Your beliefs are like a tree. A tree in this garden of life. As they say, we came from the Garden of Eden.
The trees’ roots go deep, into the arteries of the heart… a beating belief that goes along to the soul. Make sure your garden flourishes. Take care of it. As a child, I read, Chicken Soup for the Soul. I used to read a lot more before the algorithm took my attention.
These roots are deep and very hard to change. You can always hack away at them. Even trimming them. You don’t want your tree to be too unpalatable. Not too tall, not too bushy, not too fragrant.
Thinking there are 8 billion trees together on a rock in space is a comforting thought. All part of an ecosystem that fosters humanity, new life and new ideas. New ideas like flowers that beautify the soul and the planet it’s supposed to be on.
Not everyone likes flowers and trees. Some people like blood and money. They lack roots, and they tell you that you should, too. We’re not in a garden. We’re in a factory. You’re a gear in this machine. Now work.
It’s polluted, stuffed to the brim. Smog and lies fill our ecosystem. Its stench is dirty, filthy, shameful, but we got used to it. It’s normal. Make that bag, sis!
You’re only one weak tree. Easy to cut down, roots that hold no support. The flowers, the ideas are stupid. They can’t overfill this stench. Buy some perfume. It’s much stronger.
The strongest form of power is that of the mind. Control the idea and gaslight the masses. That child you saw on TV, body torn and dead. Yeah, that wasn’t true. It’s AI. Don’t forget to buy. Buy into the lie. It’s not your problem. YOU got problems. What can you do? What can I do?
Sit back and watch your world burn. A billionaire ate a baby. Scroll to the next video, watch me twerk. Get back to work. Remember, your rent is half your cheque!
Fuck! I’m exhausted. Let me rest.
I’m on my knees looking above. Praying for this planet, looking for answers in stars far away. Let me go back to the Garden of Eden.
I’m on my knees, pleasuring desires. Forget this world. Quench the desire. You’re free. Remember, sex sells. My roots are cut; I’m a man. That’s all I am. Alone in the husk of a world. One stick, grab me, and I’ll break.
Strip me of my bark. I’m bare and twisted. I’m anguished and huddled over. Prone position, about to puke. I’m just naked as I was when I left the Garden of Eden.
Liberated! Feed the algorithm the piece of that forbidden fruit!
Is your town covered in ice? Shhh, post something nice.
Focus on you, fuck the system. Be you! Be complacent, salute your flag. Thank God, it’s not you abroad under those bombs. Help your imperial army, your fire nation. Take a pic, you’re on fire! You’re well-liked.
Buy, buy, buy your bonds.
Bye-bye, humanity, that doomsday clock is ticking.
Get back to work. You need to clock in. Give the fruits of your labour to your overlords. Let the axe of life hack you away. You complacent, lonely tree. Such a shame now there’s no forest left. It’s probably why we got kicked out of the Garden of Eden.
