Tags
Boundaries, Choice, Courage, Empowerment, Freedom, Hope, Human Experience, Independence, Inner Strength, Light And Shadow, Paradox, Perseverance, Personal Growth, Purpose, Reflection, Resilience, Responsibility, Self Discovery, Transformation, Wisdom
Freedom is a wildfire racing through the corridors confined,
Consuming what once held us, leaving fertile ash behind.
But what is freedom—just the blaze that breaks us free,
Or the tender shoot that rises toward what yet may be?
It is not the freedom to wound, nor the right to turn away,
Nor the chase of false dreams guiding us to stray.
Freedom is not chaos, nor comfort of the known,
But the quiet resolve to walk a path alone.
To be unbound is not to drift on tides with no return,
Nor to cast away the lessons we still must learn.
True freedom moves with wisdom’s silent, steady hand,
And anchors us with purpose in life’s ever-shifting sand.
We seek it in stillness, in the wild and boundless air,
In the boldness to speak and the grace to truly care.
Yet freedom is not captured in the boldest, bravest cry,
But in the steady flame that burns and will not die.
It is not the absence of every constraint,
Nor the mask of perfection, nor the pose of a saint.
Freedom is the wisdom to bend when the world demands,
And the purpose to hold firm when storms assail where we stand.
Some believe freedom is the right to roam as we please,
But wisdom knows it is more than a life lived in ease.
It is the burden of choosing, the shaping of soul,
The fire that tempers us, forging the whole.
Freedom is not granted, nor swiftly attained,
But the work of a lifetime, endlessly sustained.
It’s the courage to question, the honor to forgive,
The valor to transform, the will to truly live.
It is not a treasure claimed by sword or decree,
But a journey inward, unfolding quietly.
To be free is to walk with both shadow and light,
To embrace the uncertain, and draw strength from the fight.
Let us hold freedom close when the world turns cold,
A beacon of hope more precious than gold.
For though shadows may gather and silence may fall,
Freedom still rises—the fiercest flame of all.
The God We Obeyed
05 Thursday Jun 2025
Posted in Collapse of Industrial Civilization, Mental Health
Tags
Atomization of Society, Authentic Existence, Autonomy, Commodification, Dehumanization, Existential Longing, Freedom, Human Connection, Industrial Society, Loss Of Agency, Meaning of Life, Modern Malaise
We woke to roosters, without being told,
To woodsmoke curling through the cold;
The body knew its own slow need—
We ate when hunger sowed its seed.
No bells divided dawn from dusk,
The farmer shucked the yellow husk,
The child ran barefoot through the hay,
And no one cared how long we’d stay.
Then came the tower, grim and tall,
Its iron face above the stall;
It spoke in hours, sharp and clear,
And something ancient disappeared.
The months were numbered, one through twelve,
No longer seasons named themselves;
The planting moon became a date,
And nature waited at the gate.
The church bell told us when to pray,
The factory whistle seized the day;
Our hands were not our own to fold—
We marched to drums our masters hold.
The clock became the god we obeyed,
Its iron voice could not be swayed;
Each hour a room without a door—
Hollow souls and nothing more.
We swallowed our meals, we hurried through love,
The stars became strangers we’d heard stories of;
Each year quicker, each moment pulled tight—
We scheduled the dawn and cancelled the night.
There was no hour left for play,
No breath that wasn’t sold away;
We hid our laughter like a crime
And spent our joy on borrowed time.
We stopped complaining, stopped our ears,
And paced in silence through the years;
The pulse that once was wild and free
Now ticked in time obsequiously.
But sometimes, late, we lift our eyes
And find the strangers in the skies;
They do not tick, they do not chime—
They burn outside the walls of time.
Wolf-Dark
03 Tuesday Jun 2025
Tags
Alienation, Atomization of Society, Authentic Existence, Autonomy, Commodification, Dehumanization, Existential Longing, Freedom, Human Connection, Industrial Society, Loss Of Agency, Manufactured Dreams, Meaning of Life, Modern Malaise, Primitivism
What hums beneath the concrete, under steel?
What did we bury when we buried it deep?
The towers ask nothing. The grid doesn’t feel.
What we buried will never let me sleep.
We dreamed in the wolf-dark, our skin caked with mud.
We knew without naming—what need had we for words?
Just sinew and season, the beat of our blood,
The river’s cool counsel, the scatter of birds.
The plow blade slashed where no blade had gone.
The seed became sentence, the harvest a lord.
We gave up the wander. We learned to hold on.
We fenced out the wild. We sharpened the sword.
We learned the deed. We learned the lock.
We measured the acre, we numbered the days.
The ledger’s columns replaced the sun’s clock—
We traded the wander. We learned to obey.
The server now hums where river ran through vein.
We swipe through the world from the warmth of our beds.
The wolf-dark is streaming. The scroll is our chain.
We follow, we like, we nod our bowed heads.
But the body remembers. The marrow resists.
The breath slips beyond the hum of machines.
Beneath every click, the old pulse insists—
A drum in the dark that no server has seen.
So let the feet wander where pavement gives way.
Let skin remember the chill of the stream.
The wolf-dark still waits at the edge of the day—
Not lost, only buried, still breathing its dream.
Somewhere a river still runs without name.
Somewhere the birds scatter, nameless and free.
We are what we buried. We kindle the flame.
The wolf-dark is waiting inside you and me.
Prometheus Incorporated
02 Monday Jun 2025
Posted in Collapse of Industrial Civilization, Mental Health
Tags
Alienation, Authentic Existence, Authoritarianism, Autonomy, Capitalist Modernity, Commodification, Dehumanization, Existential Longing, Freedom, Human Connection, Industrial Society, Loss Of Agency, Manufactured Dreams, Meaning of Life, Modern Malaise, Rebellion, Surveillance, Systemic Oppression, Technology Critique, The Corporate Surveillance State
Prometheus brought fire down from the gods;
We fed it back to engines built to learn.
Now something still and eyeless sets the odds,
And we who struck the match begin to burn.
No throat to choke, no eyes to hold my stare—
Just glass and light, the soft unblinking screens.
They swallowed every secret I laid bare
And ground me in the teeth of their machines.
The years collapse—I’m dealt endless hands,
Each rule rewritten long before it’s learned.
I try to hold what no one understands;
It falls like ash from all that we have burned.
I walked the aisle of thirty kinds of bread,
Each one the same beneath a different claim.
The freedom there was merely in my head—
I picked my cage and learned to love the game.
Desire was slow, and taught us what it meant—
A hunger earned before we learned to take.
Now pleasure pipes its stream without relent
And drowns us in a thirst we cannot slake.
The cage gleams bright. We barely know it’s there.
The screens coo their steady, dreamless tone.
We eat, we scroll, we sleep—our daily prayer—
And mistake the cage for somewhere we call home.
Prometheus stole fire and brought it down.
We trained it till it showed us what to be.
Now, glowing softly in our hands, we drown
In endless light—and swear that we are free.
Collapse of Industrial Civilization 