So much of who and what I am feels like it’s been uploaded and eaten by the cloud, replaced by what is pushed into me and paraded in front of my eyes. Always confused, either over-thinking or under-thinking, reacting or defending, an offensive feeling almost like an attack on myself, lost before it even begins.
There are so many questions, so much paradox and hypocrisy, the storm feels endless. Doom and gloom foretold now coming to fruition but everyone just hoping for a better day, eyes closed, either by choice because it hurts to much, or hypnotized by the endless currents of media streaming into our minds. It’s all ok, even though we know it isn’t.
Feeding on ourselves to glorify the rich, hoping to be one but knowing that dreams been snipped. The illusion of a dream that could come true the nectar on which we survive instead of planting our flowers anew. None of it’s ours, the control handed over just so we can be seen, heard, acknowledged. What we want, what we are promised, a drug sold to us that we take gladly.
In our heads, on our minds, what up there is ours anymore, if anything? Animals or humans, are we just hamsters running our wheel powering a machine we can’t even begin to imagine? Or is that machine right our front telling us what it is, laughing at us, knowing that even as we know, we decide not to know. And even if we do decide to recognize, what can we do in the face of the full force of its storm supported by everyone who says, don’t worry about it.
To be or not to be, has it already been decided for us? Plugged in, sucked in, trapped in with doors all around. None of them locked but guarded by the worst of them all, our fear. What would be different if only we decided to step through?
The worst of us rising to the top, idols and models for our behavior, no sin too sinful for the grateful as we suck upon the teats of their leftovers just to make it to tomorrow. Laugh, cry, it’s all theirs as the program runs over and over, stuck in a loop that only a few have cut into a line.
Where in all of this is the sun we so need, to light the corners of our hearts and bring back the warmth to our faces? Hidden, no natural event, but planned, clouds not of natures making but of mankind’s. To what end do we drive our cars to wards the cliff? Who holds the steering wheel of this hell-bent wreck? No difference between top and bottom when finally the end do we all meet. I hope the luxury was worth it for those who got to bask in it for the short moments they walked this earth on the backs of all beneath them.
