Birth, School, Work, Death
A poem about the pointlessness of life in the machine.
Input, process, output. Food, the use, and waste Feeds another system, That must Consume In haste.
Delays just make us hungry And burn what was desire To try to make a difference Or just toss it in the fire.
Input, process, output. The Word, your brain, your job. Feeding you some money, Your life, It seems, They rob.
In truth, you are the giver, Of time to the machine, Retirement the vision Of some Future life Serene.
From Zen and the Art of [nothing] by John Zdanowski & Jeff Abrams, Chapter 1.