Who do I want to be?
An unanswerable question dormant on the tongues of the many. I stand as an individual within a tragic reality. A world where my hopes are placed with spectres and the future is one of stomachless desire. Vapid hubris is the collar for the soul of the modern man. Corridors of labour and plastic line my conscious existence. I stumble between paths of living.
Do I wish to become great?
What is reality? What is existence? What is the meaning? What is the future? What is the past? What is time? What is the universe?
Questions float for the human mind.
It can be argued, for the citizens of the 21st century, that we live in webbed realities. The web of our creation and our capture.
Little to large boxes we adorn with trinkets and colours. For many, the majority of their physical energies are devoted to the creation and maintenance of new and better boxes. Although these boxes are cardboard unto the brewing storm, we divulge ourselves in fantasies of meaning and permanency. The box, both as a physical dwelling and spiritual icon, forms the centre of the web. The modern creature follows familiar lanes, visits familiar places, and works familiar jobs. We take pride in the webs of our creation. We take pride in the routines created and hours watched. The life of ours becomes focused on a streamlined traversal of the web. Our god is the sky or the next garden. But not our web.
The world of beyond presents a web of capture. A web of tombs and damnation. A web of veneered images and contemptuous monsters. A web soaked in the laws of greed and pride. The modern creature sits in this web of modernity as a captured subject. Their personal web is created to conform and create the ever-greater web of reality.
We exist in webbed realities. The spider shall take our souls.