Resistance is the feeling that your great task lies elsewhere.

It begins as a friction, turns to hot boredom; traffic light congestion of impulse; then apathy.

The flat affect on seaside holidays and in hotel bars: that’s mind-forged limitation.

Whimsy and coarseness blur the daunting backdrop of places you told yourself you ought not go.

The pounding drum of practicality, 

The drowning of syncopation.

Automate all industry, pronto. 

Render unto robots.