Analog [Part 3]

Before we get started, my Composition teacher shared [this!] with the class today; it's great. You should probably take a few minutes and watch it.

If you want follow the walk from the beginning, here are some handy embedded links [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 2.5]

You can also click on the archive to the... right? Right? Right!

I'll preface this again, once more, saying that I'm not intending to be a "bible thumper" or sell you my beliefs like some sort of starchy-suited used car salesman. I'm still not 100% sure what I believe in. Question everything.

Now that we have that out of the way... where was I again?

...

"Faith: Belief without evidence in what is told by one who speaks without knowledge, of things without parallel." -Ambrose Bierce 

I'm getting a bit hazy in my old age, but follow me here as I try to recall the events of that Thursday night. This is the part where I'd clear my throat and we'd see the camera pan to the sky and transition back to a young Kevin Bacon staring at this plastic rectangular cuboid.

There was a breeze in the air, as I remember. I was just traveling by my old stomping grounds, Dakota Middle School. As I passed by I noticed the future generation of young people and their caretakers walking with them nervously into the building for what was, now apparent to me, some kind of new student orientation. I remember this moment and time froze. I was rushed back in my mind's eye to this younger version of me leaning against this concrete retaining wall. I was even smaller of stature than today, wearing slightly too loose gym clothes. I still remember the first phone my parents gave me, this brick hard plastic labeled Kyocera something-or-other. I remember waiting here so often for rides after track practice, fidgeting with that piece of cutting edge technology. It didn't even have color, but the lights sure did flash and played a killer game of Snake.

The power of the mind to whisk us away... this ability for us to recall the smallest details about a memory just by being exposed a scent, sound or old retaining wall, is magic. Forget science, this here folks is a divine gift (or curse) from the Big Guy Upstairs.

I drifted back to reality. I had already walked about a mile. Seemed like this journey had only taken a fraction of a second. The minds ability to construe the passage of time and brutal power of daydreaming will always, always, color me some shade of whimsy. Why was I walking this way anyway? Why were my feet shuffling along this lonely sidewalk.

"YOUR SHIRT ROCKS!" I heard yelled from a passing SUV. This was a snap back to reality. Yes, the Foo Fighters do indeed rock rad sir and/or madame.

I wasn't alone at all, but it certainly felt that way. The traffic along the road was whirring by at frenzied speeds, but I was the only one on this long stretch of sidewalk. I continued to think about what I had just stumbled on before.

TIME.

There is was again, this burning image of neon green paint in my head. These letters annoying me,

"Go away!"

"You're not a sign!"

"You're just coincidence!"

This was the brain's shallow attempt to rationalize why this resonated so powerfully.

...and let me tell you good people of the internet, time is indeed a cure to what ails ya.

[Now there's going to be a Part 4. Lucky us right!?]