[less] hope[less]

one day you look at the world. you’re standing by the window [watching the sky the colour of television, tuned to a dead channel], drinking a cup of tea that came from across the globe, or a glass of water maybe: and then you look at the world.
and for the first time in a while, it frightens you. 

neo-neoliberal governments rise where they had wreaked havoc before. ultranationalism and xenophobia now also come from the ones who once died fighting against it.

you look at a picture of yourself on a blue screen, you look deep inside your own eyes and you see: you see a person: and you wonder: is that really me? and if that is indeed me, who am i?

you can’t really feel anything anymore when you read or see or hear the news [and that’s weird, if you think about it, but you try not to]. you’ve been bombed too many times by sensationalism, to the point of being desensitised. another one goes on a shooting spree. another coup d’état. another country votes against their own future. another hundred of people are killed in the middle east. another boat goes down in the mediterranean. another day flies by.

another day in which you do what you did not feel like doing. your chest stings deep, but you are not scared: you have felt that many times before. you know what that is: you have read about it on webmd: you know it is the combination of stress and anxiety, those two old friend of yours whose visits are ever more frequent lately.

but there is nothing you can do, is there? not for you, not for anyone, not for the world. you check your news feed. a smily cat is blown up on the screen with a touch of your fingers. you look at it, you laugh. oh, you needed that: that silly cat. but there is nothing you can do — is there? not for you, not for the others. another weekend. a new pair of shoes, another gadget — but oh, you needed that. another time in which you ignore the children who assembled it. but what power do you have?

you do not have any power. you are aware of that. you are not a corporation. you are living in a capitalist world, but it would be ridiculous to the point of sheer hilarity to call yourself a capitalist. oh, no… you’re not one of those. maybe if given a choice you would be: maybe you could convince yourself that what you would be doing is right, maybe you could tell yourself that in many ways steve jobs improved the world we live in today. but you have not been given that choice: you have not been given many choices to begin with. and so you work and you study and you try to make your day to day life make any sense, have any significance: even if just for you. but you cannot do anything — can you?

can you? the question resonates.

i’m just a narrator. i’m not here to give you any answers.
i’m a fictional text.
i’m not an oracle.
i’m fictional [— or am i?].
i’m just as lost as you are.

you. and i. and seven billions of other people. and the unforgiving flow of our informational world.

but, hey… at least we have found one another, have we not? at least through this giant network your retinae have come in contact with these words.
not everything is lost.
you are not lost until the very day you give up.

many give up before they become one metre tall.
many fight for decades only to finally heavily fall.
many fight until the day their body grows dead and their fingers grow cold. many fight until the day they stop growing old.
and amongst those, there are the peaceful fights
the violent ones
the ones who fought on the spotlight
the ones fighting under the covers
the ones barely fighting, if at all
the ones who would not even call it a fight.

there is strength in resisting.
there is lightness and there is peace.

don’t let anyone tell you it is useless: in many ways, it might be. you can’t change the tide. it would be pointless and foolish and painful to try. it could destroy your chances of being even moderately happy: worldwide and inside. but you are a part of it, of the tide: and as a part of it, you have a fleeting micro power. ephemeral and tiny, but important nevertheless. you are a part of the machine and as the tiny pile of bytes you are you can rebel against it.

there is a way for you to do it:
look for it and you will find.
your very own way, i promise.
[but don’t give up without a fight]

(carol smnt and [her] bunch of bytes)

(image source)


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