Saturday, August 06, 2005
Being up on a plane, someone once told me, is a whiteout.
There is no night and no day- only the saccharine fluorescence in the cabin- and on the faces of the crew. Night and day are but notions in your control.
There are no emotions- only a dull ache of regret and the twinge at the back of the mind about the unknown. Here you are free to arbitate your emotions- assign what and which you please.
There is no consciousness- for all thoughts are syncopated with the numbing roar of the toiling engines. One does not think in that few hours. One merely vegetates - consciously waiting for the clock to wind down to landing. Time can be a few seconds or a few hours- just adjust your pill dosage accordingly.
Strapped in your seat, you are utterly free. Everything is within your control. Lights- a button a fingerlength away. The crew-another button. You are only trapped in by your imagination- does the fish look like roast chicken or it is just pretending to be braised chicken?
Is this a plastic utopia, or a hell in heaven's place?
There is no night and no day- only the saccharine fluorescence in the cabin- and on the faces of the crew. Night and day are but notions in your control.
There are no emotions- only a dull ache of regret and the twinge at the back of the mind about the unknown. Here you are free to arbitate your emotions- assign what and which you please.
There is no consciousness- for all thoughts are syncopated with the numbing roar of the toiling engines. One does not think in that few hours. One merely vegetates - consciously waiting for the clock to wind down to landing. Time can be a few seconds or a few hours- just adjust your pill dosage accordingly.
Strapped in your seat, you are utterly free. Everything is within your control. Lights- a button a fingerlength away. The crew-another button. You are only trapped in by your imagination- does the fish look like roast chicken or it is just pretending to be braised chicken?
Is this a plastic utopia, or a hell in heaven's place?
