What is it about a good, broad pair of sunglasses that makes me feel so outside of the world? Aside from the fact that I don’t feel exactly 100% a part of the world anyway, somehow having removed myself from the inside out at some point, not quite part of the same flow of traffic, the same routine scheduled maintenance, the same eyes pointed to the ground in disinterest in the surrounding, even with all of that going for me I have to realize that indeed, I am part of the waking, living, walking world. The same world where I pay $2.04 for a simple cup of coffee and yet still complain about cigarettes costing $5.50 a pack. But I’ve quit smoking, so what. The same world where large, affectionate women wearing too tight clothes and hailing from apartment buildings above boarded up stores screech adoring sighs and point fingers spewing forth with happy holy motherly desire at the small boy on the back of my bike, but where well dressed business suits holding tightly to the pockets and growing guts of the downtown entrepreneur flip middle finger fuck offs to the two of us as we make it on our way.
All of which is affected, effectual, pertaining to me and my existence in this world. But stuff my face behind the broad, good sunglasses and I melt into obscurity. Even as the type of eye protection I tend to wear is audacious and loud, it is borderline strange enough to almost make people feel bad for looking, for staring. Not like a transvestite punk rocker guy showing too much thigh and having half of his head shaved to look like a penis fucking a bunny rabbit is audacious and not like people feel bad for staring at the guy who’s wheel chair has fallen over and no one will help him up, but certainly, somewhere in there. Perhaps more like an android who looks 99% human but something about his facial twitch makes you realize that he’s either some sort of lizard wearing human skin or a not-so-horribly-gone-awry modern day Frankenstein’s monster. All I can say for certain is that behind whatever blend of UV protection and plastic eye covering I’m wearing, I disappear. Bloodshot eyes, hazel eyes, pupils squinting through blurry contact lenses, when no one can read your eyes, they can’t much assume what’s happening in your head.