2015 Honda Civic - Review, Costs, Breakdown

This post is a reflection on the 2015 Honda Civic - how much does it cost?

my basic photo of my Civic

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   Joshua Brown

A 6 month review of owning this sedan in Colorado.

My Civic - 2015 Honda Civic EX 1.8 / CVT / FWD

If you thought this was going to be a normal review of the car, I'm terribly sorry. I bought the car based on a dream that I had in which I lied to a blind date about having a car and I felt such shame in that lie. I woke up and immediately decided that if I was going to dwell on this terrifying conundrum of being honest about my own life's choices, that I was going to take immediate and decisive action to abort, abort, abort.

Tel Aviv was in ashes when I bought the car, at least as far as I was concerned. People everywhere were bowing down in some deep worship of the deity that was now made clear by the dreamers who had spent their living, selling their own homes and cars to assemble and disassemble the nation state. 

The IRS estimates that a car should cost about $.67 per mile, but 6 months into owning my Civic I've spent $.65 per mile.

Local news was reporting that there were now hundreds of millions of missing bodies, a mere fraction of the now well over 20 billion inhabitants of the city states dotted around the globe. It appeared that a military coup of sorts had taken place and there was only some desperate atheist empiricist struggling to drive his lame Range Rover from city to city, accosted by fools and thieves along the way, attempting to placate the growing violence.

Personally I enjoyed the chaos, not out of some morbid sadism, but out of the deep unconscious connection that I held to the anger at the situation my own dream had placed me in, alone and separated from the world, in a cage, flitting from city to city as if I too were an angel, some messenger from Gott himself to the people that, instead of listening, observed and copied.

I was driving 29.1 miles a day, which wasn't much but even Jesus couldn't imagine traveling from Capernaum to Nazareth every day. And we all know that John the Baptist, Jesus' cousin would have driven a 4Runner.

Besides these terrifying events, the missing pieces seemed to be why everyone was acting so calm? Like a few hundred million people were missing but no one seemed to be grieving or terrified or living their lives in some catastrophically different way than just in the last year. Buses didn't dare travel between the cities but the people who could afford to pay the cartels continued to recklessly venture into that dystopian hellscape to try to avoid the all-seeing eye of the internets.

There was little to be desired, a 2015 Honda Civic EX was ridiculed as being beneath the cartel, they could care less for it, it had a bit of an ugly distortion in how it's hood dipped down toward the front, almost as if it wanted to appear menacing but just kind of looked like someone very exceedingly large had sat on the front bumper, squishing the whole thing into more of a pointy shape.

The rust spots were a little annoying but if you thought creatively enough, you could imagine they were custom leopard spots painted on in some bougie but subtle display of wealth.

In each of us we desire to live or die as heroes of our own existence. Why else continue plodding on if we can't in some way raise a finger to those who failed to continue living and dragged us towards that sea of forgotten vanity? There were only a few more monsters roaming the earth that we could conquer or raise our sons to conquer. And who really wanted to kill the Loch Ness monster? That pathetic dragon hidden in the brown waters who dared to never show their face in a world of livestreaming and motion sensors, why would we desire to be heroic in his destruction? We already lived through the whimpering death of Saddam Hussein.

What we didn't know was that crude would someday become less than a barrel a sat. Hell yeah. Hell says yeah anyways, and whoever gave the dragon the right to be in charge of hell anyways? Right now, I'm paying about 133 satoshis for a mile's worth of fuel, that's clocking me in between 29.1 and 30.1 MPG. Not incredible but that's about one gallon of fuel a day for me which is a cool metric I just learned as I was writing this in real time.

Maybe you could fuck someone in the back of the car, but it would probably be uncomfortable for most people. And in this particular car the windows have no tint at all so other than the gospel of Jesus Christ being preached to the Gentiles, there's not a lot of taboo things happening here, at least not according to the Jews. And who cared about those motherfuckers? We were Tsimshian, bred in Cristopher Columbus's America. Amerigo Vespucci's OpenStreetMap submit. Freaking purists that thought that somehow their mom and dad's integrity to some inbred philosophy of tribal sacrilegious rites, who did they think that they were to follow some nightmare cult into the depths of brothel rage.

I reached out into the sky, that eclipse drawing my eye into some eternal fixation on reproductive assimilation. Could it be possible that I could live another day? What did it mean to flow into some meditative submission to the Revelator? Why was he called the "beloved" what did it mean to be a martyr and what exactly did all these fish symbols in the ground mean? 

