A strange man types his thoughts on a train to San Francisco and back


In 2016 I was working on a book I finished but never released- to create the book I took train trips to different places and wrote the whole time- a real stream of consciousness thing- this is the writing I did one a train trip from San Jose to San Francisco-
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A train slams the side of my window as a “bullet” train slashes by- it's called a bullet train not because it's some kind of super train like they have in Japan or China- no, it's the same old train made in 1985 it just doesn’t stop as often- we begin rolling forward slowly-

Stacks of cement blocks lay in front of a cement plant next to an apartment complex- car parks- dog parks- no kid parks- more graffiti splayed out on the walls- names I can’t read- shiny icons- large cement pipes lay in a pile next to grey mounds of dirt and an excavator building new cookie cutter condos- or maybe a strip mall with the same stores you just saw 5 miles before so you can never go anywhere without it being and looking exactly the same- that's the good life so says Murica-

Another train slams past- a lot of cars with shining roof’s blinds my eyes-the train slows for another stop- a man in a hoodie folded in half staring at a smartphone while sitting- smart phone yoga perhaps- or just terrible posture- a literal attempt to physically escape into his phone- he’s still there- the sun is still here- I can’t see his face and that's probably the way he wanted it- what magical world could that phone hold?

Several new passengers pass me taking their seats- I look over to the right- some techie guy with fancy shoes and a laptop on his lap like me- except I’m dressed like a clown or a bum or something in between that has nothing to do with the insane clown posse. Behind him, a woman that looks like she stepped out of a gap ad- perfect new clothes- shoes- hair- vacant look in her eyes- iPhone- her neck cranked forward- smartphone in both hands- 

The train rolls forward again- a bumpy ride causing my fingers to stumble on the keyboard- it's hard to make out the passing shapes- the dusty window hard to see through as the sun hits it- palm trees- clouds- apartments- gas stations- condo’s- various corporate offices with large iron sculptures of their obscure logo’s- a muffled call over the trains P.A. bites through the music playing on my headphones- train slowing near what looks like a large corporate campus- filled with new cars-

The train stops- a skinny boy of twelve or so stands at the station neck cranked down staring at a smartphone- as do the four other people at the stop- alone in their togetherness- together and alone-no hello’s- no hi’s- no nod’s to acknowledge each other's existence- quite the opposite- diving into their smartphones to escape the people around them or to escape themselves- either way- its sad to see in such a place filled with depression, unhappiness and anxiety- talking to people in real life is nice sometimes-

The train pours on down the metal throughway- faster now- past apartments with satellite dishes on each unit- past a park where in the 5 seconds of visibility I see four homeless men sitting at a table with their bags on the ground- fancier apartments and condos now as we approach Palo Alto- birthplace of Facebook and many tech businesses- 

I know that Facebook has now moved down the road but I had visited the original Facebook offices with my friend David Choe- the world famous painter- he invited a few of us over as he was painting the walls in 2004- Facebook is gone now I believe- but the spirit of “open-ness” “sharing” and “connections” that their valiant CEO preaches is still here- I can see it all around me- 

Don’t get me wrong I’m sure these closed off anti social adult babies with their smart phone social pacifiers are very friendly and open on their various social networking sites wherein they generate revenue for the corporation that owns it but out here in the real world- damn- its so friendly- and open- and connected- I feel like tap dancing in the street as I’m sure they would join me these open and connected people that fill Silicon Valley-

The train pushes on as new passengers walk past me into the train- I catch a strong whiff of perfume- than cologne- than perfume- more perfume- chemical weapons are on the train and attacking my olfactory senses- what is their cause? what is their goal? To be noticed? To cover something up? To defoliate like agent orange? I don’t know-

The train stops again- Palo Alto- I count fifteen people on the other side of the platform- all of them with neck cranked down looking at smart phones or smart phones bolted onto the sides of their heads talking to who knows who loudly about shit no one else cares about. 

Here they are- sharing- being open and connected right in front of us all and isn’t wonderful?

The train pushes on- I watch the top of a woman’s head with rose colored glasses pass underneath me like the dorsal fin of a shark- I see the reflection of a woman sitting behind me in the dirty window- The perfume chemical weapon attack never ceased so I assume the olfactory terrorist is sitting behind me- I turn my laptop screen as now I can see her reflection in my dirty laptop screen smudged with finger prints. 

