On the highway of life, stagnancy does not exist.
There is only movement, once you make the decision to enter the on-ramp.
And as you make your way into the cluster of lanes, the only option that you have is to remain fearless of the accelerators surrounding you.
Because there’s a common denominator to the movement of those accelerators –
It’s a destination, ya’dig?
When you commit to your destination on this highway, you’ve separated yourself from the idle-minded that are joyriding at the bare minimum level of speed.
You become a road warrior – willing to make dodge and weave compromises for the sake of getting there on your own time – not by the schedule of the commuter melting pot.
It is in the same second you opt to follow along with the traffic that you become the traffic – gridlocked, suffocated in a lineup of vessels that’ll be late for their own goddamn funeral, ya’dig?
On this interstate, you lead.
You go fifteen over the limit and smile at the tortoises who see you not as just an ordinary vehicle on a road, but as a motivated blur that’s bent on reaching its destination in record time.
Unregrettably – respecting the common denominator only enough to know that there’s others that may want to get there just as badly as you do – but not enough to let them get ahead.
Now enough of the motherfuckin’ Confucious plight, the reality here is that I know Zero’s running a Hellcat on this highway behind me, and he’s got an aftermarket truck horn blaring in my eardrum – swerving left to the right around me because he’s got places to go and people to see.
Shit, I even got my boy in an adjacent lane – in a top-down GT Spyder with his enormous cock flailing in the wind, eager for that moment when I rest my foot.
And then there’s a 16 year old student driver to the left, really pushing that 4-cylinder Corolla to boundaries it’s never seen before to the left of me.
In this sea of casual travelers, those most motivated to the concept of movement remain close with destinations in mind that shine like gold.
We temporarily unite for the sake of the common denominator, but it’s the motherfucker that expands from that common denominator that makes it to the final destination, tosses some silver in the meter, and has enough time to roll a pre-festivities bone.
And I’m that superfly, astronomically high motherfucker.
It ain’t Zero.
It certainly ain’t that low-hanging fruit, hoverboard bitchboy.
And as far as my boy is concerned? It’s nothing but love – but this highway isn’t meant for bromance.
It’s meant for the warriors – the accelerators.
The ones that are willing to isolate themselves, to leave the comradery at the on-ramp for a little bit of roadburn at high speeds in order to get to that destination, baby.
The one that shines like polished fucking gold.
Because on the highway of life – stagnancy does not exist.