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{untitled} mark hartenbach we have all the time in the world/just for love/ nothing more/nothing less/only love -louis Armstrong when you’ve been driving for a few hours straight, you begin to feel disconnected from all that surrounds you. you begin to feel like you & the vehicle are a separate entity instead of a piece of something else. a world of us. lines of communication with the world can be cut simply by twisting a knob. you feel nothing can tear you apart, no matter how much power it allegedly wields. you feel safer. rocked gently by that which must understand what it's like to be abandoned. nothing can infiltrate. nothing can distinguish. nothing enhances. nothing reproduces. a world of us. it all comes from within. within is without. without is to possess everything. you feel an unbreakable bond with the person you’re traveling with. a world of us. with us there’s an unbreakable psychological & emotional bond, which has been there since our first night, or so i believe, though this ride i'm speaking of is more of a spatial glue than a direct physical interaction. a spiritual experience, though the road has sapped the adequate words to describe it, or perhaps it doesn't matter what sort of shape we're in. a world of us. at times i feel i’ve stumbled into the correct frequency. i need no pinpoint control. gliding in smoothly, silent as an assassin. it didn’t invite me, however, it accepted me with open arms. it knows i won’t abuse the gift. nothing is planned. nothing is prepackaged. nothing is hyped. nothing is tampered with. observers don't seen to notice this. i feel i can read their faces for once, at least the ones not afraid to look this way. they are of different worlds. we are a world of us. a monarch butterfly hits the windshield at sixty-five. its orange & black wings sticking to the glass as if snapped in flight. its frame nothing more than an anonymous splatter. i look over at her. she asks me if we can change the cassette. |