A man with short cropped hair paces below with phone bolted to his head- I can hear his loud mumbling penetrating the serene music playing on my headphones- a teenage boy sits on the stairwell as the train is getting full- he has the corner of his expensive smartphone in his mouth- as he chews on the corner like a literal Binky- his social pacifier now a real pacifier as he waves awkwardly- crinkling his acne covered face- waving to a teen girl with frizzy hair standing in front of him- his eyes closed as he chews the corner of his Binky- 

He pulls the phone out of his mouth for a second then returns it- chewing harder- sitting in the stairwell neck cranked down chewing the Binky I leave him- I turn my laptop to see the terrorist that has been launching chemical weapon attacks in the train- she has white earbuds in her ears as she looks down at the smart phone- neck cranked down into her best friend.

More people spill into the train with uncomfortable looks on their faces- how dare these other people be here in their way- they having to stop for them- a man passing me holding his smart phone out in front of him like the last torch in a dark cave- a man across from me uses his laptop- I check my system preferences on my laptop to make sure my file sharing is turned off- I had already turned my wifi off when I got on the train but I am quite paranoid- I check it - it is off- back to the keyboard-

As the train continues its bumpy ride to San Francisco I look down and to the back of the train to quickly examine the passengers standing up on the lower level- tall man- white earbuds- neck cranked down staring at smart phone- behind him- young well dressed woman- neck cranked forward- staring at smart phone in hand- behind her older man turned to the side smiling with neck cranked back holding smart phone high in front of face- the man sitting in front of me stands up to depart at the next stop staring down at his smart phone in hand- the train stops again-

An adjacent train blocks my view of the station so I look down at the lower level- a woman exploding out of her clothes like a stuffed sausage that's been boiled for too long walks toward me- smart phone held in front of her like a torch in a dark cave- I look in the reflection in the window in front of me and I can see her hand holding the smartphone- the screen scrolling - the other train passes- 

I count the people on the other side of the tracks- 24 people- all but two had smart phones in hand- I pity those two people they were not sharing, open or connected- I mean, shit- they were actually paying attention to their physical environments they could have accidentally made eye contact with each other? What then people?! Think of the children!

I watch another strip mall with the same stores as the two others the train has passed on this short trip float by through the dirty window-  dry lots filled with dead grass and fancy cars line the street- the train slows to another stop- 

I’m not going to even comment on the people waiting on the other side of the tracks- as you guessed they are all standing or sitting with neck cranked forward or with smart phone/bluetooth welded to their heads- so open- so connected- so much sharing- its amazing- glory to saint CEO and their missions to help humanity with their one dollar salaries- saints- we can call them saints! 

Wow- the sense of community and camaraderie I’m getting is truly heartwarming- 


I know if I was dying on the train tracks here I’m sure at least one of them would have the open, sharing connectedness compassion to film me with their smartphone while I die to post on their various social sites thereby generating ad revenue for themselves and/or for the corporation behind the site. It makes me proud to be an American.

The train lumbers forwards- and yeah everybody on the fucking train is staring at a phone or ipad- three of us douches have laptops- god bless us- 

I stare at all the phone people around me trying to make eye contact- there is none to be found- After all I’m just creep that is not connected to their social network connections of openness and sharing and connectedness and all that- they look fearful to me- they look fearful- bored- defeated- they look disappointed- they look depressed- they look unfulfilled- they have the finest clothing on and are holding the world's most advanced and expensive smart devices and related accessories but they look fucking miserable- 

One man breaks contact with his phone and looks up- we make eye contact- his sad blue eyes meet mine for a second then look away not registering the connection with a human- his thumb taps on the smartphone screen- 

If someone described this scene to me when I was a child- I would think that is was a sad nightmare- no one dies- so it's not really a scary nightmare- but it's never ending and everywhere-

It's everywhere but no one sees it- it's an invisible nightmare that no one acknowledges even though they all feel it- 

Alienation, loneliness, disconnection, anxiety- everything that they want- friends- connection- sharing- open-ness is right in front of them- if they dig their face from out of their fucking phone make eye contact with a human and talk to them- that's what I do and I make friends everywhere I go- I’m happy- I’m invigorated- I’m motivated and excited by life- I talk to strangers- I look for opportunities to talk to people and/or help them if I can- why? because without that maybe I would be like these people? 

I would never want that- I’d rather just kill myself than to be like this- to live so pampered and safe but take it all for granted and be miserable for social reasons- why the fuck do all these people with all this money and fancy shit look so miserable? 

