cygnoir.net

cygnoir.net

i want to feel good

I remembered to catch the 1 California, though it does not run east on California. I counted out a dollar and a quarter, two dimes and a nickel, and I walked a few blocks down the hill until I met the bus hiss-popping to a stop at the light.

The bus, even accordioned, was full. As I gave over my money and rose to the driver’s level, he smiled and said, “Hold on.” I gripped the yellow metal bars and turned to face the windshield.

The street, the oncoming traffic, the tiny people with their huge plastic bags, everything was so fast and bright and close. The massive windshield shielded me from only wind as I listened to the audiobook narrator intone,

“Repeat these five words to yourself: ‘I want to feel good.’”

I want to feel good.

I want to feel good. I want to feel like I did inside a massively unsafe metal thing hurtling me down a hill, down faster faster go go go let’s let go and shoot into the bay no one will notice us gone just one less bus on the street that’s not California and we’ll disappear into the water and all of us will grow tails and gills and we’ll spend our days not behind desks but appearing to children granting them wishes and adorning them with starfish. Let’s go.

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I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.

∞