The last of the strawberries have long vanished the vine. The air has gone from lipton to brisk and the goo between eye and screen has become crusty. Perhaps radio waves shorted brainwaves. One cannot be sure when the upstairs fog set in, but it is safe to say there is a haziness that now hangs like vapid laziness in our communal electricity.
Every body-bucket, every item, every will-be memory, has joined the circus. And though not always pleasant or forward-thinking, surely quenches the thirst of our growing exterior fixation.
Technology, as many stick-in-the-mud-skeptics have predicted for years, (while I have hated them for saying it, favoring ingenuity in any form to industrial stagnancy), has replaced, or at least severely distracted, the formation and purpose of self-assured thought.
Commercial products whose basic components were originally formed through genuine curiosity and thirst for innovation have been perverted to seek complacency and comfort, and we are quickly nearing the realization of this goal.
Paper faces of presidents past are the gravity that binds our feet to the soil, allowing us to stretch but never fly. Correspondingly, politics are a cacophony of spectacle, infused with just the right amount of celebrity endorsement, back-room sex, and corporate sponsorship.
Religion, government’s inbred parent, has become passé and is dying like Christ on his cross. Hyper literality and overexposure allows Atheists and visionaries to see the architecture and lifecycle that is essential to any belief system with only the variables changed.
Neither party is wrong in this scenario, for central arguments are identical. There is no escaping the thought of mortality entirely, as we are sentient beings who understand and mourn the tragedy of death, the passing of seasons.
This same paranoia and necessary doggie-paddle to the formation of religious opinion (which thereby defines one’s religion, regardless of clever titles or trivial rituals designed to forcefully focus thought) welcomes apocalyptic fantasies into general consciousness. There are zombies among us. There has never been a better time to die.
The quest for holistic understanding has left us perpetually unsatisfied. To enlighten fully, one must devoid all concepts of status and importance, giving equal value to every perception and thereby deflating the purpose of any purpose, resulting in the circular logic of hypocritical self doubt.
Confidence cannot be found when an opinion cannot be formed, and an opinion cannot be formed when an idea is relative only to itself. Upon realizing any solution is futile, a goldfish will no longer question his bowl, accepting his relativity to only the scope of his currents. A goldfish will never feel significant. But in his blissful ignorance, he will cheerfully chase bubbles until he is flushed.
Long has the intellectual been shunned and forcefully but (knowingly) closeted, but today he is all but banished, existing in pockets where bureaucratic red tape blocks light and closes the stratosphere to any far-reaching ambition.
Unrest sits like vomit in the throat after a night of drinking. The war will soon begin and the casualties will necessarily be substantial. The unprepared will expire like gassed roaches, lying on broken backbones, eyes closed to the sky, eternally void and waiting in vain to be beamed back to the mothership.
Too many loosening brick sidewalks have been built too close to windows. Gas masks have been hidden in books for those who seek; the cannons of resistance loaded with purposeful introspection and repressed hope. Armor has been braided from the unassuming yarn of sincerity and love. The blood of our animal is the blood of our life, flowing through every tool we ever needed. In orchards, apples, unreachable by machine, have become ripe for the picking, with skilled hands eager to turn them to cider.