Everything is owned by some corporation or materialist consumer, or privatized and enforced with those snaking grey lines of chain link fences. In order to enter, ‘the nature’ a fee is charged, and we hand over our plastic money like the exchanges of a monopoly game. For $50, our families can enjoy the fresh air, wildlife, water, and panoramic views of our national parks, but only for the day, before you get kicked out again, forced back into your cell, the one you put your mortgage into, so you can own. But not really own, because if the energy company says your in the way of a new power grid, then it’s not your property and you have to bargain for it back. There is an inherit problem when every morcel of food you put in your body has a colorful label plastered on it, a sale tag, and a bar code. A real pecuniary system no longer even exists, and bitcoin is the closest thing we have to a trading system.
We feel safe, cowardly taking animals out of their natural habitats, locking them up like prisoners in steel cages, and asking for payment to see how these ‘wild animals’ live everyday life. That is, in a 200 ft’ square space with no natural foods or living ecosystem. Everything is becoming filtered through technology and novely, nothing left is real. People are trading intimacy for virtual sex, organic life giving food for what might as well be 3d printed synthetic food, raw nature in exchange for high definition. We can’t even travel or walk in public without some kind of order, our bipedal rite to traverse land, taken away. Reflective signs like mirrors point us in the right or wrong directions, turn here, turn there, stop, go, no entry, this is prohibited, this is illegal, no smoking, no sleeping here, and so on. Rules plastered up like 1000 commandments of the out of control money handlers, who have all the authority, to do, say, and act in any immoral way they please, while all the slaves go to the same stores to buy their food, listen to the same music, wear the same brands, and walk in perfectly straight line, in queue for the neverending wait. So orderly they are, in this theme park, like perfect sheep being coralled by the wolfhound. The more you kiss ass, you may be rewarded with a shiny new car, or a pay bonus so you can finally sit in front of an 80″ screen and watch the lives of other people living the exact same lie you are.
We are tourists in our own country, who don’t remember our mother tongues, we can not navigate our own neighbourhood, we meet with aversion to any stranger, and rather look away then spark conversation, and we rarely ever choose our own work, as if it were quota, to be drafted into the slave system, serving the tycoons of your own death and dis-ease, while believing the myth of equality. Everything costs money; shelter, water, food, entertainment, love, knowledge… and we can buy just about anything with a few compromises of our soul, and the digits of our debt filled credit mines. The theme park is put out in the shop windows, dressed on manicans, mocking our own sense of belonging. Reviling our innate wildness, and curling up the last remnants of reality we have left. At the end of the day, the real world is always and inevitably ‘out there’ or at least the enjoyable and sensual world, because you are just a robot, paying dues to a name, an idea, a religion, or an illusion. The park closes when you die, but you can always return, more hollow, more shallow, and misguided than before. Don’t get lost the first time, or you may be part of the attraction. People should wake up from their dream, before the realities of every dystopian novel become the only way we know.