Headlights

What we want is to be an individual. And we go through great pains to attain that individuality.

Like when it's dusk and the sun is setting, and you're stuck in the peak hour traffic.

Several cars around you have already turned their headlights on. But you refuse to follow suit. You wait awhile until YOU think it's dark enough, instead of relying upon what other people think "REALLY DARK" is.

I mean what does that say to you about yourself, if you just turn your headlights on when other people do it?

They would call you a sheep, that's what. An obeisance, meek, follower of trends.

But what if it gets really dark? Who cares about individuality?

I'm going to have to turn on my headlights anyway. I don't wanna die because I crave the feeling of being special.

But no, you love that feeling. Okay, let's reach a middle ground. Turn the lights on, but slightly later or earlier.

You can't turn them on too early though, they'll think you're a nutter with the headlights on at 4 pm.

If too late, then you'd be driving blind, unable to see anything.

God, but this is a terribly important decision.

Never mind that 80% of the songs you listen to are listened to by millions of others around the world, the value of which is corroborated by charts and album sales.

Never mind that you delete jokes that don't get enough 'thumbs up's on your social profile.

Or that entertainment television has inevitably monopolized your conception of aesthetics, telling you what's in and what's out, while you tell yourself you don't really believe in them, but at the same time you feel embarrassed when other people don't conform to these standards.

All of those things don't matter.

What matters is that when you turn on your car headlights, it's because YOU want to. Not because other people are doing it too.

My Pearly Gate Was A Car Wash

Died in a car crash.

I had nothing when I died. Everyone left me to scrap in the junkyard that was my last few years of living.

Everything except my car.

My car stuck by me as I ascended into the clouds waiting for Accountability and Judgment.

I drove up the Stairway to Heaven. I wonder how many people ever got a chance to say that.

It was a wonderful feeling. That lightheaded feeling that nothing could do you any harm, or even more so, the feeling that you couldn't do any harm to anything.

The exhaust pipes spouted clouds instead of smog. I drove through layers of clouds, and more clouds, and more moisture and more soapy suds drenching my car shiny.

And then there were cherubs - handy with a cloth and a container of polish wax.

My car was getting the VIP treatment. I could see it slowly coming into sentience, its headlights for eyes were more alive than they ever were on mortal Earth. It grinned with its fender for teeth.

"This is it, Michael! Best day ever!", said my car.

St. Peter was waiting at the gates. There was a queue. People waiting for their turn to find out whether it's oblivion or God's Dominion for them.

"Hey, Ford!", St. Peter exclaimed. "Vroom on in! The sky's yours my sedan friend!"

I smiled.

Until we reached the gate and I was asked to step out of my car.

"You were a blasphemer and a murderer, sir. I'm afraid we can't let you in"

And there were suddenly no clouds below me. No solid surface to stand on. I was falling.

Falling.

Jesus fucking Christ.