And yet, we drive down the street in a 1 ton machine, happily content in the belief the other person barreling towards you in their own 1 ton machine will stay on that side of the double yellow line.
The well crafted lie is easier to swallow if it’s wanted; if it’s easier than an immutable truth. At the very least, it’s malleable. A changing and shifting belief twisting and conforming to whatever you desire it to be in order to become devout in it.
And yet, the zeitgeist laid on our plate every morning, the same one we cut into bit sized pieces and willingly put into our mouths, chew and swallow, is still prevalent amidst the thumb likes on the little blue F. Or all the gazing at lewd posts of baseless morality; degrading pictures of people just wanting to be noticed for all the wrong reasons.
Too much seeing what is tangible; what’s reasonable. Ironic since we’re raised to believe in the appropriate fairy tale for the appropriate time. Magic is ludicrous unless it pertains to My God.
And yet, we are adamant in the belief that this is the golden age. That our cage is gilded and open and we may come and go as we please. We are adamant that we are free.
Gold and silver and wealth, oh my. Infatuation with all that shines, just like the song. We care about the fast cars and new shoes and who got dunked on. We care about personal satisfaction and pleasure; a hedonistic divulgence fattening us up for the slaughter.
And yet, we continue our laughable attempts at dominion. Our futile controls over land and animals and each other. How could we not do so? We ARE smarter; the pig knuckled grasp on the whip, cracking it over those things without our intelligence.
And why not? Pets bring us pleasure; animals, meat. Advertise to us the benefits of subjection, we welcomingly swallow it whole.
And yet, the zeitgeist rolls onward, having become it’s own entity, having become it’s own being with it’s own life.
What is our reality? Our perception? Enough people believe in religion, and so it must be. 2,000 years removed from the cliff falling, edge driven world upon Atlas’s shoulders; that notion is comical.
And yet, it still stands true. The undeniable, cold hard facts that not enough believe in to be our shared reality; our shared existence.
Soon enough, the clock will strike midnight. Soon enough, the hypnotic trance will end and then the apocalypse can truly start. The oil will all be gone. The world will be flooded. The cement and steel and glass testaments to our might and dominance will become our graveyard of echoing triumphs.