A Reason for A Reason

(For What Remains... (When We Are Shadows), 2006)

What can be said for all this to happen…for a future to be born from just the chance of two strangers. I long to discovery a world that is free and without a past. A future without a plan, and without a history. Can we just forget it all before now? I itch for a moment, just that right moment that is filling up with the waters of chance, just about to explode and there we are, a static that fills the air.
I talk of experience, of moments passed, for each person I meet there is another story to be added to a larger story. At times I feel overwhelmed with responsibility to these people, that their friction with my life must be recorded. And little by little they are made permanent in my collection of experience. But I want us to be born again without a history. That there aren’t truths to discover from our past, that we left it behind like all the failures and regrets, a giant pile of rocks and rolled grass, even deer and small animals will be rolled up in this Katamari ball of the things that fall pass our shadows.
We’ll live our days with a motto like, “The More You Know The More You’ll Have To Leave Behind”. We’ll travel the world on motorcycles with our leather jackets and our matching leather gloves. We’ll look as fierce as friendly, surprising kids in backseats by turning a serious road face into a valley full of smiles; we’ll wave as we pass and they will put down their gameboys and tell their parent they want to ride motorcycles with us. Of course their parents will never let them, but when the sun sets and their parents are clocking those extra hours of driving those kids will dream of riding through the country in our newly added sidecars. There will be goggles. There will be adventures to be forged, and there will be new entries in our lives, all of our lives, together, shared on the road.
I couldn’t think of any of way to better put a proposal for escape. And so I rest by my cycle, waiting for the right partner to join me. Thump out on the side of the road, the bike still kicks, I just wait. Deep down inside I wonder if you can hear me now, the voice scratchy from the many days of absence of words. Can you hear me calling, singing with the road, a symphony with the idea of escape. The road turns orange-black as the sun kisses the peaks of trees beyond my stop, I can see the stars begin to wake, and the wind blows a humble sense over me. The reason blows right pass me, never stopping, as it continues with or without you.

*[in smaller text] I have a hard time telling people that I wrote something for them, that they were a source of inspiration, some get frightened by the level of intimacy I can imagine in my fiction, but my words and my affections for those in my life are mine to keep. I write for you.