Speed

A love letter to Filippo Marinetti

Each light of the city blurred together. Every building’ bulbs burned, but each one became less discernible as I drove past. The overhead lights melted together as each one came by faster and faster. The individual lights became streaks, only the traffic lights telling me when to stop and start separated the total blurr of my vision. As the city became farms and the roads became less cluttered, my foot felt heavier and the music of my radio gradually faded out, but not for the lack of volume. My car's speakers were on the brink of being blown out, but still I couldn't discern between the beat of the drums and the beat from my chest. Where did one end and the other begin? With each Mile per hour gained I felt my grip tighten and my heart beat faster. Any wrong move would send off the road hurtling at over 100 miles an hour at this point. The long roads offered a clear passageway. I could only see one thing, I could only hear one thing, I could only feel one thing, the cracks of the road. Each one rattled the metal machine. Each one raised my heart rate and got it closer to beating out of my chest. That beat was in my throat and down to my toes. Every second I continued to gain speed and every second I drove over another 200 feet. The lights came back in front of me, gradually appearing as small beads and growing larger and larger. I let off the accelerator. My heart slowed and the music faded back in, and my grip loosened. I found myself trapped in the center of the town surrounded by cars that did not have the same ambitions as my own and did not know what had occurred not even 60 seconds earlier. Blissfully unaware about the capability of the machine each of them were at the helm of and not keen to find out, but i sat in my car with unwiped sweat in my brow and behind a car that insisted on staying 5 below the speed limit. Did they not know the feeling of speed? Did they not have the will nor the curiosity? Why do they insist on going so slow. This single laned road offered me no escape. I became increasingly aware of each city light. Every building and how the bulbs burned. I noted how the light reflected across my windshield. The overhead lights didn't speed up or slowed down. They offered a consistent rhythm. An intoxicating rhythm that entrenched me. Each light passed was more engrossing than every sound that now blown out speaker could manage. That city that became a farm had become a town, and now it was becoming a city once again as each building got taller and taller and the speed limit got smaller and smaller.