/lit/ - Literature

Driving left, going forward, falling behind, accellerating abruptly and ending up just where they where before – behind the next person in line. Every day the same route, hoping to find change to get upset about, dreaming mindlessly how their life could be and missing their turn.

It does not change and the windshield is always making it all so comfortable. Nothing seeps in, nothing to freeze your ears off and the radio keeps you occupied. They could listen to anything they want, but that would lead to great pain. How can they, a mere individual, be smarter than everyone else and their algorythms and rules. Besides they are HAPPY just listening to radio, even when its some dude rambling about topics that neither affect the world in any meaningful way nor keep you updated with possibilitys on how your life could be richer; cant you see how HAPPY they are? Stop telling them to look at this or that, they’re driving. „There is no time.“ There is never any time. Why can’t you just accept that?

Look, its the street, there’s clear rules to follow, the alternative would be chaos and more specifically the opposite of democracy, or so I am told constantly by those that are most eager to talk.
Talk.
Lets talk. Lets just exchange information. Lets work towards our goals by just talking. Youre my greatest hero, I love your play in xy, oh your x is the best y. Im your biggest fan. Please sign my eyelids from the inside I never want to forget your name. Your name and face. Your face attached to the name.

Seeking guidance and defending your own mind against the inconveniences of the „outside“. Us vs Me. Only when youre full inside can’t they give you any purpose.

Besides, I can’t.