It seems that the thought of free acceptance of divergent points of view in the form of simple ideas and impressions by individuals heretofore unknown has fallen before the sounding brass of that great ocean of official daily banality that drives the great herd forward in their repetitive empty lives. Now all are expected to carry electronic boxes so lovingly lest they not be considered reachable through tracking and data by the computers of central command. Is this a Thoreau moment? When despite the empty necessity of making one’s life tireless and abstract their seems nothing much to live for that one can truly call their own. Certainly nothing that anyone with their right mind would like to share with the general public unless conscientiously water boarded. There is no difference to make anymore. No religion, no intelligent world of waiting mystery, no thought of obtaining an inherent level of exaltation beyond Dr’s prescriptions and Convenient store cobbled concoctions. the exercise of anger and professionally hurt feeling seem to offer no lasting fix beyond the moment.
It one could scrape away the foggy haze above and realize to enormity of the mystery that is quite literally kept from their gaze, what then. What reflects its brilliance to defy the cold rote recitations of men and women designated as worth of wearing white coats and confidently explaining the arcane in such an underwhelming sense of the mundane? Why are the shrill demands of a few so important that all must rise like robots to heed some instinctual call to arms as part of a workforce of army ants? The attempt to scrabble rock hard existence from the vagaries of small minded members of our species who have lost the rites of kings and God seem pathetic by comparison with the stories still lingering of valor and courage. There is nothing courageous so much as foolhardy and exhausting in the conduct of the greatest extremes of current extraordinary circumstances.
If the human race was to be considered as one great pseudopodia then would it not be considered an inert and self-absorbed animal that despite the ages seems less inclined to travel from one place to another as to assault itself. These banners to great achievement and inherent worth do not sound true. There once was a time where the glance of a stranger brought wonder and hospitality rather than scorn and suspicion. These are the real types of toys that we have been fashioned into by our supposed betters. Felicity and happiness have been redefined as merely games for fools if they are not in some way commercially viable for exploitation as a means to pacify all. The only time one can count upon the inspiration of the unexpected in one’s life seems to be when the species descends into the incoherence of animal rest. If that does not of it self offer proof that we are but marionettes at the whim of some other unknowable hand, then what in this world is able to? The dirty little secret to the universe is that the collective ‘WE’ of the human species don’t count for much and never will. It is that immense undefined entity that surrounds us pressing in and out from every direction that is unfathomably great and will ever be.