Ink Spill

Distractions.

We are bombarded with distractions, it’s like everything is trying to take our attention.

The bounty on our collective eyeballs is too steep to stop flashing things in front of them until they’re blood dried and sore.

It’s so rare to wonder, for everywhere you look, you are told what to think.

How so often do we look at the sky and wonder without there being a billboard taking half of our view?

How often do we engage in deep thought before a digital brick in our room ticks telling us to “Check me! Check me!”?

How often do we let our mind be blank before something somewhere tries to fill the blank space with thoughts not of our own but of the highest bidder for our minds?

I hate what we’ve done, I hate what we’ve built.

I hate that we so viscously slaughtered our society’s yearn to ponder.

I wish we could stop, I wish there was a way to stop all the interventions, all the signs, all the billboards, all the shouts, all the pings and ticks and knocks and whistles, all the propaganda, all the lies, all the deceit.

I wish to be left alone with the sounds and sights of nature. No in-humane intervention.