Dream on.

No one wants to listen to the truth anymore.  Falsified nonsense, over-amped drivel, mindless attacks on justified cynicism.  Social networking programming a generation of dullards who don’t question the legitimacy and originality of a piece of art.  You could claim to have painted the Mona Lisa and some people would still believe you.  But wake up!!! Spoon feeding is easy to handle, tough decisions are frustrating and bothersome and can interrupt one’s busy day.  We only have so much time to arrange our bucket list and pretend to live in the moment after yet another 9-5 in a lifeless office.  

Creatives are shunned as dreamers, treated like an unsustainable lifestyle choice similar to that of a heiress attending twelve cocktail parties a week.  It is almost as if life shouldn’t be pleasurable. It’s all about the struggle.  But struggles don’t have to be disheartening, unfulfiling and detrimental. Music plays, people sing, kids laugh and all the while we appear kind of happy.  then life interrupts our pleasure and we begin to operate in that robotic, soulless manner that leads me to question why we are taught as kids to express ourselves so exuberantly just to shove it under the carpet when it comes to a job interview with a bunch of unhappy executives.  Are we all destined to become stressed out, unfulfilled university graduates with nothing to show for our hard work other than a piece of paper and a mortgage to pay off for the rest of our lives?  People seem satisfied with the system.  Born into a successful family and enjoy a reasonable career with a powerful cocaine addiction to boot.  but when you wake and the drug haze fads, is life not all it seemed the night before?  The skinny model sharing your bed wears more fake tan than you remembered and she can’t get her tongue around words bigger than your average sized penis which definitely looked bigger and thicker when you were wide awake at 6am with much ado about nothing minus messy grunting and purring passing through the neighbours’ walls on the other side of your 180 square foot apartment that you work six days a week to pay off.

 But I’m not a mad, angry at the world young man.  I just don’t want kids to grow up without the sense to perceive something in a way that might be different to the norm.  To utilise good judgement is a very powerful weapon to hold.  To escape from the clutches of greedy corporates and malignant trolls whose sole purpose is to grasp and strangle respectively.  Avoiding the fake sincerity of those without integrity and marching to the beat of a drum that doesn’t scream ‘BUY, SELL!’ twenty four hours a day, six days a week with a day to recover from the caffeine and recreational drugs that keep us imprisoned to a life of 60 hour work weeks with long business calls interrupting family dinners.  We can only lie to ourselves for a lifetime.  I suppose everything is forgotten in our own minds when we die.  Mistakes can be edited to look a little more friendly for society’s resume and all we really need to do is throw a few dollars at a reference to jazz up the adventures we all have in our exhausting innings which could end in so many varying ways.  To fizzle out seems a more exciting prospect than having six strokes at 91 in a local hospital these days.

It’s all well and good to laugh at those who attempt to change things, to present ourselves as different to the mold and the more jokers you have on your side, the less resilient a quirky person becomes, but is it really enriching to tear down something that could allow us to alter our perceptions?  To lose control of our own emotions and actions would rip up the very fabric of our soul and whilst the body is fragile, the soul is resilient to an extent.  To allow it to rot is akin to popping pills before your Grandparents’ 50th wedding anniversary. The dreams you had as a kid become a stupid fantasy instead of a remarkable vision of our deliciously tragic desires.     


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