Are they too lazy and distracted to reach the top of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs? Or are they waiting for an app to come out to do it for them? Are they waiting for an app to make their dreams come true? Why do they constantly look into these screens? its clearly not working for them- so try something else- try something real and meaningful- put the social pacifier away for fucks sake- you might really live for maybe just one day.

Millbrae stop is next- announces the muffled PA over the low rumble of the train- the stop where you get off to transfer to the BART to go to the San Francisco airport and the rest of the Bay Area- The train stops- a lot of people at this stop- One man looks happy- his legs crossed- he looks out at the train I’m in with a tiny smile on his face- no smartphone to be seen- he is here and he is alive- in the warm California sun in October he has good reason to be happy-

As the train was leaving I saw a unicorn- I mean- I saw a young woman at the train stop not on a phone- reading a physical book- that was nice-

The train continues on as I start feeling the effects of only eating a few carrots and peanut butter for breakfast hours before- I’m taking this train trip as an excuse to write but it is going to San Francisco- less than a 5 minute walk from the station is a Japanese restaurant that serves excellent Ramen- some of the best I’ve had outside of Japan- 

Now if you’re only experience with ramen is with the “top” kind of the “instant lunch” kind you are unaware of a majestic parallel universe filled with long curly noodles and rich meaty soup broth- 

I was going to stay on this train and take it back the other way but now I’m going to have to go to that restaurant- if I died of starvation on this train I’m sure everyone with their smart phones and their open-ness and sharing and all that would film me dying and upload it everyone for the ad revenue- but I would still die and I don’t want to do that- so yes- I will depart the train and rescue that tonkotsu shoyu ramen from its loneliness and isolation as it sits there in a pot alone- probably on a smartphone- 

Its not long before pets have smartphones so why not Japanese noodles- the Japanese are way ahead of stuff you know and your dog might need it for emergencies you know like everyone told themselves before smart phones were as ubiquitous to human existence as air and water- 

Your dog might need it in case of emergencies and I tell you what- imma kill a muthafuckin ramen when I get there- so that ramen need a smart phone right now-call 911 cause I’m coming to get that muthafucka- BLAP BLAP goes my spoon! ratta tat tat go my chopsticks- 

I’m coming for you man and your boy or girl- the waiter or waitress sold you out homie- they don’t give a fuck about you- its just bout that money and imma pay them with my plastic card in an empty wallet cause I’m on a slow train to nowhere that matters- and I’m hungry as fuck- bitch ass ramen.

It was messy and brutal- I rushed off the train with the rest if the anti-socials and ordered tonkotsu ramen- spicy with extra noodle- I ate it as fast as I could like I always do- memories of a popular Tokyo ramen restaurant a friend took me too where customers were allowed in twenty at a time to eat with a specific time limit- then everyone had to leave- the ramen was really hot and really spicy- my friend laughing at me as I simultaneously burnt my tongue while splashing ramen base all over my bright yellow jacket- 

I’m pretty good with chopsticks after growing up in a Japanese neighborhood but I couldn’t perform under the bright lights and time limits of that Tokyo ramen restaurant- they put the clock on me and I failed bruh-

So I ate the ramen as fast as I couldn pretending to train for my inevitable return to that place in Tokyo so this time I would make it- I would beat the clock- 

A homeless man with a smoldering crooked cigarette butt and a can of king cobra appears next to me- mumbling at the woman dressed as a ballerina standing in front of us- his finger taps on his knee as he sits down next to me- I nod to him but it doesn’t register- he continues to mumble to himself about some house and people coming down and this and that- now pressing on the king cobra can- its aluminum siding popping in and out with a rhythm- 

I catch a whiff or urine as the wind kicks up- he keeps tapping the can- crushing it slightly now- people run their tickets through a blue machine in front of me- the beeps with each ticket processed echoing down the long striped hallway- 

I chose the bench on the far end of this hallway because it was empty and now I know why it was empty- because its far enough away from the security booth so the random mentally ill homeless person might sit there- and you might catch a whiff of reality in Murica- the scent of urine and beer- gibberish muttered under the breath about cars and bills and they better not this and that- now rattling the remaining beer around with this right hand- he sits up higher- the beeps of the blue machines echo on as I look over at this man- empty look through glazed eyes- he takes another drink of his king cobra tapping on the can- it must almost be empty now- country music now plays through someone’s smart phone- our modern day boom boxes- personal entertainment systems that are now playing some corny modern country music with its tired cliche’s called most people call lyrics-

