"In a universe suddenly divested of illusion and lights, man feels an alien, a stranger. His exile is without remedy since he is deprived of the memory of a lost home or the hope of a promised land." -- Albert Camus ~ ~ ~ Destination Boulevard Part Three - Hand Me Down Miles traveled can never be measured objectively, especially by the person who has walked them. The abundance of obstacles that cross our paths, along with their various demands, combine to bend the trajectory of time and space -- causing it to overlap on itself in some instances, and completely disappear in others... only to show up again some point down the road. The need for understanding permeates sacred boundaries and sifts into the dusty regions of common sensibility. Righteous attempts traverse the terrain of dubious inclinations. Simple survival surrenders to the will of heightened awareness. Life goes on. But, depending on where you're standing, you wouldn't know any of it. Now you see him. Now you don't. He shifts his balance of weight from one leg to the other. Trying to ease his state of mind. Resting on his right for as long as he can endure, before moving to the left. The image commanding his attention...piercing his very being. The message written on the sheet of paper, located just beneath the face, provides little clarity as to the drawing's ultimate purpose. Two words. Set against one another in whispered harmony. "Be Aware!" It reminds him of the propaganda posters used long ago by the governments of powerful nations. Distinct reminders from one of the strong arms of a benevolent but stern leader. What place could this have in the workings of day-to-day life? What deeply seated trepidation is this designed to gently rub the wrong way? What meaning can be derived from this flagrant display? Is it a message from The Morning Crew?...the same fanatical group of self styled do-gooders whose members are right now sweeping up in full swing -- carrying out their sanitizing efforts in a variety of common spaces around town, including the park. Part of their continuing mission to eradicate the garbage of the mind and soul from the city's consciousness. Cleansing the very body of society from dirty insurrections. Fighting diseased manifestations at every turn. Some old and readily dealt with. Others mutating overnight, forming new and stronger strains, requiring the intent intervention of one of the more seasoned Samaritans. Perhaps they're onto him. They would surely frown on his efforts at retaining some record of human passion. Has he been spotted by one of the many paid snitches in the neighborhood? It seems unlikely, buy certainly not impossible. His current state keeps him beyond perception in most instances, but if someone is looking for him they'll see him plain as day. These are not the kind of people you want to cross. It might be a good idea to suspend his efforts for a day or two and exercise more caution when moving about. One thing is for sure, he has no intention to drift back among the masses. Not if he can help it. What if this has nothing to do with the Crew? This could well be a message from the local authorities. A warning for all...to be wary of any movement against the carefully, and not to mention painfully, achieved balance. This drawing could be reminder of a person who crossed one of a growing number of invisible lines. Or is this an announcement from The Underground Community? A call for awareness against the rising forces of oppression and eradication. Is this man a martyr for the cause? Or perhaps the drawing is meant to depict a criminal at large. Given the fact that no specifics are provided might only hint at the unspeakable nature of his acts against humanity...a horrendous set of misdeeds whose details have permeated the collective consciousness -- requiring only his face to conjure any number of fearful possibilities. One thing is for sure...his general disposition has taken a noticeable turn downward as a result of this encounter with himself. He was hoping those days were over. . . . "Be Aware!" The words run through his head as he weaves his way through the city streets with no thought to direction. He stops as a clock tower strikes the noon hour. How far has he traveled? He feels lost as he scans the area for something he might recognize. Before him, some fifteen feet away, stands a tall man resting his weight on a wooden cane. The man stares directly into his eyes...and begins to slowly approach. Again, he stands motionless. Paralyzed. The sound of the cane against the pavement grows more and more prominent. And then he is gone. The man stops. And mutters into the kicked-up wind. "Be aware..." ~ ~ ~ Read Part Four Questions? Comments? Send them to Daily_Editor@hotmail.com. Copyright 2001-2008 © Belowthefold.net