Soo: (leaning forward, tapping the table in rhythmic insistence) You know, this isn’t just about cars or road maniacs. It mirrors corporate ambition. Fortune 500 fever. Every executive is a racer, flooring the pedal. Why this relentless rush?
Jules: (nodding, a half-smile playing on his lips) Exactly! The faster they race, the less they see. It’s as if acceleration demands amnesia. In corporate sprints, executives forget everything beyond their narrow focus.
Ellesha: (grinning darkly) But there’s a twisted justice in this, isn’t there? A wicked humor hiding in the shadows. After all, the grave is the ultimate equalizer.
Philyra: (snapping back, fire in her eyes) Not equal enough! Prior to death, some find peace while others languish. History reveals a cruel calculus. The poor and the weak are forced to pay in blood, labor, and dignity for the follies of the rich and famous.
Ellesha: (slightly shrugging, gaze turning distant) Yes, it appears that way, but we’re only seeing a sliver of the whole. Maybe the universe corrects itself in ways we’ll never grasp.
Andrei:< /span>
(slamming his fist on the table, scoffing with a mock-seriousness) That’s a convenient philosophy! Such prattle is spineless! It allows us to sit idle while road hogs and highway brigands exploit the vulnerable. We must firmly brake against complacency!
Speed Demons and Other Deities of Motion
The word “stop” has no place
in the reckless lexicon,
where cravings for speed ignite
a frenzy of acceleration—
their gospel is in roaring electrodes
yearning to spark.
"Slow down" is an out-dated expression
for the faint of heart.
Those who worship combustion
baptize themselves in octane,
seeking a strange ecstasy
as engines scream.
With vehicles shrieking in top gear,
and pistons hammering in relentless beats,
they surge toward fictious finish lines.
With engines wailing, pistons hammering,
they surge toward fictitious finish lines,
bearing scars from countless collisions,
blasting horns in defiance—
they are disasters in motion,
destined for trash heaps.
With gas belching from scorched tailpipes
and smoke bleeding into the air,
they race toward oblivion,
hungry for the applause of chaos:
destruction becomes their legacy.
Ning: (softly, almost meditative) I think the author is writing about something bigger than individual greed. This poem highlights how our obsession with motion has become endemic. Speed isn’t just a habit; it’s our civilization’s heartbeat. We worship momentum more than meaning. Everything has to move. Everything must scale.
Vidhya: (whispering, as flickers of light dance over her face) All speed demons—corporate or cosmic—share a common fate: an impending crash, a black swan that catches them off guard. Kaput! It all comes to an end. Death or extinction is inevitable.
