I'm Major Jackson, and this is the slowdown.

A certain times of the year, I get an itch.

A fantasy, really.

I want to get off the grid.

I long to find my way to the middle of nowhere.

A stopgap between modern life and me.

I wish for a place where the tyranny of emails... a stopgap between modern life and me.

I wish for a place where the tyranny of emails,

deadlines, and news feeds has less sway.

I wish to join the hundreds of thousands of Americans who live impartial to full isolation.

So I binge YouTube videos of couples converting cabins,

of younger people building tiny houses on glittering lakes in the middle of a forest.

Living sustainably has something to do with it,

but lately it is more a need for distance so that I can get a fix on the world.

Nothing like tapping one's inner thorough to renew one's belief in the human enterprise.

Today's poem critiques the relentless psychic demands of an inscrutable world,

yet too encourages a sideways road to tranquility, a way that we might secure a meaningful freedom.

On we by Luis G. Dato

I slept in the frenzy and delirium of men and their cities,

close by the streets in the crossways of traffic,

deep in the waste of houses, where multitudes unsmiling are homeless,

moldered the hut of my life, care deserted, of a haven of slumber and open-eyed sleep,

...