Friday, February 18, 2011

A February Afternoon, on the Bus

Blue, white and red sped towards me, a great sleigh of metal, steel, rubber and fluids. Rumbling like an avalanche, hissing an ancient steam engine sound; windowed doors folded open for me. I walked up the steps, pulling out a leather wallet, passing it, to the right, over a scanner,which beeped a greeting.

Passing faces, I looked for an empty oasis, there between metal bars and another hissing steam door. Lurching me impatiently into a seat, the bus rolled forward, onwards to its next stop, all regulation and clockwork. With my focus beginning to wander I looked outwards through great glass windows, a sea of colors and movement before me, assaulting my retinas through the glass. So beautiful and different, yet simple and complex. Fractalizing before my eyes.
But something caught my attention, what was there before me, between my own lenses and the pane of glass.

A solemn world, it was dreary, gray and devoid of life. So unlike the world around me. Mirrored buses and cars drove on the wrong side of the road, signs were backwards, doors opened different ways, all a strange, rewound world. Construction cranes swung tantamount to their counterparts, all a grungy gray, devoid of life and meaning, bending with light, filtered through an eternal cloud.

Thoughts came to mind, what would it be to live in that other world. Where right hands become left hands, left eyes, become right. How would words form? Would we count down the minutes counter clockwise? Would we exit stage right on the left or stage left on the right? Would there be a fourth wall? How deep would be our conversations? As shallow as the glass that contained us? Would we take our voidless bus from stop to stop, on the now righted side of the road, entering from the left side, paying ticket stubs to our left, when our brains thought an echo of something was passing through them, as attempts to pay to the right?

What kind of person would I be? A backwards individual, introverted to the point of knowing ones self and not ones surroundings. Would I be rude, or kind; having all the current problems of an unreflected world solved by reflection, would new and unknown errors occur? Did the great computers of the time tick away mans identity, or were they slowly reverting, reversing from my own time, but progressing forward to their future?

Society of this unknown world, did it mold itself from a once expansive hive, with no secrets, identities or individuals, to a person to person connection? Was the individual beginning to see their own freedom, as phones changed from their brains, to their hands to contraptions hanging on a wall, to notes in a metal box. Were their triumphs the ability to write with charcoal and parchment, until the individual became a many different "one" alone in their own thoughts, simple as they are, to then nothing at all?

Is this mirrored world's only purpose to find existence within solitude? To hiccup within itself, imploding into silence.

But silence was broken, a hissing pop, and a ping, notifying me that my world needed my attention. Standing I turned away from that mirrored world, leaving it where I always do, to contemplate later. Purpose grumbled and hissed as I stepped off, my worlds purpose full of noise and intent. I turned right, walking on.

No comments:

Post a Comment