Our Dream (prelude)
The Amero-Canadian disease is a corrosive opulence. Importing numbness to assist in the distraction from a truth: we were created by oppression, held up by destruction, destined for desolation.
I didn't grow up until I turned 30, and it was already too late to apply my youth to real problems. I was on an affluence safari, naively exploring places I didn't belong, pretending I was making some shift in my life. But it was all a performance, proving that I could be a story. I wanted somebody to notice my eccentricity and appreciate that I "didn't have to" do all these things, chase difficulty. But they were wrong, in some depth of me I knew: we have a responsibility to the world now. We can't churn idly while our institutions consume more sacrifices.
It's too easy to live in your bubble, develop a more complex illusion of problems to complain about. Drama. Propagated. Celebrated. It's too easy. You were born into the responsibility of ease: challenge hasn't confronted you, maturity stagnated. The ease has made available your creativity to apply to those who don’t have it.
Living isn't something that can be simulated. The world needs our idle hands. And if we don't volunteer to confront this reality, we will descend into the worship of immorality.
Capitalism sets a grand trap: tripping you into a perfect life, alleviating any difficulty by over-promising and excessive reinforcement. Build it and we will come, empty. To be filled with everything we didn’t know we wanted. In that false fulfillment we are tricked into believing there is always more, and more. If only I lived that past life different, for more. And more, we find, is never enough.
All of our decisions, even the best of us… every interaction is clothed in Capitalism. The best we had, afraid of creating something better. Because that could mean our pretty little lies, exposed, might crumble this comfortable daydream.
We are provided space to reject the foundation of our freedoms. The system worked. Exploited and built, innovated and destroyed, towards a future alleviating us of that dreaded survival. Yet we find a new existential dread, and use the winnings of a bloody history to distract from our reality:
The individual does not choose value, they find it through failure. Desire is a delicate compass, and doesn’t lead you the right way. It only points North. How you find your way is up to you.
