americana manifestations of the 14 powers
the american interstate highway system: driving into texas or montana or california and realizing how many more exits you have to go before you cross into another state, driving in the interstitial parts between cities with one eye on the gas gauge hoping you make it to the next gas station before you run out, the brief vertigo of glancing up through your sunroof on a clear, cloudless day on the road and seeing nothing but blue, or at night and seeing nothing but black
the american interstate highway system: road trips alone between the reach of local radio stations, hearing only the passing static as your stereo tries to latch on to any thread of contact, but you’re gone too fast to ever hear it clearly, stopping late night at empty gas stations on empty roads, meeting only the reflective eyes of a racoon near the dumpster and wondering if you’re the only person left on earth
the american interstate highway system: the parts of it too distant to justify the cost of streetlights, the moment of panic when you turn off your high beams too soon and nearly miss a curve, swerving out of the way of a deer who seems to have materialized from nowhere, the blanketing blackness that seeps into your cab when there’s no other cars around at all
the american interstate highway system: seventeen-car pileups at poorly conceived city exits across nine lanes of traffic, the explosions of semi trucks and gas carriers, road rash stealing the skin from motorcyclists, the scream of ambulances carrying the burned, broken, crushed, impaled, shattered
the american interstate highway system: the moment of panic when a truck turns too close to you, when you lose focus for a moment and almost don’t hit the brakes in time, when someone cuts you off, when you sneeze and lose the wheel for a moment, when you shift and the gears don’t catch, when you drift to the side and the road guard snaps you back to awareness
the american interstate highway system: the surveillance state that exists when driving through large cities, the watchful eye on medians and under bridges for cops waiting with speed radars
the american interstate highway system: the sound of sirens behind you as you glance down at your speedometer and realize that you drifted up to the 90s without realizing, the brief moment of wondering if you could shake them off if you take this exit real quickly, the urge every time to just keep going
the american interstate highway system: what is this exit doing here. when did this local road turn into a highway. wasn’t that your turn? how the fuck did you end up in Atlanta again
the american interstate highway system: glimpses of people’s faces as you drive past, the false cheer of the people laughing on billboards, that one driver you saw years ago whose face changed every time you looked in the mirror
the american interstate highway system: vultures lurking over dumped garbage bags, piles of fast food waste, the smell of a killed skunk contaminating the air for miles, the damp pull of asphalt under sun hot enough to melt
the american interstate highway system: you pass a dead bird. you pass a dead racoon. you pass a dead dog. you pass a dead deer. you pass a dead alligator. you pass a dead
the american interstate highway system: the simmering rage of being eight hours in when the traffic congests and you slow from 85mph to a crawl, the force that drives men to lean out of their truck cabs with guns
the american interstate highway system: you are driving through a tunnel under the bay and it is raining and the water is rising from below and pressing down from above and the tunnel gets smaller and smaller and you are driving through a tunnel through the mountain and the ground is shaking and the rocks are falling to block you in and you are driving through a tunnel and honestly who decided tunnels were a good idea
the american interstate highway system: self explanatory at this point really
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