What’s going on, over there? Past here. Somewhat halfway around the world: a brutal battle for independence. A tragic war on ignorance. Turning around, migrants, fleeing from a land with unseen horrors: daily life is a living hell.
Heading into a dystopian future, morphing into our present, under our blinking eyelids- riots and starvation, bombs and tsunamis. Enough to drown anybody under the surge of madness engulfing today. Wave after wave of news, bricks crumbling off civilisation. Rapidly replaced with immunity and resistance in the aftermath of each tide.
We know it’s happening: when, where, how. Social media reinforcing an initially overwhelming burden. A constant feed of atrocity which represses our compassion, losing faith in humanity.
Living in a world of welcomed ignorance, blinded by the comfort of materialism and false pretences. Compressing worries and burdens under the shallow and superficial. Complacent in a boxed routine.
Think about the consequences, think about them often. Think about the future. Live in it. Unable to see. Closing your eyes brings nightmares. Opening them brings reality. Haunted by the weight of the world.
Slow attempts to cease this relentless turmoil. Paying prices to break free from the constant bombardment. Trapped in a tunnel, driven by the lugging mind; the light at the end nothing but a dim reality. Some small sense of hope. Grasping at the shallow nature, forcing yourself to see the bright light of what others see. A laugh. A smile. A trick or two, feeding the mind with hopes and lies. But something always seems to dart under thin cracks- one singular thought- a fleeing refugee- emerges. And once again, taunting threats of potential human extinction muffle you like smog. It’s as if most of the planet are repressing these emotions, muffled under a blanket of forced ignorance. Or, are they just struggling to meet reality?
Overthinking? Under-thinking? Thinking at all or hardly thinking? Mostly, freedom is isolating, welcomed with a scar after emergence into authenticity. Met with spiralling repression. With nobody to turn to. Problems bigger than you could ever be. A whole world polluted with politics, blinded by ambition and ruthlessly craving power.
These are the dark days. Effortlessly slipping into the hazy uncertainty of the future, the vision of a steep sided hole becoming more familiar. Sometimes narrowly escaping the almost inevitable slide into the abyss, hanging onto the rope of human sanity so hard that your knuckles turn white. It’s the little things that call you back: feeling the fresh night air walking along the canal, immersed in smiles. Grinning for the sake of it. Some foreign company. Sometimes yearning for the engulfment of superficiality once again. No longer exposed, living in a cocoon of comfort rather than the black darkness inside your head.
Oblivion is comfort, oblivion is home. Moving forwards, moving outwards. Exposure to reality is a dangerous thing. So is exposure to fantasy: proceed with caution.