Arrow of alley

I wish. That life out of an alley would shoot forward to target, like an arrow.

Unfortunately, its trajectory has been more like a beeline . A shock absorber with DNA strands and scars. Perhaps it’s better that way (an arrow might miss its target). Like little Red Robin, we can afford to make an unplanned stop here and there, to get in trouble.

The Good Lord knows all this (Omniscient). Been there and done that Himself (Omnipresent and Omnipotent). The truth will set me free, despite path I have taken . Every step (you take, every move you make, I will be watching) even missteps.

Out of the alley, I have passed the analog phase : 8-track music, VHS and Betamax.

Then digital phase with easier surveillance. So prevalent that I afraid am being watched, heard and recorded, anywhere, anytime (certainly at the gym this morning). Citizens of China: rise up! (You’d rather be watched but not lying down).

How could countries keep their citizens under watch is beyond me. Someday, they all escape to not just another country, but another universe: Metaverse.

From Marilyn Chamber to digital chamber (playground, sandbox, etc..).

Control, control, control. Hemmed in. Like randomized-test mice with placebo. Awaiting death inevitable.

Meanwhile, control groups urge us to experience other death precautions (spiritual, social and psychological) like baptismal or other wise for insurance.

Out of the alley, I shot forward in time. Neither straight, nor curve. Just one rung at a time, along the narrow trail. Then it struck me. It’s not the road, but the seasons, not topology but time: Summer and Fall, Winter and Spring. Each with its own charm and allure.

Then exhausted, I just prefer to come home. To rest. To take stock. And to depressurize. The Industrial Revolution (scale) and the Information Revolution (access) push us relentlessly from 24/7 time to virtual time (neither Sun nor Moon regularity).

Just the hum of florescent lights, the tap on the keyboards and the final signature on death certificate. Hands left un-held and memory unrecalled. Life as an arrow? Not so fast. You’ve got to let the morning last.

Milk it out. Make it last . With spare moments as reservoir to reflect. Before coming back in full circle. To an alley where it all started. Analog obviously.