But we see things go by, in this time we have.
And what's interesting is that it's always MORE interesting what's on the other side of the tracks, the hill, the plate glass window, the pill.
Through our carnivore's bifocals we see the fleeting antelope. Through our rusty prison bars, we see patches of green and flowers unseen.
Through the clanking and rasping of the merciless grind of the day, we see comedy, merriment and abandon. Even if it's only a movie, it's better than 4 walls.
Canada Speaks loudly to us as the "land of the free".
It's our home, our kindergarten, our playground, our prison. Clearly, it's not about "Canada" or "Cambodia", but it's about the mentality of us all, as we proceed in our uniforms, carrying our stethoscopes and guns.
"Doctors For Peace" and "Killers For War" - we walk side by side. We all watch the same hockey, the same meteorology about a green world turned red, the same Reality TV turns bad, like another drug bought off a street-corner of ill-repute.
And the trains move on.
Sometimes slow, grinding small birds and insects to dust. Sometimes fast: crashing tons of useless metal against tons of useless metal. It's a toothpaste ad for a world that lost its dentures long ago.
It's a movie about Dinosaurs watched by people in Rest Homes. Well all know the plot, but we're too tired to turn it off.
And at last, the locomotive lurches to a halt. It's resting place in the Late Day Sun. It's now a cucumber in Mother's Garden, a toothpick waiting patiently in a Dentist's office.
We climb these paths of Metal, we see hidden magic in the fingers of the sun.
There is no place we cannot go, there is no route we cannot run.
As days march on and Metal Drives by, we wonder things that no brain can comprehend. We wonder why people drive they way they do. We wonder why people put "bad art" on their living room walls. (Didn't you ever go drinking at a friend's house, say in the basement rumpus room, and there was a ping-pong table, and a moose-head on the wall, and the musty smell of rain and mould and a black velvet painting of Jesus or Elvis behind the bottles and ashtrays. And you asked yourself, "What Religion Am I?"
And you looked around at your comrades and asked, "What Religion are they?"
And the more you drank, the less it mattered, but the smell stayed with you: the musty smell.)
And when you go to church, sometimes that musty smell comes back. And you'd give anything for a cigarette or a beer, but you clench your jaw, and the bride and groom almost kiss, almost fall into the fragrance that issues from between the cracks.
And all your left with is a feeling of "thank God it's Friday", after the large wooden doors close behind you.