The Language of the Bridge
A bridge takes people from one place to a place they couldn't
otherwise reach. It forges an abyss. The Golden Gate Bridge
is the archetype of this structure. If you stand on one side of
the bay and look across, you can see that it corrects an
incongruity in the landscape.

I use to drive across the bridge every day. My record is four
round trips. That cost me $20 in bridge tolls. I had a lot of
reasons to go back and forth-- mom's house, dad's house,
my apartment, surfing, school. I liked to cross the bridge in
the evening and watch the sun sink behind the headlands, over
the water, through the rails. It's a declarative ending. The
sun does not look like it will come up again.

The bridge connects two points. It mediates; it is a threshold
and a termination. There are suicide fences to prevent
jumpers. The physicality of the bridge is a link but it is not
between life and death. There's no mediation in that case:
just one and then the other. The jumper leaning over the
rails enacts the transition. The blame doesn't fall on the
bridge.

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