Pavement Loop



Paved surfaces form the arteries of the modern world, tempering our casual sense of day-to-day freedom with a kind of linear determinism that gently surrounds our innate proclivity for exploration with a fixed template of an explicitly geometric nature.

But as is so often the case, the oppression of these constraints can force the emergence a new creative perspective for those willing to seek it out.

Case in point: circumstances coerced me into leaving home about five years ago, but a dull, nostalgic magnetism has kept our poles in rigid alignment ever since and fostered a now half-decade-long desire to return to the place where I belong.

Thanks to a quirk of municipal geography, a single, unbroken interstate drive is all it would take to get me there, beginning, no less, with an on-ramp nearly visible from my bedroom window.

In other words, as fate would have it, the otherwise expansive distance between the dispassionate chaos of adult life and the reassuring resilience of youth has been reduced to a single line—Route 17—beginning at a point I pass on a daily basis.

So while Luddites and hippies may decry urban sprawl and the gradual surrender of the natural world to the unrelenting empire of Big Box Wal*MartHitlerStarbucks, Inc., part of me has to thank that callous industrialization for providing a cartographic metronome that keeps the downbeats of life's runaway rhythm synchronized on the fours.

In fairness, however, I should note that this is all coming from a guy that AAA Roadside Assistance once dropped from their service for locking his keys in his car four times in a two-month period.






another history lesson

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this actually used to sorta make sense

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my favorite kinds of mistakes

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lateral progression

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until the scaffolding betrays the façade

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my life as a teenage asymptote

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polarity

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character arcs

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the eventuality

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