" What was once before you, an exciting and mysterious future, is now behind you. Lived, understood, disappointing. You realize you are not special. You have struggled into existence and you are now slipping silently out of it. This is everyone’s experience. Every single one. The specifics hardly matter. Everyone is everyone. So you are Adele, Hazel, Clair, Olive. You are Ellen. All her meager sadnesses are yours. All her loneliness. The gray, straw-like hair. Her red, raw hands. It’s yours. It is time for you to understand this. As the people who adored you stop adoring you. As they die. As they move on. As you shed them. As you shed their beauty. Your youth. As the world forgets you. As you recognize your transience. As you begin to loose your characteristics one by one. As you learn there is no one watching you and there never was. You think only about driving. Not coming from any place. Not arriving any place. Just driving, counting off time. Now you are here, it’s 7h43. Now you are here, it’s 7h44. Now you are gone. "
- Charles Kaufman (Synecdoche, New York, 2008)