{watching a siren flash by the side of the road; an ambulance perhaps, or maybe a fire truck}
Cars stop when a siren bathes the world in two colours - red and blue. There is an almost demented beauty about a world that exists in just two colours. It is gratifying and reassuring to have existence, in all its multifaceted glory, reduced, even if for a short time, to this binary state: red and blue; red and blue; red and blue. It is also selfish, to be perfectly honest, and puerile too. When a siren flashes we are able to, for a second, for just a second, reduce the complexities of life to these two colours, & when we do, we crow and exult and brag and swagger and giggle insanely - we now understand everything as easily as we understand the abstract concept of "binary". We are so childish, some of us at any rate - some of are relaxed and take everything in our stride.
Sirens always cease. It is inevitable. "It's OK with me...."
What's even more beautiful is how cars take off after a siren ceases. Have you seen them? They wait in line by the side of the road, and then, at the same time, at the exact same time, the cars turn from the curb, and the headlights, moving in unison, abruptly turn into the street. It's breathtaking! When you see it, you stop, frozen in the exact same way that you would if you saw a wild dog appear out of nowhere, turning it's rancid, transient attention towards you. It's terrifying! Walk along a beach: the tide comes up and covers your feet and you find yourself feeling nauseous - the disconcertion is created by your forward movement clashing against the left, right, left, right, left, right movement of the tide. It's the same thing. It's the same feeling - just cars moving after a siren ceases.
I feel so frustrated that I can't breathe anymore. I can't breathe. I can't breathe.
{the world stopped being red and blue a long time ago; we just never really noticed}
R.I.P. HST 1937-2005
Written on Friday, 25 February 2005