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Spoken version
A recorded reading of “The Autopilot Shuffle”. If the player does not load, use the original audio source.
Life gets murky, like smudged-up glass, My brain’s in the cloud... with zero bandwidth to pass. I walk in a room, stand there like art, Forgot my mission, forgot my part. Autopilot engaged—full cruise control, Just a warm body with half a soul. Like Windows XP in Safe Mode sleep, I buffer in corners, emotionally cheap. Was I emailing? Laundry? Crying inside? Multitasking madness I never applied. Half-focused here, half-floating there, Like a browser with 40 tabs and zero care. Mid-convo I pause—then stare into space, Spiritually logged out, no saving grace. Lights are on, sure, but dim and flickery, Running on vibes, memes, and witchery. “Oh, you too?” Welcome to the crew— We drift through days like lost Bluetooth. Meetings on Tuesday? Or was that a myth? Who knows, babe—I forgot my fifth shift. So here’s to the ones who forget mid-scroll, Who microwave coffee and lose their soul. We may be confused, but at least we’re consistent— In a world of clarity, we remain... resistant.
Alternative version
As we get older, life starts to blur, a mind like Wi-Fi—weak, unsure. You were doing something... but wait, what for? Lost in a room you walked in before. Oh, absolutely! I’m on autopilot, like Windows XP—glitches and quiet. Freezing mid-task, thoughts hit a wall, constantly asking, "What was that call?" But hey, let’s call it efficient divide— why focus on one when five things collide? Half-present here, half-present there, juggling moments like I just don’t care. Mid-sentence I drift, then poof—I’m gone, wondering where my thoughts have withdrawn. The lights are on, but it’s dim up here, buffering through life, stuck in last year. If you’re like this too, don’t worry, my friend— welcome to the club where our thoughts never end. We meet on Tuesdays... or was that a lie? Guess we’ll figure it out... oh wait, what’s the time?
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