Each live a private reality
Lives lost in theatre –
Portraying all roles but one:
Never playing me.
en children are born each four seconds. Soon 7 billion will claw Earth’s crust for food and shelter, sanity and meaning.
Sanctified by childhood, a personal model of existence carries your fragile ‘self’ safely through a forest of psychological terrors to the grave.
Each their own way.
Intellectuals hide in academia and science, nobly, altruistically, pursuing poorly-paid pastimes.
Perceptives master the media and arts, preparing, then proffering, visual phantasms or aural opiates to replace or enhance religious and chemical rivals.
Agile alphas parade physical prowess endlessly in and on this "media."
The sensitives. Alone, calamitously, bravely they confront madness as emotional, intellectual, or idiot, savant to espy the world as raw unstitched data.
The ordinary, those great masses of walking working dead, recoil from instinctive grasp of terror inherent in living – and bury the revelation in repetitive toil and relentless diversion.
Finally imbeciles, social or moral, oil and fuel to those evil twins of commerce and crime, leash cynical henchmen of political and financial monocrat. These souls question plight of neither victim nor planet, unable to confront the gaping void of their inconsolably lonely tormented childhoods.
At the top of the social food chain, generic to all known civilizations through time, but rampant on this windy misty green globe, reside rich and powerful.
Born ready, infancy skipped, conceived fully mature, doing deals from the womb!
Bemused by the inefficacy of education, these young barons-to-be of commerce stride the schoolyard impatient for their first buck. Fledgling politicians innately coddle the student horde, pupilage a mere stage to practice dominance before easing naturally into the mutually exclusive manipulation of the people for the people.
Though the die is cast early, it is astonishing to watch souls corrupt, eager to strike alliance with the devil at such tender age.
