Blur

When you don't focus on anything as the train scrapes down the tracks, every light becomes a tracer. Even your own reflection in the window is a brown-green smudged silhouette; a ghastly cameo.

Not many people on this train but a few reading and others looking out the window while listening to their headphones.

"Poets gone wild on their muse, prophets are destroying their Tao," is wailed into my ears. It's like everyone is doing as told: go to school, get a job, produce, reproduce, consume.

"The secret dance of snakes the tales of it all," he continues. Nobody knows why we do any of this but it is the way it is done. It feels as if there is a controlling force out there laughing, laughing, laughing.

"We are the cause of a world that's gone wrong," basically covers it. Thanks Serj for the poignant lyrics.

Happy Friday: the holiday anthem of the chained.