Artificial Playgrounds

All those bright lights and misty city streets, no longer lit up by the stars, instead illuminated by LED orbs from the window shops and curb-parked cars. A day passes, like a breeze, if you forget the time.  Everyday work, boiled down to the basic level, leaves you questioning what world would you leave, what environment would you end up?

Sometimes you believe you’ve made a mistake and say, “It’s not to bad, I think I could do this for 10 more years.” Ten more years–that would surely leave you with the money, but without a self.  To create yourself, from the scraps left over after being torn apart, each fleshy piece of your drained being devoured, to create yourself out of what remains wouldn’t be alive; it makes only an empty shell in the shape of a human form.  “But wait!” you protest, you have likes and dislikes, you say.  Being torn apart is rubbish.  You’ve willfully given yourself–your time on your terms.  You feel full. And here I protest. It is through those very holes, the wounds, the decaying pieces of flesh, that society stuffs you.  A kind of hybrid taxidermy complete with an array of widgets: Facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter, etc.  An artificial playground for what’s left of you to dwell.

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