lucila soto

“Vaughan unfolded for me all his obsessions with the mysterious eroticism of wounds: the perverse logic of blood-soaked instrument panels, seat-belts smeared with excrement, sun-visors lined with brain tissue. For Vaughan each crashed car set off a tremor of excitement, in the complex geometries of a dented fender, in the unexpected variations of crushed radiator grilles, in the grotesque overhang of an instrument panel forced on to a driver’s crotch as if in some calibrated act of machine fellatio. The intimate time an space of a single human being had been fossilized forever in this web of chromium knives and frosted glass.” J. G. Ballard, Crash, A novel.

On an inconspicuous Friday, coming from nowhere I underwent one of the most impressively liberating forces in nature: pure physics.
Physics are crushingly natural, mathematical precise matter. It was a crash, a push, another crash and then we stopped: car, dog, heartbeat, space, sound, light, all dead still.
For a moment it was just a complete integration with cause and effect, with purpose and meaning, with finality and understanding. For a brief moment I was freed from all human vain, erratic, superfluous emotion which lately propels me into action.

Then, at the crossroad, the motion and sound returned and I was taken back to dealing with the amenities of existence: insurance companies, adjusters, 3rd parties.

Nonetheless an epiphany came to me. I have had a stupendous life, always in motion, always interesting, I’m made out of awesome but lately I’ve been sidetracked. My self has been observing from the fringes, encased, sedated.
Distractions have been clouding my mind, my self and truly trapping the potential within my sensibilities and emotions. I have never stopped to contemplate, question, learn and apprehend from my every surrounding but I have also been scared to admit true feelings that have me stocked with mediocrity, immaturity, lies and short-sight which were impeding a true growth.

Life, love and search need to be open and non-prohibitive otherwise become nothing but a retrogression.

In that perfectly communion with physics, in that liberating force and explosion all that was most cherished and dear to me -myself in a continuous state of motion, my beloved ones, the truly-permanent cobblestones all along my life-, were present, united and in-tuned. All the choices and detours I’ve taken, every minor detail, from tears lost in a river, to my bruised knees, all pointed to that precise aesthetic-Zeitgeist.

I haven’t changed, but I know I’m not the same. All crippled feelings have been lost, taken by that spectacular crash, pushed away by sheer physics leaving me void from all but a crystal clear understanding of what makes me be. I’m not defined by you, by neither of you, but reinvented, upgraded and outperformed by my own claims, directions and demands at each crossroad.