March 04, 2004

I was standing at the corner of University and King, waiting for the lights to change, when I noticed him roaring against the traffic. “How strange,” I thought, and so did the people around him who quickly dispersed avoiding eye contact. His words, crisp and unintelligible, rose above the tumult of the street like some magic invocation.

I don’t know how long he’s been standing there, waiting for me to stop at the pedestrian crossing. He seemed agitated as he paced back and forth articulating unimaginable truths only he understood. I looked, but there was no glimmer of recognition in his eyes, and I realized, sadly, that he probably wasn’t waiting for me at all.

I tried not to stare so I focused on the traffic lights in front of me. I tapped my foot, lightly, and still the lights refused to change. Suddenly I felt embarrassed for him and for me. I too dreamed of going mad and having the world and meaning unravel around me, but I never thought it would be so tormenting.

For a moment I understood his struggles with the deep and laborious truths locked inside his skull. From somewhere behind his shattered reality he screamed out strange and beautiful nonsense. And I yearned to speak to him in tongues and comfort him.

I blinked and tried to look at him. He fell silent and everything stopped. Cars came to a grinding halt and the world was maddeningly silent. Magic died.

The lights changed, and I crossed the street without looking back.