Offensive Thoughts

Sometimes, when riding my bicycle, my mind goes in places that aren’t pretty.

Sometimes I’m afraid to talk about them because I don’t want to ruin my reputation.

I don’t know what brings these thoughts on: sometimes, a blog post and sometimes a conversation with my wife.

Dead Squirrel

Where we all end up

This morning, I thought of one of two big topics: death.

This is something that I talked about before, but each time I think about it, it’s like it’s happening for the first time.

Today, I was trying to take some photos of people who love to drive in the gutter. I almost think that should be a TV show when I got buzzed a lot.

I know that most people do this deliberately. Now that the initial anger is gone, I started thinking more about the people behind the glass and steel coming inches from my face.

If I ever, ever did this, this would be the act that I was most ashamed of.

Today, I, since I had a camera out, I tried to snap photos of the drivers as they went over the white line into the gutter. But as before, the minute I started documenting this, they stopped doing it.

Now, I do believe in the basic goodness of humanity, but we are still animals who respond to our environments. Thus, I don’t see the point in worrying about something vague like “character” to protect us. Rather, I think people should have incentives in their environments to do good.

This is why I am a bit shocked that so many people on the road are kind. I’m also amazed that motoring is so safe because to me, on paper, it looks like a very terrible idea to force people to use their nervous systems–no matter how old and shaky–in order to navigate at speeds that outstrip millions of years of evolution in order to not die.

But here we are.

And here I am on the side of the highway desperately trying to make eye contact to get some kind of human to human connection with the person who might kill me.

I really do hate murderers, but there’s something a bit odd about contemplating the life of one’s own killer. Where did they grow up? How was their childhood? What are their dreams?

In this way, I do have a strange understanding of the book I could not read, Crash.

At the time I thought it was sick. But now I see that Ballard was tapping into something very primal and deep in the human psyche.

To Freeway

To Freeway


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