THE ILLUSION OF STASIS
I’m at war with myself. 4am in a dark room, writing word after word. Screaming into the abyss like that Munch painting.
Can’t you see the devotion bleed through this pen of mine? One year ago, writing to my audience of zero. There was a freedom in that anonymity. And now there’s an audience it’s harder to get the words out. Because there’s friction when you know that the words will be read. Fear? Maybe. But I’ll write anyway. And everyday.
And the more I write, the less I care about your world of chaos and conflict. It’s a just distraction, designed to steal my focus (and therefore my future). They want me to worship exalted degenerates. Bow down at the altar and sell my soul. Participate in a global lie spun by state-owned media.
But I can’t. I won’t. It’s putrefaction of the soul, spiritual enslavement.
So I fight back in the only way I know how: the written word. And they say the pen is mightier than the sword. But they’d obviously never come face to face with the 24-hour propaganda cycle. I’m drowning in it. I can’t stay afloat. It’s too subversive, too cunning, too duplicitous. It has a stranglehold on the common man and it won’t let go.
Jail those Hollywood script writers who prop up the State machinery with films of propaganda.
True literature and creation are the purview of the insane: the dreamers, rebels, and sceptics. The world is kept alive by these heretics. Like that hermit writing in his room at 4am. Where the noise of the world is distant, and the banalities of glitz and gossip fade away. Silence. But in the quiet, there’s a storm. And progress is being made, despite any illusions of stasis.
Support
If you enjoyed this post, please consider buying me a coffee, or becoming a paid subscriber via the link below. I am grateful for your support.