A night on the road

Everything comes down to that night on the road. The world was silent, the sky was clear. I kept my pace racing past your shadow-ghost. Everything comes down to that night on the road.

Everything comes down to that night on the road. People around me were silent, my path ahead was clear (my only path as it became under me). People around me were silent as fuck, so much that I know there wasn’t anyone on that night on the road.

Everything comes down to that night on the road. I was driving a car through New Mexico and I stopped at a rest area. The milky way opened up the belly of the darkness like a Spanish fan full of light and colors and blood that bleeds that night on the road.

Everything comes down to that night on the road. I raced my bike along the Neckar river chased by a mouth full of rabid dogs, and I felt lonely and connected to the stars like a salvation that lives up there. But hell, there’s no stars on that lonely night on the road.

Everything comes down to that night on the road when there was no night and there was no road. My reality consisted of a blade that never happened. Of a knife and a fist that happened upon me, upon an instant as thin as a blade can get, and as road and as night as a self could become that night on the road.

Everything comes down to that night on the road. The world was silent, the sky was clear. My pace was apace with my heartbeat. I left, as I walked, an uncertain map behind: Cottbus, Truro, Víznar or Alfacar, Toledo, Brooklyn, half of the Boulevard of Kukulkán. I left my steps behind, and I left behind a road roaring on that night.

Dirac proposed that all the electrons might be one and the same. That given the equation with their action, there is just one solution and all the particles entangled in our chemistry are many aspects of that single object. Thus, I pinned down my roads and my nights to that lonely feeling, and I computed the tensions they held in space and time and in my torn-up soul, and they didn’t sum up. And I checked the numbers and jerked off frantically to all those maths running over my skin. And I came

and I cum

as I realized

and realize there’s still more road ahead that never ending night. Then, if taken with care, all those tension points, the next Truros and Kukulkáns, the roads and the light and the darkness of those nights, they coil upon themselves like a twisted fractal rose with ten dimensions and zero mass. And then, yes, they are all the same, a perfect manifold that I’ve walked many times: a night on the road along a road made of night.