Cars

Sometimes I'm driving around in my car and I realize the actual power I have in my hands. I hold in my hands the choice of life and death, perfection in destruction and normality.

I think it started when I was riding with Ben years ago. I was always afraid that he would steer just a little to far to the right on bridges and that I would be impaled along those dangerous side barriers. Cut in half, perfect symmetry.

I drive now, with my brother in the passenger seat. Everyday, driving past mail boxes, dogs, people, bikes, cars, I can see the accident in my head, played out in there, perfect in every aspect.

I can see the blood, the bodies, the car smashed up into pieces. I can feel it, smell it, sense it with every bone in my body, perfectly portraying every moment.

But only for a second, for a brief flash of everything. Then its gone again.

It doesn't really scare me, I just know its there. I don't know what it means and I don't really care. Its there, its been there for quite some time. I don't think its going away.

Sometimes I'm tempted to just veer off the side of the road, to just die. I've always had a strange fascination with death, suicide in particular. I can't tell you the number of times I've stood at a ledge and looked down, wondering what it would feel like to jump. I know ten ways to commit the perfect suicide, if there is such a thing.

I don't know why I know them, I just do. Things like that just pop into my head.

Death is just another step on the path.

No worries my friends, no worries.