TREATISE OF MODERNITY
“Modern society, as a vessel of the spirit of humanity, reveals itself to be woefully distasteful. Dusty lips part, breath escapes, and the blind lament to be so wounded. Held in the hands of Hera and the hilt of Zeus, the human heart strives towards actualization, ever striving. Clouds, bruised deep and purple, cast shadows upon dying embers. Far away and far away is nowhere at all. The world had begun its descent for an age, long and subtle enough to slip by unnoticed in history. Society, before it all, had been a hellish nightmare of itself. Chronic Stress was a hidden shade that had crept up slowly to each human as the industrial age transitioned into the technological age. Too quickly had thought rampaged through artificiality, losing itself to the slavery of modernity. No longer were humans a free being, their brains synapsing, carving patterns blindly, reconfiguring one’s very reality. Sinking and sinking deeper, one’s consciousness became a screeching herds of doubt and insecurities. Yes, the pain drifts further from sight and mind when one becomes awash with stimulation, shooting one up with pure stimulation and basking in the high. Simplicity emerges, enticing and comforting, and one’s consciousness begins to define itself by the ingrained nature of one who unknowingly did not hear their thoughts and emotions. Modernity came up upon us in a whisper of time, rising and cascading with every minute in the technological industry. Tick, tick, tick, did the clock go, passing so fast, faster, slipping through the shadows on the fringes. Unblinking stupor as screens and sound completely consume one’s mind. One seeks to escape from one’s thoughts, emotions, pains, and for the misfortunate many, the feeling of melancholic loneliness. Humans multiplied with cascading numbers, growing exponentially and full on rampant. And, yet, the feeling of isolation only grows. One went from expanses of land to cubes in apartment buildings. The masses became enslaved to the fist of technology and capitalism. For the masses there was no more living in commune with nature, one’s time had become mercurial, binding one to the rhythms of corporate design. An army marching in time with banners of grey fluttering in the wind, destined to be shackled by a faceless monolith. Money! Oh! Dear Money! How could we have foreseen the future of Money in modern society? It is the concept of Money that we must investigate. It is a contractual obligation that we, as humans, all share together. A festering fabrication that exists as a thin illusion, Money is nothing but a collective burden that squeals and grunts as we all spiral down into the abyss of modern blasphemy. Like a cockroach burrowing into the brain matter, one cannot escape the feeling of its wriggling legs digging deeper and deeper. Screaming, screaming to all hell but incapable of release. And then, the final insult, Money translates into work. The true vehicle of torture. Those lines of packed cars on the freeway. Clock in. Small talk. Computers. Emails. Meetings. Smile. Interact. Work. Talk work. Clock out. Home. Sleep. Clock in. Out. Sleep. In. Out. Sleep. And, then, a demon from the depths arose in the form of Chronic Stress. A completely newly birthed demon that furled into the dead hearts of the Moderns. It chittered and laughed, occupying the cavity of emptiness of being a Modern. One cannot define this demon but ingrained in the nature of human thought is there always a shadow of a looming occlusion of the soul. The demon feeds off one’s lifeforce. It corrupts from blood to spirit, infesting and greedy. Yes, in every way does Modernity insult the golden light of human souls, ever disguised as materiality. Chronic Stress became accepted. And, in doing so, the emotional world became vacant and shadowed. For survival, emotion became eradicated for how could one bear the suffering of Modernity with no shield or sword? And so, what action could we all take? Powerless to exact action upon one’s circumstance in the face of the corporate denizens. The virus of normalcy spread through social waters, consuming individualism like a razing wildfire. Like stone upon metal, the bones of Moderns grind and grind with the terrible din of one’s stolen destiny. How can one face such reckless corruption? While the Moderns exist as a collective, they could not rebel as one. Far too risky and too far gone had they become from their inner stories, now only the doctrine of modernity remained in their hearts. Seeking salvation, the majority of Moderns cloaked themselves. They adorned themselves with material possessions, they clung to their phones, they fell in love with the internet, they consumed holidays, they counted their dollars, they competed for more value than the other, they huddled in masses against the cold. Elder generations disappeared from view and one lost their place in the flow of history. How human were these Moderns? And so, we all submerged to the depths of the unconscious. Quietly, our humanity retreated to the deep recesses of the human soul and became forgotten as time spiraled forward. Our hearts nicked with pain, a sad longing, a mournful melody that played through the