The Proclamations of Defeat

Reality is cyclical. There and back again. All barometers of progress are arbitrary where there is only regress having adorned the fanciest garb. No wonder the purveyors of contemporary culture are naked. Yet unafraid.

Every God-sent prophet was chosen to polarize the established secular order of their time. Our limited, (going on to increasingly rotting) brains are unable to process this. We confine ourselves to rigid binary containers of 'believer' and 'disbeliever' (usually also given our own nationalistic tinge as 'God-fearer' and 'idol-worshipper') as a last resort, yet our own hypocrisy prevents us from openly substantiating that to be factual. In our cowardice, we grasp visibly at the straw that is the post-meaning world, one where every form of evil is justified under the sun. Where genocidal maniacs also find an inherent philosophy that goes along with their grandiose vision of reform, lauded as revolutionary by an insane cult that is also starting to be true to what it is. A lot has been brought to the surface. Everything. Everybody knows everything about everybody else. Thus, disorder became justified. It was only natural. Sandcastles are bound to become sand once more. That, if anything is true ignorance and the age of ignorance is upon us at last. The ignorance that is not a dearth of knowledge but an excess of acumen that Seneca the Younger posited. And so it was all meant to be.

Whether you're Travis Bickle or Frodo Baggins, you'll have to make do with the ugliness of the secularized brave new world. This is a world which probably came into being when a mad man penned down the words, 'God is dead': ushering in an age of idiocy which would keep spawning more and more idiots each imbued with the notion that they would somehow build back better. Build they did, and what was built eventually proved too lofty to properly balance itself on its own foundations, ending inevitably in a pile of bricks. Entropy doth cometh for us all in the end. The highest structures are built only by the smallest of men. How poetic.

The visions of Philip K. Dick have been actualized. The Orwellian is the overall perception. The Manichean is ductile, able to be transformed into the Machiavellian, in perfect accordance with all the fundamental laws of energy. 

The losers win this war. The true winners shall be forced to retreat, until and unless some divine, nay, invisible hammer-stroke fall hardest. Till then, bear we must the 'whips and scorns of time, th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, the pangs of dispiz'd love, the law's delay, the insolence of office, and the spurns that patient merit of th' unworthy takes'.

Thus, we are Frodo Baggins without his Fellowship. We are Travis Bickle without his almost angelic love interest. 

We are rudderless ships torn apart from their moorings and cast adrift into shoreless seas. Yet we think ourselves tethered and secure.