The Plague

Being alive is not always a rhythmic feeling; sometimes someone gets shot and you have to pause for one single second and think about how a stranger’s death affects you. You will suddenly look up from your book that you had purchased from the Barnes and noble across from Applebees, and you will wonder about how much power your hands hold. You cannot hold a gun to fire it and you cannot control the way words reach the public. The news reporter barely has any tone when delivering news: the order of news is pre-thought. How much in life is pre-thought? The book that you hold was created by someone; approved by another; and publicized by an industry which reaps all benefits and leaves the creator empty. Words are created to fill your soul but the words on the television only fill your mind with emptiness… Are we beings of nothingness? Or are we slaves to some moral code that disallows the progress of those born in a lesser human state? My eyes look down to my ambiguity: Am I white enough to feel safe? Does this question matter in my ethnic and gender state? We like to say that power lies in military. Externally military power is pertinent but you hold a country together not with threats but with burning ideals. Am I destined to be a slave? Debt likes to poke itself in front of my face: “Buy all the pretty things.” Marx shakes his head but my hand swipes plastic: “Another sweater that I couldn’t turn away.” I’m not sure about who I will become. I was given the opportunity to join the land of the American Dream. Milton Friedman told me that capitalism, alone,  leads to freedom. I like to turn to Simon de Beauvoir who stated that the man who achieved freedom from ideals by having financial independence was simply an adventurer who would not achieve true freedom. True freedom is dusting off the mentality that freedom has blocks which can never be challenged. If hell is other people, then I will have to burn in my lack of action. The news can push the person towards accepting a nihilist outlook: “But I will never achieve anything, I am too small.” Instead we have to mimic Wedekind by creating words that reach the ones oppressed by the ideals of their society. We have to be the masked figure who promises to go somewhere new. We have to make a play, not in a literal sense, that makes the world uncomfortable because the consequences of ignoring a problem is always human death. The shot fired on the television, rebounded around the world, and here I sit: Safe.    

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