Our facade of a world is fast approaching the ellipsis of temporal decay. We are living in a virtual reality of information, weaponized scenarios of mini and major catastrophes. Our own sense of progress is disjointed, alienating us from the reality of decay, decompression, explosion. We wander diverse landscapes, real and imagined, seeking solid ground, but only find more illusion and deception.
World debt is incalculable, war an ever present condition, with the stench of death hovering over every city and each home. The fleshiness of reality overwhelms, yet eludes us. Our senses, once attuned to the vagaries of life among the living, is slowly replaced by a sense of irreality. Like astronauts suspended in space on a flimsy plastic manufactured lifeline, we strive to recapture that imaginary distance alienating us from the real.
But what is now real, and what illusion? It is impossible to discern truth from falsehood. Are the current polls in the US presidential race real, or are they fabrications of an elite phantom, seeking to hoodwink us into a soft landing? We change the channels, but the results are always the same. We seek and search for some grounding, only to find that the ground has been replaced by clouds — big fluffy, internet clusters of information — shared, stolen and regurgitated to suit the ambitions of the ambitious. Sleep beckons us.
Evil, real and apparent, multiplies without limits. Is it a terrorist or is it our own machinations, creating real or fabricated monsters? How do we see clearly when our sight has been eclipsed by the fairy tales of empire? The deeper we dig into the detail the less secure we become. Life is defined, and then redefined… deferred in the moment, so we may experience the lunacy of an imaginary or imagined future. The present is itself lost in a pressing future of victory or failure — of destruction, and apocalyptic loss.
What is time but a reflection of our dream, organized sequentially so as not to frighten us by the realization that it is all just a distraction from the overbearing reality of nothingness, of solitude, universal silence. We scream, we rebel, we revolt, we proclaim and defame, But why? To what end? The end of time? Eternity beckons us.
But what did we expect, a garden plush with sweet fruits and succulent vegetables? A serpent lies across our path, and we cannot find a way around it. It engulfs us, swallows us in its coiling eternity. We are the children, damned to live virtually as our real world vanishes under our feet, and the serpent keeps slithering along, looking for more.
We awake and realize we have been sleeping, but what is this state of wakefulness but another side of slumber, as we wait for signs of the real to show itself. Yes, indeed, we are awake, but this is not the world we had expected, not planned for. Perhaps planning was never in the plan; perhaps it was a mistake, a wrong turn at the beginning of the neolithic.
Soulless souls in search of a dreaming that brings an end to time, to temporality, to facticity, to historicity. To end the eternal return of the same. We look around, fascinated by the scenarios unfolding without the slightest capacity to impact fate, our fate, our demise. But the end was foretold in the beginning. The serpent is an ouroboros. We are the snake eating its own tail, as the tale of our own ingathering becomes the story of the end of time. We are the myth, the mystery of nature’s inevitable unfolding and its unheralded decay. When the dream ends; time ends. Or is it reverse? Time ends when we awake and the dream vanishes. Continue to dream, my friends. You will not find reality any kinder or gentler.