Systematic, systematic, I saw the odometer reading race, race as I fled along the asphalt laid by those who had no vision but the erasure of all that came before. The numbers flashed, flashed. 7 billion, 8 billion, 9 billion, 10 billion, 11 billion, 12 billion. Slums came and went. People were observant, people were skeptical. Day turned to night as the bombs continued to flare into the sky, those dreamy falling stars of yesteryear now poised as a daily reminder to the city state citizens that their days were numbered. That their choice to worship man was noted in the Book of Numbers.

If I wanted to sell some frozen salmon to you, I might have an advertiser. It was almost like that desire to abandon the old system of roads and paths and avenues was just that, OLD PATHS, and there was a yearly conference to those piranhas, those desirous of progress who thought not of progress but only the moment, today, tomorrow, sex, lust, acceptance, approval, what else did that pastor want, what did the evangelist want?

He didn't know about my use of Blizzak tires. But to be fair, I didn't particularly think about that when I bought the car. It was more of a cool thing to find out. Especially because I like passing people who didn't have the proper equipment or skills to drive in the blizzarding snow. 

There are some steep taxes in Colorado, those who take and give to take some more, won by choice, won by desire as here I chose to be. Basically $81 dollars went straight to the Colorado Department of Revenue just for the administrative state to classify and insure my car as a roadworthy, titled car, and then an additional $12 for roads (4 public roads between me and my work) and $18 for bridges. (1 bridge between me and my work)

Which let's be honest was only good for a moment, because as soon as I found out that the POTUS had issued a national directive to not drive further than 10 miles from your publicly declared municipal city state. There were too many undocumented visitors outside of the concertina wired walls of the cities. No one knew what to do with them, there was leprosy everywhere out there.

Everyone forgot about Tesla. Ford and GM workers had armed themselves and quickly overthrew the government institutions that had welcomed Tesla into their cities and then faceless hordes of soldiers had rooted out and executed all the Tesla engineering teams and their propaganda, publicly declaring October 7th "A Day of Receiving."


Gott knew what He was doing. Patriarchal dictation to those who had the ears to hear. Fiends opposed to that progress. Foes opposed to the regress. Steadfast that pilgrim progressed, he wanted to find out what exactly the ruby shoes led to, but he found out that Heaven was just a well-wielded psy-op on those in power.

Retreat. How fast? I didn't know and I didn't care because I just knew that my life depended on escaping those voices who demanded the end of that aleutic alleluia. Crushed by some slight sneer that I was too good at noticing. Some paternalistic rage against knowing the numbers. Keeping the score, telling the truth and living fucking free.

Free. Free to run. Run away at a top speed of 124 mph. Run away with a range from 330 miles (normal F to E) to 500. Run away into the arms of Gott. God is dead, we killed him. Gott is resurrected: that German slur against atheists, resurrected to crush those fucking Saracens who dared to build in tandem some mysterious slum-like allegiance to the gods of the earth instead of seeking some sophistry by Solomon's Freemasons or Hubbard's Scientologists.

Can you even dream bro? Is all that you see here on this earth among the waste of oil, that unknown and oft-besmirched resource that now we know is renewable, easily recreated and so abundant that all we have left is to decide, do we really want to pave every single last part of our cities? Are our municipalities wholly given to oxygen depravation? Can the wind speak to us, can we see our stars or do we demand some blindness to the universe in exchange for citizenship here among the free?

The depreciation is about 8.72% per year on average. Which is why those who desire fealty demand an additional 5% in recompense for that loan, for that APR, for that apperr, for that eypeeare, for that money, those numbers on a ledger, some signifier of lost potential, lost power, given to you because you desire a 2015 Honda Civic EX, built by Takanobu Ito. Built by him disconsciously, 9 years prior, to impress those imaginary suitors, whose existence in that dream like land of embedded flashes in unconscious rage to bring to consciousness, desire above all to create, to love, to be loved, to follow after virtue, to be holy, to be.

#car #automobile #review #dream #freeverse #poetry #streamofconscious #waroncars


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📅 Written April 24, 2024

📍 Written in Aurora, Colorado at Joshua's home along Sand Creek


There was no thing more frightening to me than realizing that I had bought a car for ego and status only for those and nearly everything else in my life to be stripped from me by that very same singular decision. Well, if I can learn from my mistakes, so can you, and hopefully you can learn from mine.

On the bright side, I've been able to spend more time doing art on PixelFed, adding data points to OpenStreetMap, write, do photography for Pexels and other things that would have been nearly impossible using my Meepo Shuffle, my Cannondale Bad Boy 3 or riding RTD.

Also, I actually did have a dream that scared the shit out of me and my pretend morality about not having a car.

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