This started as a status update on Facebook, which is a horrible thing to admit.
I was driving my roommate's car to work this morning when the Aerosmith song "Rag Doll" came on the radio. I left my body and traveled over the heads of all those souls to whom this shit was being marketed. From above I could see the wear marks, how at first they resisted, then grew weary, and wearier still, finally arriving at a broken state half surrender, half hypnosis. The song is about a rag doll who lives "in the movies" and does other things. There's a sexual undercurrent and a sense of narrative empowerment fleshed out in the phrase "Yes I'm movin'/I'm really movin." I ended up so far beyond where I needed to be, probably just trying to escape that condescending smother pattern of car ad-car ad-Aerosmith ad-car ad-car-car ad.
And I thought about what I loved, how to my way of thinking it was different, and that if I belonged to the other world, the one below, I would probably not mind so much being that one generally takes the intellectual and empiricial tenor of his own being as a point of limited pliability.
When I got home I decided to try out an exercise in meditation. Donning an old motorcycle helmet left in the hallway by the last tenant and a pair old shop class safety goggles blacked out with electrical tape I began running headlong at the kitchen wall, repeatedly, listening to Big Youth. The idea was to replicate, not merely in the corners and depths of my body, but in a deeper state of being that wild, comical expression he uses that goes something like:
Finding: No Equal Agency Among Persons
Not even to affect change upon their own immediate environments.
There are no slippery slopes, but some are steppy.
You can see the steps, and they're going ...