“…these questions of happiness
plaguing the world.”

-d. johnson

It’s there. A dashboard pours readings of the highest sort. The pilot scanning gauges, offering input, feeling a part of the machine. And why not, he believes himself author and director of that spilling before him. Speed. Direction. Arrival. They pour forth as daily, unloved magics. From A to B to C to A. Control as a too-often-medium goes unnoticed.