These are dark times Mr. Browne,
I'm reciting this from the deep freeze,
Beyond the event horizon,
Where reality is the morning and pixelated dust is the moonlight.
I heard a man once, who heard a man say;
"Culture is the practice of empathy,
And art is an expression of culture.
And when you look at art,
You get to test out another's theory on existence,
To see the world through their eyes."
Then he sang me a song that meant nothing to me,
And this reaffirms my lack of hope,
My nihilism......my cynicism.
He asks me with a boyish smile never broken by a boot or a fist;
"Did you like my song?"
"Yes," I say. "Love is difficult."
Is this all a simulation?
Why am I living in a simulation of reality all of a sudden?
Why am I being conditioned to see the world in this way?
Language has been turned on it's head with ones and zeros.
We're all slaves to this deception,
This awkward way of processing our subjective realities,
We're becoming machines.
Maybe we were always machines and consciousness is just the bi-product of biology, chemistry, time & electricity.
We,ve begun to create machines in the image of ourselves,
And in the process,
We've begun to imitate the machines.
Too many things are predictable these days Mr. Browne,
No free will.
I miss the black,
The thrill of painting a portrait on the dark.
So I find comfort and solace in the words of one of the great early philosophers of the third millennium;
"As we know there are known knowns;
There are things we know we know.
We also know there are known unknowns;
That is to say, there are some things we know we do not know.
But there are also unknown unknowns-
The things we don't know we don't know,
And with these lies the problem."
Now does the serpent eat it's tail?
Or have we chopped off it's head with culture?
Four and a half billion years ago,
Back through the vast unknown known,
Our common ancestor existed,
We were one then.
All that is life today, was then, all one simple cell.
Our ancestor mutated with a mis-translation in the copying of DNA,
A less and less homogenous world began to unfold before us,
So now here is we and here we are,
Separated by the illusion of us and them,
Women and men,
Sinners and saints,
Sailors and seamen,
With that ancient singularity cast off as an illusion,
By a headless sorcerer dancing to the beat of the enrolled to die.
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