Flip Days

Conflict.

45 All of above results in conflict. Why do you come here? In trying to see your collar in a rear view mirror, you see one sincere, contorted eye. You see an angry shouting man inside a car. You approach a major intersection. You use the left-hand lane in which you trust your life to the driving skills of the random public. Through the turn, logic passes through your mind, the same logic meditation once used to cure the world. You’ve wended a mongrel path. Your happiness is blighted by a memory deserving perfection in its future. Courtship is a harvest like death. We would speak each week, which we have not. We would part and be loyal friends. We would run away each year, which we cannot do. We still meet between our busy schedules, like strangers. You pass the house of someone who died. Now you’re here to carry on this same dilemma we regret he cannot share? Under the constant threat of quick death by car, fire, or collapse, it’s a pleasant apparatus: From one end it kills you, from the other it makes you uninterested in anything else in the world. Nothing hearkens back, eventually. You feel alone as with a death, with new new others around you. ...