Efficiency runs on Burnout The biggest misconception isn’t the pursuit of paradise; it’s the belief that constant convenience and perfect order come without pain. When you push through exhaustion in silence, When you distance yourself emotionally, When the lonely effort of performing is celebrated, Beware of the trap of striving for efficiency every single day Be Creative and Innovative with Knowledge John Bennett - AKA JJFBbennett , is an independent artist. You can view and subscribe to my work via Blogger , YouTube , Flicker , Facebook , Instagram and Deviant Art . Subscribe to JJFBbennett's private FB hub: https://www.facebook.com/share/g/18ythpSXPZ/ You can subscribe to my music via YouTube Music , Spotify , iTunes, Apple Music and Soundcloud To support my art, feel free to donate via JJFBbennett through PayPal If you want to acquire JJFB's art creations as an NFT - John's Opensea NFT pro...
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Driving in John Brack’s Car
Surrounded by death I was the only one ok
Pumping out.
And breathing in.
Ozone,
Sulphur dioxide,
Nitrogen dioxide,
Carbon monoxide,
And PM10s.
Traffic pollution is killing us.
Backfiring.
Afterburning.
Afterfiring.
Are the common causes.
Of running on richness.
Red Sky Driving
Punctuated by religious motifs.
And deeply superstitious thoughts.
The importance of place and time.
Curses, desires, potions, and talismans.
Refusing to see the danger at hand.
By attempting to overcome the gods in mind.
Driving with the Megalodon
Driving cloaked in and under threat.
Knowing how to survive and prosper.
Proceed into the world chanting.
It could be anywhere.
It could be everywhere.
Avoid and mask any risk of being blamed.
Substitute and shift their attention.
To covertly Inflict physical and psychological harm.
And they will believe in you.
Driving to Alpha Centauri
Once we were driving to Alpha Centauri.
Only 4.37 light-years away.
Once when we were thinking outside the box.
When we became vastly more powerful.
Once we finally released ourselves.
Through a fleet of probes.
Once we find a life-bearing planet.
As we transverse the great vastness.
Driving to Alpha Centauri Hands-Free
We know.
Our auto-drive to resource capital growth precipitates zoonotic diseases.
As we violate the natural habitat with abandonment.
Through our pathogen-inducing factory mindset.
Of continuous unlimited profit.
We have driven into an age of pandemics.
With an invisible hand called reaction.
To handbrake.
To force a capital disaster response.
Through oversupply.
Through supply chain disruption.
Through labor shortages.
To slow global production.
And to reset.
Until the next humanity threat.
Interior Space Assets
Production.
Trying to control the world.
And the people of the world.
Through consumption.
As the world continues to move.
The commodities continue to change.
Caged within.
Human resource and automation.
Cultural resources as assets.
Within their commodity status.
Chained to exponential growth.
As described by the grid.
And the predetermined trajectory coordinates.
Of profit.
y = 2x
Interior Space Fog
You can see the fog.
Big trouble ahead.
Caution Caution.
Danger Danger.
Your family is at threat.
The uncertain perspectives.
When everything depends on you.
Interior Space Passenger and Roo
Driving in John Brack's Car
From out of the fog.
And into our dreams.
From past dangers to the ongoing dilemmas.
What we chose to kill became us our future.
When it was too difficult to stop.
With no want to slow down consumption.
We sold inconvenience as the obstruction.
Death as normalised collateral.
Our road to prosperity is guttered with roadkill.
Video
As the roadkill proceeds.
From past wrongs.
Hidden dilemmas and white-washed histories.
Our future is not determined to be inclusive.
Not to be obstructed.
Not to be denied.
Prosperity doesn't trickle down.
Prosperity reinforced segregation.
Operation Warp Speed Alpha Centauri
Fractured visions driven by multi lateral public–private partnerships.
All out to acquire the profitable future.
By liberating scientists from the bureaucracy of their parallel universes.
To corporate bureaucracy where industry has the upper hand.
The Toxic Weight of Waiting The atmosphere has thickened. What was once a room defined by walls and chairs has dissolved into a toxic haze, an environmental manifestation of a mind under siege. She no longer sits; she kneels, anchored to the floor by an invisible gravity. Above her, the "toxic air" takes shape as a looming, jagged shadow infused with high-velocity greens and burning volcanic reds. It feels less like smoke and more like a predator, a towering silhouette of anxiety that has finally outgrown the space. The colours vibrate with a sickly, chemical heat, turning the very oxygen into something thick and sharp. In this room, the silence has become deafeningly loud. The fractured light from the previous moment has bled together, creating a suffocating shroud that blurs the line between the physical world and an internal fever dream. The momentum hasn't just stalled; it has been swallowed. She has diminished, huddled in the eye of this psychic storm, a solitary ...
The Ethereal Ascent The air in the room is violently still, creating a heavy pressure. She has long stopped looking at the clock, realising that time here is not a sequence but a weight. The waiting room has fractured; the mundane reality of plastic chairs and linoleum flooring splinters into a jagged, stained-glass fever dream. High-pitched frequencies of burning red and sickly blues vibrate as if hardened walls, echoing the frantic noise of a mind that has run out of distractions. Every sharp edge of colour feels like a spiritual siege, a sensory reminder that her momentum has been forcibly halted. There is no use in pacing. There is no use in resisting the authoritative hand of the "in-between." To survive this stall, she must stop fighting the current and become part of the stagnant water. She looks out, as if just awakened, and does the only thing left to recollect. She breathes. She waits. She waits for the shards to align once more. Be Creative and Innovative wit...
Waiting for Azrael The air in the room doesn't move; it simply presses She has long since stopped looking at the clock, realising that time here isn't a sequence, but a weight. The waiting room has fractured, the mundane reality of plastic chairs and linoleum tiling splintering into a jagged, stained-glass fever dream . High-pitched frequencies of burning red and sickly yellow vibrate against the walls, echoing the frantic noise of a mind that has run out of distractions. She pulls her legs inward and forms a tight knot, dressed in indigo and bruised purple. She tries to find a purpose in her world that refuses to stand still. Every sharp edge of colour feels like a spiritual siege , a sensory reminder that her momentum has been forcibly halted. There is no use in pacing. There is no use in resisting the authoritative hand of the "in-between." To survive this stall, she must stop fighting the current and become part of the stagnant water. She buries her face, lets t...
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