“
Why did the chicken cross the road?
Because the dead return. Because light reverses. Because the sky is a gap. Because it’s a shout. Because light reverses. Because the dead return. Because footsteps on the ceiling. Because footsteps in the basement. Because the sky is a shout. Because it’s a gap. Because the grass doesn’t grow, or grows too much, or grows wrong. Because the dead return. Because the dead return.
Because on one side was everything she had ever known, and on the other side was a future, maybe. And even though she was afraid to leave everything she had ever known, she also wanted a future, maybe. And so, hesitating, and then not, and then moving quickly, running, sprinting even, desperate, she crossed and found a future. Maybe. And left behind everything she had ever known.
Because when he woke up, he said, “No, I would never cross that road.” He ate beans for breakfast and started at those who crossed. And, when noon came around, he said “I would never cross that road.” He ate leaves for lunch and laughed at those who crossed. And when the evening came, he asked one of the crossers, “Say, what’s so good about the other side?” And the crosser waved him away and said, “What do you care? Someone like you would never cross this road.” And that made him angry, so he crossed the road out of spite. The other side was okay. He ate beans for dinner.
Because the dead are born. Because the dead grow and eat. Because the dead make bad decisions, and good decisions. Because the dead sit at tables, or on the floor, talking about food and decisions they’ve made. Because the dead love. Because they love, that’s why. But also, because the dead work, and make things for the rest of the dead, and then the dead slow, and relax, and lean back onto the time that’s given to them. And when there is no time left for them to lean on, they fall, and the dead finally die.
Because she looked one day, and there was a structure there. Imagine a spire. No, higher than that. It had crystalline windows, and crystalline walls. It swayed in the wind, the wind sang against it. Imagine a spire. No, higher than that. She was crying before she knew it. Before she knew it, she had one hand over her mouth and one foot in the road. She was standing in its doorway. She had already crossed the road before she had known it. The tower went up, and up, and up. She went into it and went up, and up, and up. Imagine a spire. No, higher than that.
Because when the stars call, you answer. Even if you don’t know if they really called you. Even if you don’t believe that they can call anyone. Even if, maybe, you were just outside, like normal, just looking up at the sky normally, and the stars were as they always are, but you weren’t as you always are. Because the stars didn’t change, you did. And once you were different, you couldn’t live like you were the same. You had to live differently. You had to. You had to.
Because time moves so slowly, doesn’t it? Only sometimes it moves so fast. Some days the morning is done by nine, some afternoons linger long after sunset. “What time is it?” you’ll ask. “What time is it?” you’ll ask over and over for years, a repetition of thousands throughout your life. What time is it? What time is it? Time moves so slowly, doesn’t it? Only sometimes it moves so fast. But it was only just morning! But I only just had lunch! Is it evening already? When will the morning come again? When will the morning come again? It’s been so dark. So dark, for so long. When will the morning come again? Time moves so slowly, doesn’t it? Only sometimes it moves so fast.
Because she took each day as it came. Taken with many things, but never taking any of them. She never took any risks. Instead, she took care. She never took any opportunities, she took the safe way instead. Because she didn’t take it, you know? Grasp it, pull it toward her. Instead she just took it, you know? Let it happen, let it slip by. Until she stopped taking it. Wouldn’t take it for another second. Instead, she took it, you know? The next step, the necessary arrangements, her life in her hands. She took her life in her hands. She took it. She was taking, and not taken. And she saw a road to cross, and she was taken by it. And she took it. She took it.
Because there is power in movement. Not any particular movement, not dance (although also dance), not athletics (although also athletics), but movement. Just the absence of stillness. Just anything that takes a person from one spot to the next. And if there is a why, then so be it, but it is inconsequential to the fact of it. The fact of air in the lungs. The fact of feet, and a road. The implications of a road, and what it means to not go down that road or back the way you came, but perpendicular. To cross it. To make that move. Because the secret is, it was not to get to the other side, or to any other place. Places are beside the point. But just for the power of crossing. Of movement.
Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other side.
Sometimes, that’s all it is.
”
- Alice Isn’t Dead
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