still on a moving freeway

6pm. weeknight. seeing red. gone still in the center of an interstate. no one knows this place like i do. ground is polished smooth like marble. i can find my way home by sea glass in the stone.

some of the stuff i like about this life nonstop

The experience i have of living is so precious to me, from the moment I wake up and even while i sleep, and even when i feel controlled or having to wait in line somewhere, someone i might talk to can suddenly make me feel special, seen, even free! the moments i spit angrily upon the gray urban concrete overcast city even they may turn over in a flash when am i awash in spirit filled with color by a song from a window of a high rise, an automobile passing by, the blue notes warping orange and green and fuschia as we comes and go and the distance between us closes or grows... a street artist, a jump rope kid, a skater flipping the board under his feet upon a rail and sliding down in the balance... the bass on a hot summer day spills out a trunk in a traffic jam to meet the heat rising in oil and exhaust, or the decided will of nature pushing up out of a frost until the sprout cracks through somewhere, a sidewalk a tunnel, a floorboard, even through the eye socket of a skull or a broken shell, the inhabitant long since gone on... hell, it warms my heart! an otherwise cold unfeeling is replaced. Life is nonstop. How could I question my freedom after a sight like that?