Is anything real in 2025

Damage movie cover painting a4 by AM Graetz 2024

Every time I go to write.

I find that there is a trapdoor under every word ever typed, conceived and thrown away.

The picture tells a thousand words and if people haven’t the attention span for maybe reading two of those thousand, then its nine-hundred and ninety-eight reasons to create something in a world that seems to be, obsessed with being ‘right’ and not just being ‘happy’.

Every complaint, distaste and distrust is a perfect analogy for the end game of the way it was. Finally a world of change in whatever form of anarchic chaos it takes to unseat the corporate takeover.

Everyone says “He is playing chess, while they are playing checkers.”

Yet they are both playing with loaded dice on a high stakes table rigged by the illusion of Maya. They know the outcome, they have the numbers, Every statistic and projections from the A.i Crystal ball. That we all fed with our fears, wants and buying habits.

But alas I am falling into that void again where the right and the happy are divvying up the scraps from the table of promises, timelessly growing the seedlings of Orwell, Huxley and Phillip K Dick movie adaptions.

For whatever reason we exist during the time on this Planetary Pleroma dystopian magnet. Its seems to dream of a digital deterministic sky of set stars and movements, from the dawn of time through to the new dawn of time. As if time never ended and never began.

We all ache with promise in front of the ocular gristle mill, visually awakening to a helpless realm of hair dye and fake flags shrink wrapping our fucking brains.

And one day someone may say those words to you.

“Some of us remember this is just a suit we put on every morning and merely peer through reality.”

And that is as far as any conversation went.

Most of us happy with a physical reaction or a nice piece of escapism.

Porn turns us all into Agent Smith with a touch of Jeckyl and Hyde moment in the hive mind carnival that manifests our logical fantasy. We have had far less consequences in this existence and this will never deliver us from evil, in the order of flesh and fluids.

A faint distant smell of warm fair trade coffee mingling with wafting of high taxed tobacco from a corner on a street filled with cameras, signs and reminders.

The series of peoples movements baked in to the streets busy cafec circuit board, as they move in lines between business, bakery and ephemera stores. A hint of graffiti approved by the council for cultural tourism sits semi obscured and framed by the dumpster.

Everyone in consensus, that one must have a society of hot pastry satisfying the need to belong to excess, rather than left wanting in the emptiness of fear that one day this too will pass. A dark figure is always haunting the street with an empty hat or tin to remind you never disobey.

“Or this could be you.”

“Enjoy every moment. Savour the first world’s delights.” They say as if every third world country never got the memo about the off our off world colony, The sugary hills that the richest cream of human inhabits. With only one request the blood and fire cults to feed its necessary god like Banks, Religions and Ideologies.

As we move into our agreed exchange of calories for digits on a screen, we are sold on a fearful promise that Warlords and Religious Cults, lurk and haunt our every moment looking for a fight.

Yet we are merely peering through this dinner skin suit of perception hoping that someone else will initiate the action. Not for Glory or consequence, but for the lack of blame and the right to be happy, rather than the happiness in being right, It seems to haunt the ghosts of convenience stores set up to franchise our minds. As we all congregate in an abstract painting of news feeds and genuflection to the screen the skin suit holds.

Promises of a safer world.

Promises without a promissory note.