Streetlights and Straightjackets

Streetlights manage the flow of human movement. For every one that is green and let's us go, there is a red one stopping someone else. How long will it be before people become fed up with having to wait at these red lights while others have the privilege of moving ahead? People will not be satisfied to wait while others move. Likewise, those who are moving will wonder why it is that so many are able to sit in a place of rest for a time. Humans, unlike insects, are busy because of traffic. What appears from far above like a hive is certainly more like a clock. What are compunction and timing but the ultimate means of medicating insanity? Pills are taken at the same time every day or they will not be taken at all, just as we work at the same time every day, regardless of the size of work that needs to be done. Anticipating slowing down, stopping or going ahead at the same checkpoints, unhindered by the stone on which we will surely trip along a future walk or the water we will spill in the kitchen tomorrow morning, we resent our limitations. By picking and choosing which limitations to resent, however, we trap ourselves more tightly in our bonds. The more we pull, the more aware we are of how far we are able to go, which is ultimately a distance measured by impotence.

      How long before every intersection is turned into a roundabout? This will certainly coincide with the movement and ever roundabout motion of everything else, from commerce, to culture, to sex and currency. The only agency which will be left is whatever decides to grow on the grassy islands and gardens in the middle of roundabouts, until finally, one turns one's head toward it in the middle of a slow enough turn of the wheel and is reminded of just what organic movement can make beautiful. On that day, others will turn their heads to notice this fact, and they will either plant more gardens, unwilling to savor this beauty only ever in the midst of movement, or they will take down even these gardens and small patches of grass, content to destroy the last illusions of refuge which stood a chance against their unflinching myopia, their stubborn love of obedience, their self hatred and its sibbling selfishness, unaware of or unresponsive to the truth that whatever is available to everyone is of no value to anyone.