I puke in my mouth a little bit- I could walk over to find the offending phone to spew a mix of bile and extra ramen noodles all over it- but its not worth it- it was good ramen- the homeless man points at me- I look over at him as he shakes his head up and down violently- he keeps pointing as gibberish spills- clearly out of his mind- the train I’m waiting for arrives- I stand up-

Waiting in a crowd of 50-75 people- we stand as the doors for the 7:30pm train are now closed- we wait for them to open- I look around at the rest of the potential passengers- silently profiling them like I often do- 

I spent 10+ years making films, telling stories, creating and animating characters from scratch- to do so- you sort have to be able to reverse engineer people- to make an animated character or a character in a film you need to create the illusion of a complete history or backstory without showing all of it- so you need to include things in their idiosyncrasies and behaviors to hint at their past- so when looking at people now I examine their habits and behaviors- the way they stand- their posture- the way they move- what they look at and what they don’t look at- as I attempt to reverse engineer their character based on these small hints- its fun practice for me to guess what a person does- what just happened in their life- where they are going- where they grew up- how they grew up- what they are thinking about now- these are the things I think as I examine this crowd- as I often do-

I’m an alien android examiner taking notes for the future.

After waiting for a short time and entering the train it starts moving again- its dark now so I can’t see much out the window- as I was waiting for the train I watched a pair of half drunk baseball fans wearing jerseys- eating from a pizza box with beer in plastic cups in hand- they apparently had a great time today and in their drunken state decided that they should text message “Peter” with one of their smart phones to tell him that he was the “greatest guy in the world” 

They kept repeating this phrase “greatest guy in the world” as the woman spilled her beer on the floor- it splashed onto the shoes of the people standing near her- space was quickly made for her like the clearing of space that happens when someone vomits in the mosh pit- moshing on vomit is a bit like ice skating- 

I’ve never been ice skating but I’ve moshed on a vomit covered floor more than once- it adds a level of difficulty and increases the chances of falling- the coup de grace of moshing- oh shit you fell!- it was all over then if you fell- your fragile male ego built up by how many people you fucked up in the pit- it was over- you might as well retire bro- in my late teens I was one of these bro’s frequenting shows at a small metal club in Berkeley California called the Berkeley Square- 

My muscle head friends and I would take Ultimate Orange which was a legal supplement then but is now illegal because it contains ephedrine which can be used to make meth- so we’d be all meth’d out straight from the gym just to act like meathead morons and smash people- our claim to fame besides knocking people through bathroom doors and into the equipment on the side of the stage where upcoming bands had stored their stuff- besides that it was a newspaper write up from one of the shows we attended- the review said something like this “ it was a good show though it was sort of ruined by a bunch of idiot meat heads in the mosh pit “ we were proud to be of dishonorable mention- we were metal after all- or so we thought- we moshed on vomit if we had too -but carpet was preferred as you got much better traction-

Speaking of vomit again- when I was a young drunk I did my share of vomiting in public- now I appreciate it as an art form- its a sort of jackson pollack/graffiti expression by people that shouldn’t have had that giant super burrito so soon after coming out of the club- 

As I ride my bike or walk down the street I’m like “ oh look at that one- thats a big one!” or “ oh that was a burrito for sure” or “ did a human even do that? what is that? “ I’ve tried to share this joy with my wife as we ride down the street but she doesn’t seem as into Jackson Pollacky street food graffiti as I am- I mean to each their own- I don’t like Jazz or acoustic guitar music- so most people don’t like Jackson Pollacky street food graffiti- I’m fine with that- 

I’m just saying its there in your town waiting to be discovered- maybe instead of being like “ ew gross somebody fucking puked! “ be like “ I wonder what they ate? “ or “ There seems to be a lot of anger in this piece- anger at their mother “  There is passionate- real- visceral art all around you if you choose to see it decomposing in front of you- 

In recent years the city of San Jose has hired these space aliens in yellow suits to spray down the streets at all the best times- like when you are walking on the street and the dirty mist punches you in the face- I believe these street sprayers are part of bigger movement that does not appreciate the Jackson Pollacky street food art/visceral art movement of which I just started ten minutes ago- they will not recognize this art form with their clothed eyes and cocked water hoses ready to spray down the latest unintentional masterpiece puked by frat boy onto sidewalk while arguing with his third girlfriend of the year that he really loves- “for real bitch, I fucking love you Deborah buuaaaaaaaa” 

I mean, if that not real visceral living art what is? We should be cherishing these blessed pieces of pavement like the Hollywood star walk- for one- its more democratic in that people don’t need to pay large sums of money to have their mark on the sidewalk- they just need too many jaegerbombs and a few super tacos or slices of combo pizza- there’s a very low barrier of entry so virtually anyone can participate in this new art movement-

Right now- you probably just step around these masterpieces when you see them on your pavement- its good that you are showing them proper respect and proper respect for the artists by not stepping on them but you could take it a bit further for the common good- you section the area off so its not accidentally washed away or eaten by a dog- or ants- this is art people.

