On a highway,
it looks very familiar.
As all do roads in the lowlands
Very good fucking roads,
When done right, it becomes flying.
Zoofing along two Long smooth grey planes of asphalt,
divided by green cute lanes, which get checked every once in a while
studied by someone from a certain institution
That was created to ensure stable and mindful bushes, beside the never stopping commuting of burgelijke citizens who reflect upon their stable perfect life while glazing out the car window onto green cute lanes
The point I am trying to make is
it isn’t organic, its cute, it isn’t natural
severe lack of freedom
Unlike the wild flowers besides broken roads on a rocky hill in Crete
With walls were grass grows outright for lizards to roam
I miss that
in this small land that strives to be a real life version of the sims
We create nature, man-made forest maintained by natuur-momumenten and staats-bos-beheer
Built from scratch, prevented from getting too wild.
Forever observed controlled nurtured and whateverelse
The most ostounding metaphor is the Belgian border
When crossed the roads crumble by the turning of the wheels
When crossed the houses look different
Slanted clusters of buildings that got old by the decay of time
Here I have to setlle for moss that grows though the street tiles
I beg you to keep growing
Hoping no one besides me notices
So this small part of anarchy shall never be mowed down