In the land of the free, we'll meet the wind does not blow honestly, the sky bows in shame, watching a game that keeps repeating itself, and never really changes. The land moved, but not by its own will, it was moved, forced to dance by invisible hands, which grasped its destiny.
Everything seems alive, the tall buildings, the loud voices, the rows of flags flying. But a closer look reveals empty eyes, forced smiles, and broken promises before they have a chance to grow. People forget their humanity, for the sake of seats, for the sake of names, for the illusion of power.
The law cannot stand upright, it bows, stoops, even crouches. Rules are written, not to protect, but to abuse. The judge's hammer can be bought, like goods in a night market. Not knowing what is truly wrong and right, everything can be arranged to order. Just waiting for the next issue.
Officials, turned into guardians of interests. Uniformed, they stand proud, but their guts are shrunk by orders. Swift to deal with the weak, slow to deal with the drummers of power. No longer the shield of the people, but the shadows of the puppeteers behind the scenes.
The rain of gas, rubber bullets and batons rains down on bodies that only want to be heard. The truth is cut, re-sewn, adjusted to be comfortable for those who sit on their luxurious thrones.
They, no matter how beautifully made up, are still puppets, lifeless, a moving illusion that will run out of time. No stage lasts forever on a lie. Is there still hope?
Or, are there other hands and puppets who will continue the charade? Anyone corious?
It is a plausible vision. The racket has very long tentacles. Sometimes it gives the impression that people are free, that they can make decisions and have free will. In this Matrix, we want to evolve. Money is this AI that dictates rules, or that backing makes people create an apparent sense of power. (They have it, because others admit it, allow it or support it) A wealthy person believes that money has bought him intelligence or that he has surpassed art or fashion.
Everyone can climb his own mountain, but as a philosopher once said, no matter how high you climb, you will always sit on your own ass.
Even smoke can be turned into a commodity. It's just a matter of pricing it and using marketing.
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