Let's Contemplate the Consequence of Being

I saw a million cars cross this desert plain of billboards and bright city lights, and sad commercial gain. Where were they heading? Maybe west towards the sunset or futher to the edge of reason or perhaps to the end of the earth where they could contemplate what lay behind them. What I mean is they could think about the consequence of being, and I don't mean doing, and I don't mean thinking, I mean actually being. They could contemplate the consequence of being. I used to try and dream about what this place once looked like before the roads, and before the streetlights, gunfights, and midnight opening times. Yeah, I bet it was a flat place with birds circling skywards and the only roads paved out led to California or some other place of future promise unimaginable. So let's scuff our feet Ace, and take a walk outdoors, suck in that summer air and shake the dust off. Let's push start this motorbike and ride out to the ocean, dash across the sand and dive right into the waves. Or we could slip into the flow of traffic and keep riding the long train east, across the desert plain of city lights until we're out of that place. It's up to you to decide. Do you want the ocean waves and a subtle breeze that's blowing change or a cliff of an infinate peril drop and a deckchair facing oblivion where you can sit and take down the past, scene by scene with an hourglass counting down with each grain of sand the cost of dwelling on past failures. By the way, you can never turn back.