Counting sheep or counting knives.
We’re ghost-drivers, too scared to look behind us, seeing others advance. Masters at trying to snake through gaps, catching forbidden nostalgia, hidden to others. Eyes like narrowed cat-pupils when hitting the sun, from all the blinding headlights.
Camera flashing lights to some people, no 15-minutes of fame for us. We’re the actual stars – dead a long time, but still around to be observed.
Simulacrums will be fed, some starving children will be not. Excessiveness or naught? Choose. Grey-thinking is passé.
Use as much as you’ve been used, and it’s an offense. However being used, in every imaginable way, is socially established.
Are our thoughts, really ever ours, or does SOMEONE or SOMETHING place uncanny furniture into our mind palace? And WHO or WHAT, keeps erasing the floor I’m tip-toeing on? Also where did I put my [insert materialistic object here]? Always remember: Memento Mori. Dementia will come earlier, life will end later, meaning life shall be shorter than ever.
Our aspiration: becoming a shell later on, whereas the shell won’t be that alluring no more. But oh, do we buy, we buy into not ending up an inelastic-static. Ending up plastic. Throwing our enhanced selves right where the unused plastic straws lie.
We want to save the planet, but we’re breathing out carbon dioxide. Mother nature didn’t expect “the giants” to perish, for us to be thriving. Finding all the fossils will be possible by the capitalists dream, to build more parking lots. Uncovering history or preserving nature? Choose. Grey-thinking is a trend again, but humor yourself and choose anyway.
There’s just no shade of color, that could explain what we feel some nights.