A dark parking lot to my left illuminated by the lights of a compact car in reverse- the spectacled man sitting in front of me looks out the window like he was looking for an escape from really having to pee as I saw him walk down and get rejected by a locked bathroom door a minute ago- “maybe I can pee out there in that car” is what I imagine he was thinking “ he might have had that weird car fetish thing I came across exploring Hotline servers years ago- the one where you put the thing in the tailpipe and rock the car back and forth having sex with it- no, he probably doesn’t have that- just wants to pee- maybe he is an engineer and was calculating the p.s.i. of his pee pee? And whether or not it could break the window if he let it fly- he gets up again and into the open bathroom- damn, I wanted to see if it could break the glass-

The train is scheduled to arrive at the destination at 9pm- 45 minutes from now- I yawn, low on caffeine as I look down at a woman texting below- don’t think just because I stopped talking about it that there isn’t one of those smart things in everyones hands now- there is- no one is here- they are all in some other there- half sucked through the portal in their phone into the world of open, connected, sharing.

“Parking lot is closed” reads a cheap looking plywood sign with yellow police tape strewn across it- the train starts up and keeps careening south-

Look at the lovely glowing strip mall with all my favorites- I can purchase the products and services I’m used too- having it all at my convenience- wonderful it is-

Its too dark to see much of anything through dark windows- two women teetering on spindly high heels walk past holding tightly onto the railing as they prepare to depart- the train stops- I watch them hobble out and down a ramp into the darkness- lit only with yellow orange spot lights- a man behind me packs up his laptop and throws his backpack over his shoulder walking down the short spiral stairway onto the lower level-

Blinking red lights at a train crossing- dark cars waits for us to pass- we do- and stop- people spill out of the train past a waiting bus and into a dark parking lot in all directions- some on bikes- most hauling heavy bags- a portly man ready to explode packed with adipose walks with heavy feet that he slings more than he lifts- I fear for his ankles- he thuds across the street and behind a bus as the train departs again-

Thirty minutes until arrival-focus fading- motivation dropping- confusion increasing- yawn- decides to stop writing- will stop at Whole Foods with empty wallet and plastic card to purchase non state standard cacao coffee drink with no sugar added and return to writing once energy levels back up and back home.

Headlights and backpacks fade away- rolling past minivans and SUV’s whisking their passengers away- 

Beanie- white ear buds- hand tattoo’s- bleached blonde hair- neck craned down tapping on a smart phone-

I turn my head to look out the window into a dim neighborhood as a woman with a mohawk swipes something under one of the blue beeping machines at this station- I can’t hear the beep- a couple stands together huddled around their two smart phones- lost? Or just in a new place and don’t trust their own human memory, senses, and intuition to find the way? They continue to huddle as the train pulls away-

A man in a business suit stands up from the seat in front of me- he attaches a backpack and walks down the stairs- another person preparing to depart-

All I can see now in the dark dirty window is my own reflection and the occasional streak of light- a man with a black hat stares back at me- expressionless as he taps on the glowing keyboard in front of him- black hat with a skull on it- large headphones- he seems deep in thought while soaking in his surrounding sans sounds besides the constant rumble of the train and blowing of the ventilation system- 

Camouflage shorts and rainbow socks- he leans back into the seat breathing in loudly- tapping- always tapping on the keyboard in front of him as if he’s having a spirited conversation with someone else over the magic of the computer ways and inter tubes- but there isn’t anyone there- just the white box of a word processing application- words stacking up- “will someone ever be here he wonders” here as in on this page reading it- 

He doesn’t know but he keeps tapping any way- he has a lot to think about and even more to talk about but no one to talk too- so he types- the way he thinks seems to not be a common way to think according to his conversations with other American’s- so he’s writing this to offer another perspective on this place-

