[b][u]Literal Nonsense[/u][/b]

Oh, to be a mysterious stranger broadcasting a nonsensical message over the radio. Only for the words to be heard by another even more mysterious stranger, who listens to the words through a crackling radio. Between pops and cracks...a message- a warning? A prophecy? Pure nonsense that somehow made sense. What a dream.

Between the frivolous fabrics of irrational, rational realities. Do you hear me out there? Do you know what I am? I walk and I talk. It’s all so painfully human. The listener is not human. The hum of static as it falls into worlds beyond. Droning through the wind... Nothing but a meaningless noise- but if read between the lines, there is so much meaning. 

Like a calendar, our days are numbered. Isn’t it beautiful to be finite? Time ticks and the world ends, but there’s more out there. As the world ends, another will continue, and yet it will not. You can hear me. You may hear my words as they pass through. However, I cannot hear you. So scream! Scream and yell into the empty voice of space! A void that is so empty that it is full of particles. Shout into it for me.
[hr]
[u][b]Inspiration 3[/b][/u]

That's how the mornings always started in this tiny, uneventful town. 
Without much of a choice, the rooster would crow and the farmer and his family would rise. They always got up the earliest- unless you counted the night watch security guard at the Funday-All-Day Arcade. The security guard was always done with their shift by 6 in the morning but had been awake since somewhere around 11 PM last night. 7 hours of doing nothing in the dark. Every. Single. Night.

But that's just how things work around here. Monotony is our way of life in our quaint little town, and we have reveled in it since our founding in the mid-1900s, and we will continue to do so until our eventual deaths sometime in the not-so-distant-future. 

Regardless, by the time the Arcade's night guard went home, the farmer's children were already ready for school. They'd pack their little lunch bags with the same meal every day and then walk to school- no skipping, no running, no trotting, or teetering, or tottering. Just. Walking. The other children would walk as well, or be picked up by a yellow school bus with fading paint.

The parents of the children would sip on their coffee, simultaneously, while driving their sedans to a non-specific office building that belonged to a non-specific government agency, or to the supermarket to exchange currency for food and drink, and THEN drive to the office building. This is mandatory, of course.

And me? I just do what everybody else does, because that's our motto! "Conformity brings happiness, and individuality is a sin.", as our mayor would say. Don't you agree? Welcome to Boring, a small town located somewhere on this tiny planet that's hurtling across the universe at unfathomable speeds. Wipe your shoes on the welcome mat, sit back, and don't touch anything- and more importantly: don't ask questions.