Transportation, Transcendence, Tra-la-la

On the ride to Hanover to catch the bus, Dad jokingly says something about toxic waste in the cab of a truck, and I immediately think of The Toxic Avenger, and how in high school I would seek out all these bizarre, obscure and deranged movies. (Associations.) The hunt for B-movies isn't quite so important to me anymore, but it's interesting to think about the part it's played in my life, and how it's shaped me in the long run.

Then on the bus, in Lebanon, the driver announces that the movie will be Clash of the Titans. Watching it is the furthest thing from my mind, but I have a feeling it's a more immediate thought for some of the other passengers. That's not a judgment of them, but of a certain culture in which we live, and the distance from it which I feel.

Later on the ride, I recognize that my back is tied in knots, and my teeth feel really sensitive. I have various physical ailments that pop up from time to time, and maybe I medicate, or go to a dentist, and that sucks, but that's it. All there is too it. My eyesight isn't great, so I wear glasses. I don't want to think about these things any more than I have to.

Rather, I want to live as much as possible with a certain vitality, a transcendental bravado, like I felt only days prior, hanging out with Ryan and Travis - before, during, and after the Pennywise show. Not that I want to be drunk, seductive, and singing really loud all the time - the only-partial quality of these realizations is another issue altogether - but that I want to capture a spirit, in essence, that I feel when I feel like I'm living authentically, and not being held back.

My teeth hold me back. My back holds me back some times. My eyesight would hold me back.... But so does boredom. Having to earn money holds me back, as do all the things that that stop-gap entails. False emotions hold me back. So does bureaucracy. Just have to fight all these constraints in order to live.

...

And now I'm back in Boston, living in Quincy. Some times I take the train to Ashmont, and then the #215 home. Back-of-the-bus drug deals, undercover cops, the corrosiveness with which the Boston accent can be employed... and a whole world I never fully experienced in the eight years I lived in the city of Boston.

Other times, I get off the T at Quincy Center, to walk home. Majestic oak trees, great Swedish-castle-homes, and that fresh fall air... green ferns, shrubbery, a warm wind, and no long-sleeves for me, thank you. Last night, after a BBQ, followed by trivia at Charlie's, I felt wonderful on this walk, and I had the perfect word to describe it. But in the half hour it took to get home, I forgot that word forever. Better that way; tra-la-la.