We’ve seen too many vistas in too short a time, become insignificance in the face of it, standing at the base of the vanishing points. The world outside the car grown alien as landscapes sweep past like rendered passages between the pillared frame of steel and glass. We stall at sanctioned landmarks, locking them in black boxes to look at later and remember we are linear. From here you can see the shadow of our futures, all looming at distance in recreation, momentary cinctures stringing the self along in retrospect. Not stopping to survive, all we do is drive.
Nic Addenbrooke is a freelance writer, editor, content creator, radio broadcaster, part-time poet and sometimes artist. Nic has been coming to terms with existence for years. He currently lives and works in Brisbane where he struggles to turn the cacophony of voices in his head into things of substance. It doesn’t always work but occasionally produces a nice veneer of sanity.