue. The shining red stoplight is a jolt back to reality, and a signifying mark that the realm of tranquility has been interrupted by the hustle and bustle of city life. Even at this late of an hour, the city is teeming with cars and people. It never sleeps. Like the human body, the city may enter semi-dormant periods, but it never truly rests. The city continues to consume and produce waste; it breathes out its noxious fumes and even changes the surrounding weather patterns. Concrete giants continue to grow and grow in an image some male architect’s fantasized fallacy. Ever expanding, it sprawls for hundreds of square miles, like a mountain peaked in its center and sloping downward.

The main drive is blocked with vehicles, stopped and lined up like inmates. There seems to be an accident far down the road. Further up the road a woman was diligently attempting to put on her make-up before her night on the town, while she was driving, and she happened to cross paths with a man who had just left a tavern with a few too many ppm of alcohol in his system. Both parties were at fault in this situation, but who is to blame? The man made poor judgment for deciding to drive when he knew her was inebriated, but the woman also miscalculated her own abilities by taking her eyes off the road and hands off the wheel to make sure that here eyeliner was just perfect for tonight’s hunt. Fault can’t be placed either way it seems, but it matters not because some outside force has decided that since they were both at fault, both should lose their lives. With this decision made for these two misguided individuals, the job that is being driven to may be lost as a result. Though this would be a legitimate excuse, there have already been numerous warnings given about being late. If the traffic doesn’t clear up in the next 15 minutes there would be no need for dealing with this overwhelming and strenuous part of the drive. Normally this wouldn’t be such a bad proposition, but bills are not able to pay themselves and some kind of monetary funds are needed to sustain life. Looking at the clock and realizing that there is no time to make the venture and then examining the cash content in the dirty jeans pockets, something snaps and the course changes. Finding a loophole the vehicle is quickly turned about and driven off back into the inky black night, away from the city lights and down the highway.