Monday, 12 September 2016

The looming dystopia.

We're living in pretty crazy times. We're racing against a lot of odds, dancing to a lot of tunes, and grappling but waddling on a little too many fronts. Times are changing pretty fast. One moment early and you're an idiosyncratic sibyl. One moment late and you're a conventional prude. Generations before were allured to this enormous and rapid evolution due to the sloven lives they lived. Pretty much trite and slow, everyone craved for movement and life. And now there's more than we can take. 

We're a rotting bunch of miraculous multi-functional cells we don't even give a damn about. We've become the black box for the times to experiment with. Raw inputs generate raw outputs. And the judgment of your performance is upon another black box, which in turn is dependent on another. In that sense, we're sitting on a ticking time bomb when it comes to the way the world has been set. All sacrosanct documents, no matter how intensely detailed they are, are all prone to judgement and individual opinion. Life, as we know, is completely bereft of any logic at all. It's all fugazi.



We're too frail and scraggy on our social structures. Relationships built on provenance of eternal trust with the promises of a lifetime laid on them, crumble under the vice of one misguided whammy of truth and revelation. Business partners build empires together and then let ego make them part ways only to demolish empires built with blood and sweat. We're nothing more than a confluence of many varying coteries. We're too proud to be part of a clan, which stays intact only as long as some purpose prevails. But it's only after the savage storm of contemplation strikes, that we realize there was no purpose at all. 

We're guided by trends, by consumerism, and by all the scrimmage media feeds us. We take immense pride in being knowledgeable and speculative, but when a glib truth runs by, we can't do a thing. Our entire lives are spent in a large contradiction. We generalize in our interests and fancies, and specialize in what gets our bread and better. And when the field shuts down, all our plans of leisure post your quota of hardwork vanquish. 

We're too timid, too stolid and too gullible, all at once. We're taught to be achievers, but never taught to build on the instincts. We're too reliant on wisdom built through the years and even when intuition slams it down, our jingoism on our knowledge never dies down. We're too churlish to know that we know nothing, too flaccid to note that there's much more than meets the eye. We're getting more and more ill-informed and less knowledgeable because universal knowledge is doubling, tripling, and quadrupling by the day!

We're lurking towards a world full of aficionados who don't know their field, of veterans whose knowledge is outdated and praise uncalled for, specialists who can't see beyond yesterday, leaders who're more uncertain than the last man in the cavalcade, and heroes who're too tamed and frightened to tell you what lies ahead. The chagrin of realization is often so powerful that it either deludes you to see surreal beauty in the hegemony of the subterfuge or that it allures you to the tide that just doesn't want to look further ahead.

The waning bravura, the lost charm and the livid conscience of our times has left a scar of ineptitude on our collective abilities to sift through the gibberish of universal deluge. We're too free to tell lies to ourselves. That we shall win someday, that hope shall bode a prosperous and harmonious world for all, that things will fall in place. What's important is to know that halcyon exists only in the mind of the magician, and then reamed on the coppice left after your years of whining. 

People telling someone else everything will be alright, lovers looking in the eyes, hands in hands, promising of spending lifetimes together, and still clinging on to their own premonitions about the better half running away due to a fallacy and yet choosing to stay with the fallacy and not the lover. We'll never change because no matter who it is who demands us to, changing oneself is tantamount to acceding to the default proclamation of your own shortcomings.

Our egos and our lives, which are nothing but mere semblances, are too big and brawny to penetrate and so we please to be. We present to the world the compliant facade of our true selves, while we keep the harridan within, seething and kneeling for a chance to come out, which it never gets, only to take you down with it. We're heading towards a dystopia, the final showdown for mankind's survival. It shall be one where man shall fight against himself, for a position that debilitates his morality, but caresses his parapet. It shall be one where the sense won't prevail, but the judgment built on their veracity will. It shall be one where swords of rectitude will be  wielded but up against your own self. Finally it shall be one where we're set to conquer and win again, because like always our victories are measured against our own yardsticks. The same ones that proclaim a slave lesser than a man, and the heart lesser than the brain.