He wiggles his fingers as he looks out the window at an orange sign reading “9:02”- “the train is late” he thinks with nowhere in particular to go besides to get a coffee so he can continue to do what he is doing that he is not supposed to be doing because he already wrote that he wasn’t going to write until he got a coffee and got home but he has nothing else to do- no one else to talk to- with no smart phone and no internet access- instead he does this- talks to himself and talks to you-

If he had a smart phone he would be somewhere else with some one else in a virtual place that doesn’t really exist- and not here with us- with his own mind- his own thoughts- and with you- then he would just be another consumer- consuming- adding sales data to spreadsheets for large corporations- instead of being a human being investigating their own thoughts and their own mind- introspection- when does it happen with a smart phone? is there an introspection app that does it for you? What’s it called? “Alone time” or “ ZenMaker” 

When one cannot separate from their social pacifier- their digital Binky- when are they ever introspective? When they are about to die? 

Because its too late then- that might seem a bit dramatic- but when? If every moment is another cocaine bump of instant gratification from a smart phone- when does that snowball stop?

Sleeping doesn’t count- being alone scares people that are not Zen monks or people that routinely practice meditation- but being alone with your thoughts and with yourself is exactly what helps you find out who you are and what you want- if you never go there you’ll never know- then you’ll just let that little smart phone and all the magical places it goes tell you who you are and what you should be doing and with who- and why? 

Is Facebook or your smart phone ever going to say- “You should stop using us so much- maybe its not really that good for you to be so dependent on us?”

There’s no profit to siphon out of you, no data to mine and resell if you do that- so I’d say no.

This book isn’t about how to find happiness- its about my observations where ever I happen to go while I’m allowed to write this book- the place I’ve gone today was full of sad, complacent people staring down into the darkness with their necks craned- when life is looking up- 

Life is looking up.

You see the real light when you look up- away from the screen- its there— it won’t be as well animated with cool sound effects like the stuff on your phone but its there- if you choose to look for it- 

As I get home and reconnected to the internets of computer tubes I see news of another mass shooting here in Murica- another “ he was a normal young man “ more “ I never suspected anything “ sure if you don’t pay any attention to the other humans around you because your neck is cranked down into you’re smart phone 24/7 and all you pay attention to is a person’s social network posts “ they seemed fine- their status was set to fine so they seemed fine “ this place is a very lonely, alienating place with everyone around you a ghost- sucked into their smart phone or social network app- people need to talk to people in real life to stay healthy and it seems no one has the time or the desire to talk to anyone not through their phone around here- how would anyone of these smart phone zombie’s notice if a person around them was in pain or angry? 

They wouldn’t even notice- they would just walk past neck cranked down lost in app-land- 

So instead of pulling our heads out of our virtual asses- aka smart phones- and start paying attention to the people around us- we medicate- 

Because we don’t know ourselves we fear other people- we are uncomfortable with ourselves so we are uncomfortable with them- So when when people have emotional problems we don’t know to communicate about that- so we tell them to medicate- 

Some people truly do need medication but a lot of what troubles people is that they don’t have any real people to talk to- to relate to- you can’t relate to people if you don’t talk to to them- and the way the social sites/app’s work is that you have to truncate your being to fit into the mold that allows them to best serve you ad’s and mine your data- 

So you are not represented online today in 2016- perhaps people you would find commonalities with to communicate with in person are missed- so you are there alone on your computing device- its dull glow giving you nothing but friendly icons without souls-

I just can’t get away from talking about these fucking smart phones- maybe because I see them as underlying causes of a lot of what makes modern day Americans what they are- and no one is talking about it- so fuck- talk to people in real life- make eye contact with people- say hi- be a human being living in physical reality- be aware of your environment- don’t avoid your thoughts-

Don’t run and hide in your phone like a baby reaching for a pacifier- be an adult.

Who are you? What do you want? 

Don’t look at your fucking smart phone for answers- listen to yourself for once- remember life is looking up- not down into your smart phone- 

Look down too much and you’ll miss your life- the world inside that phone is eternal- but the life outside of it is not- don’t waste your time. Don’t waste your life.





Comments

  1. I often wonder how many people out there think like me, and would actually be happy for a stranger to initiate a conversation. I mean a real conversation, not talking about the weather or your day job. Maybe it's nobody. It's hard to gauge when most people busy themselves constantly (with nothing) and are steeled from any confrontation.

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  2. Oh boy oh man I cannot wait for "The Talking And Texting Dead: The Novel."

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