A Tinny Voice

They teach us here
That everything is make-believe
That we are being manipulated
By the capitalists, by the media
That there is no answer to the question of life
That our personalities are only self-inflicted masks
That we wear to sell ourselves to others
That the price we pay for civilization and culture
Is repression
That we are not in control
Of our own emotions
But are trained like Pavlonian dogs
To salivate at the bell of consumption…

They teach us here
To lose faith in everything
That religion is irrelevant
That love is a charade
That we are our own enemies
That our bodies are not our own
But only mere shells of induced socialization
That everything is a farce
That we don’t even see the danger
Or the misery
Or the pain
Or the horror
Of our own existence.

They teach us here
That autonomy is a joke
That we are useless
That we are nothing
But a tinny voice in a clamorous uproar
Nothing
But cogs in a machine
Nothing
But players in their game.
And still each day
We come to worship
At the altar of
This land, their land, of make-believe.

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