Watching the Colloseum

I feel sometimes like I've been slipped a drug. A drug to distract me from so much that life has to offer. The colloseum drug. I await it's call and my obesiance follows it. I knew what it was a long time ago. I know it and yet I don't seem to be willing to break it's awful soul-sucking cycle. Laziness? Apathy? Who knows? What I do know is that it is real. It is real and I know it. I can't claim any ignorance. So it comes to choice, like choosing to do good, or bad, or even choosing to do neither.

I pray for it's end, this colloseum drug. This sedation, repression, addiction and oppression. I have to find a way to resist, a way for my will to be bigger than it. It being the self styled need I think I have for it. Changing one part seems easier said than done.

We all have a colloseum drug. The voyeur drug. The watcher drug. The entertain me drug. We fail to find our own creative drives and seek it's replacement with something not of our own motivation, but for our own "entertainment". It's a sickness, a plague we lovingly cling to when the nights are seemingly endless, when the days tell us we needn't toil or strive. Would we seek to make ourselves utopian this way? Sate the masses with distraction. It is what we cling to, we eat it up because we are told to. We make our own folly! We beg it's beginnings and it's endings. We control it's flux and flow and we revel in it. Communication is the goal, not mindlessness. Yet we find the latter to be suitable. Conditioning ourselves to accept this is what is wanted. We flock to it, like gulls to the Walmart parking lot.

I don't want to be bigger than it, but I don't want it to be bigger than me.