_ | \ | \ | | \ __ | |\ \ __ _____________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ _____________ | ___________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ ___________ | | | _/_/_____ | | > > _/_/_____ | | | | /________/ | | / / /________/ | | | | | | / / | | | | | |/ / | | | | | | / | | | | | / | | | | |_/ | | | | | | | | c o m m u n i c a t i o n s | | | |________________________________________________________________| | |____________________________________________________________________| ...presents... Slowing by Tom Fawcett >>> a cDc publication.......1994 <<< -cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc- ____ _ ____ _ ____ _ ____ _ ____ |____digital_media____digital_culture____digital_media____digital_culture____| I usually enjoy driving this road. It has long stretches punctuated by curves and hills. In the daylight it is scenic but tonight there isn't much to see. The sides of the road are marked by large drifts of dirty snow. Behind the snow are trees, dark evergeens whose color is invisible even in the headlights. Beyond the trees on the left is the lake. The immense dark water is occasionally visible in the dim moonlight. The posted speed is 45; I'm doing about 60. Part of my mind tells me "there is ice, this is dangerous" but I don't care. I've seen only a few cars out tonight. I cross over the line on curves and don't think about slipping. I feel a tightness in my chest. I turn the heat down. I unbuckle my safety belt and unzip my coat. It's not enough. I crack the window and cold air floods the car. I force myself to take deep breaths. That seems to help. Sometimes at night my throat starts to go tight and I can hardly breathe. I turn on the radio, something to distract my mind. I get a talk show discussing US intervention in Bosnia. I push the button: an oldies station playing fifties music. I push again and get dance music. Again, and get another talk show. I push a few more times, lose patience, turn it off. I drive along in silence. I become aware of something sticky on my thumb. I turn on the inside light. I raise the thumb to my eyes: it's blood, from a crack in dry skin. I am relieved and surprised at the same time. Lately I always seem to be bleeding a little, somewhere. Cracks in my fingers, paper cuts, razor cuts, nosebleeds. Out on the road snow is beginning to come down now, earlier than they predicted. I flip on the high beams, but the light-flooded snow drifts are more than I can stand and I quickly turn them off. I feel better when I can only see the gray drifts as blurs at the periphery. My eyes focus on the endless short strip of road in front of my car. I start thinking about a friend I knew in college. She'd had a lot of problems, depression and fast personality changes that had been very hard on her. She'd had to drop out for a year to get herself together. Recently I asked her about that year, and she told me about her descent into depression and her long slow recovery. She said the one thing she remembered vividly from those days was what she called "the compression". Most of the time she felt depressed and despondent, and that was bad enough. Sometimes when it got very bad she would experience what she called time compression. She said that most people live with a time horizon that they're not even aware of, a horizon of hours or days or weeks. During the compression her time horizon just shrank into nothing. Her future - the evening, tomorrow or next week, the future most people take for granted - disappeared completely. She felt trapped permanently in the present, not able to imagine the next minute. She said it's not like you don't know what the future will be; you're sure it doesn't exist. After a while the compression would lift, but a few days would pass before she felt normal again. It came on without warning, like a seizure, and left her terrified and drained. Even many years later, married with kids, she still remembered it well and never completely lost the fear that it would return. Now, as I watch the dark road pass under my car, I remember the dread and anxiety in her eyes as she described it. I think of the snow banks, the invisible trees and the dark water. I think of the endless road and the small frozen towns along the edge of the lake, the infinite empty winter sky. The dirty snow and the jagged ice. I can imagine the compression. I shake my head to scatter the thoughts. I look out the side window. I'm aware of a pain in my head. It was a little tightness a while ago, but now it's grown into a throbbing headache. Maybe it's the low pressure or something. I clench my jaw and the pain subsides. Up ahead I see a sign and a building. I take my foot off the gas. As I approach I notice it's a convenience store, common along the lake, the kind that sells beer and bread and bait. I'm surprised it's open so late this time of year. I slow down and pull in. I push through the door and look around. I make my way down a crowded aisle. An old man watches me from behind the counter, probably surprised that anyone would be out this late. I look around the aisles for a moment and find what I'm looking for. I pick up a bottle of aspirin. Near it are Band-aids. I pick up a box. I look up at the man behind the counter, who's been watching me. His face looks dusty and pale in the thin fluorescent light. "You have ice?" I ask. He points to one side, beyond the counter, at something hidden from my view. I go over and open the door of a big freezer. "Not there, the other side," he says, "That side's bait." I open the other door, pull out a bag of chipped ice, and walk to the counter. For a moment he looks at me, a smile with a quizzical expression. I wonder what he sees. A spot of dried blood from the nosebleed? Bags under my eyes from last night? He looks away and starts ringing up the sale. I brush my upper lip self-consciously. Walking back to my car, I notice the snow is still coming down. I pull back onto the road and bring the car up to speed. I drive along for a few minutes. I slow down for a curve, then straighten out, and suddenly my vision smears. I blink several times fast, but it remains blurry. My God, what is this, are my eyes bleeding now? I glance in the rear-view mirror for cars and pull over to the side. I turn on the light and tilt the mirror down so I can see my face. My eyes are watering. My breathing is shallow and fast. A snowplow approaches from the other direction. Its strong headlights flood the inside of my car with light. As it nears I close my eyes tightly. After it passes, I look back in the mirror. A tear is running down my cheek. I turn off the light and start the car moving again. I remember the ice. I reach over and tear open the bag with a fingernail. I pull out a small chunk. I press it to my cheek and feel it slowly numb the skin. I press harder. If only I can make it past the lake and into the hills. I never realized how long this lake is. This is taking forever. _______ __________________________________________________________________ / _ _ \|Demon Roach Undrgrnd.806/794-4362|Kingdom of Shit.....806/794-1842| ((___)) |Cool Beans!..........415/648-PUNK|Polka AE {PW:KILL}..806/794-4362| [ x x ] |Metalland Southwest..713/579-2276|ATDT East...........617/350-STIF| \ / |The Works............617/861-8976|Ripco ][............312/528-5020| (' ') | Save yourself! Go outside! DO SOMETHING! | (U) |==================================================================| .ooM |Copyright (c) 1994 cDc communications and Tom Fawcett. | \_______/|All Rights Reserved. 08/01/1994-#278|