air became our new homes. Now, the Moderns sought out Stimulation. A definition here becomes pertinent. Stimulation: escapism, numbness, silenced pain, to seek out another form of reality. It is a state of coping, a desperate attempt to survive Modernity. TVs perpetually on. Music playing. Social media apps. Computers and the internet; Chronic Stress is the nature of the modern human and Stimulation is the salve. Whether by unconscious instinct or by conscious efforts, the Moderns are soothed by internet content. Through the lens of an electric screen, one could engage for hours and hours with no introspection.The individual stares at their phone, unblinking gaze, submits, and is devoured by hunger for escape. Where are the trees, with their leaves turning Autumn gold? Where is there peace in silence? In this world of Modernity, there was no time to be human. And the greatest insult was the complacency that had shrouded the entire corporate workforce, consuming human spirits in their path. It is for the Moderns that we weep here, to grieve the loss of human dignity. The grand days of humans thriving in freedom, unbound by none other than the sun and moon, had been lost to obscure ancient history. One now lived in the shrouds of the dreams of the collective, unable to to dream themself. The house is now abandoned. The doors are shuttered and windows shattered. The winds of suffering batters against the walls, shaking the thin structure, ready to blow away by the slightest winds. The storm rages around the individual, threatening dissolution. Within the embattled human heart was a feeble voice seeking out more from a Modern. Complacency became the sickness of the masses. Time continued flowing, so very fast that scarcely few could have anticipated. The introduction of the internet and electric screens had altered the nature of human time. Information downloads through those wide, unblinking eyes, captivated, hypnotized. And what happens to the brain matter, the very tissue of itself? It adjusts. It compresses. It rearranges to suit the new state of thought saturation. It curls within itself to survive the dehumanization of Moderns. And then, the Monoliths began to appear across the earth. Thunder and lightning crackled across the atmosphere and the Monoliths pierced the sky. As time hurtled forward, cycles and cycles of history began to wheel about, growing faster all the while. We all descended into the bowels of artificiality, unwittingly sacrificing any semblance of bliss or enlightenment. Below the undulation of numbness boils a furious rage that burns in the soul of every Modern. How can we process this anger? No, no, the towering Monoliths could not allow such an endeavor. The shadows of these Monoliths cast darkness, a miasma of suffering, throughout humanity. Escape. How to escape. One must adorn the Cloak of Normalcy. One destroys their inner mythos, the delicate balance of mind and myth. Instead, they accept the latest celebrity relationship, the politics and news, the gossip and chatter constantly running, the endless dynamic of unconscious sparks and the dampening of energy of creation. The child in their soul withers away as Normalcy deluded one of all the colors of reality. How could a single soul survive in Modernity? The answer was through Stimulation. One exists in the forefront of fabricated reality. Conscious thoughts repel from the unconscious, all Moderns tread these waters, submitting to the simplicity of the most basal instincts. There was no room in the Modern’s heart to question that which was beyond Normalcy. Being unable to commit to Money or to choose exile, captured between both in a haze of pure fear. Yes! That is how to subjugate even the most stalwart Moderns. The loathed beast called fear. The realm of fear has a living history since the age of sentience. It exists in all those of flesh and blood. Nearly all suffocated the emotion, piled on trivial thought after thought, refusing to acknowledge the thudding fear deep in their hearts. And yet, the Modern is perpetually entranced by the concept of money. Everything became bound to the rules of cash and value, a dark desire cloaked in the glow of light. The house, the kids, the vacations, the new couch, replacing TV’s, saving up for a bigger house, money for retirement, committed to work, the life whirls around without inner souls’ change. Money, the tallest and darkest of all monoliths, had risen and held dominion over modern society. And within the shadows of this monolith the masses huddled against each other. The milling crowds were fogged with the stench of fear, soaking and oppressing the air of darkness and purity. Shades of humans shuffled forward at an agonizing painful pace. Cataract eyes, cracked lips, soft mutterings of insanity. They slip in their headphones, turn on screens and absorb Stimulation with ravenous hunger. Stimulation is the release, the common effort to survive. Stimulation is what we all hold dear as Moderns. Evermore there will be green and yellow in the slopes of Stimulation. One turns away from the massacre of Moderns upon the pedestal of the Monoliths with pure Stimulation. Escape, young Modern, whatever it takes to survive.”