Plastic Religion



Look around you. 


We live in a world where integrity has been brutally sacrificed and cheapened, 


thrown away in favor of preordained idols perched on pedestals forged from silicone flesh and stewing toxic waste.


It seemed just yesterday I had closed my eyes and slumbered, yet upon waking, I realized with a growing terror that vulgar, loose tongues and empty minds had become the new vogue; 


a hollow religion with no guarantee of a Promised Land,

Heaven was now a place on earth that could only be entered if the price was right-


Pews and stages sat in decay, now sermon was held in the rotundas of mega malls; 

faithful stewards giving their tithes in the form of sliding plastic squares,

their loyal devotion chronicled with each flourish of a signature.


The choir left pianos and stringed instruments to collect dust in the shadows, 

now they sang praises to a melody of slamming cash tills and the incessant mouthy chatter of nearby adverts.


Frozen, glossy faces of their Hollywood gods leer from racks in every shop, 

constant and jeering reminders of how pitiful they are, 

covers silently screaming that the only chance of deliverance from cellulite pocked thighs and the absence of a six pack was contained inside those slippery pages


A cheapened tome offering shortcuts to aesthetic perfection, accentuating urgency with gaudy, bold type and far too many exclamation points


I have wandered the streets of this new world order; to my right I witness a group of women shrieking over their idols choice of clothing- 


Only silencing themselves to drown in liquid chemicals housed in a brightly colored, cheerful looking can; 

I hear their sluggish blood traveling through choking veins as it struggles to push through greasy blockades, each clot stamped with an arched, golden trademark.  


Although my worries in witnessing the creation of this disillusioned, warped Utopia has since etched itself in deep caverns across my brow, know that I do not write this as a recorded testament of the last remaining human who refused to turn over their brain.


No- rather, this message goes out as a beacon to those who averted their eyes when the blinding floodlights of pop culture first burned into the retinas of the masses, melting its way into pliable minds and slowly deteriorating free will.


I speak on behalf of those of us who stray from the limelight, and instead find our shelter behind typewriters- faces illuminated by the muted glow of  a single lightbulb, we capture on paper the rare beauty of an unbridled imagination with each falling keystroke.


I extend my proclamation to those  who can both lose and find themselves in the fluid movement of a limber wrist,  declaring their adamant freedom from the Spreading Scourge with a silent protest manifested in splashes of color against canvases of white.


I'm reaching out to tell all of you that you are not alone.


Hiding in plain sight, we wage silent war against overwhelming odds, fitted only with our art as weapons; 

Yes, we fight a losing battle and know that when it's over, our faces will fade in time with the black smoke that rises from charred battleground and scatters to the heavens


Our names will be forgotten when the last unshackled mind is finally snuffed out by The Yawning Darkness, but the works we created will remain.


Eternities will pass. 


The hordes will blindly scramble past these relics in their never ending hurry, tongues still wagging about he-said she-said; whatever thoughts were thrown into their empty skulls rattling about as they scurry.


They will forget, and the shuttered lives of the Mindless will begin and end with nothing to show for their existence, insignificant and alone, serving only as twisting cogs to maintain the system; 

minuscule grains of sand, slipping through a cosmic hourglass.


Yet our art will live on through it all.


Always in the background,  proudly singing the story of its creators.

Silent and strong, 

a tribute to the final stand of the last Free Thinkers.


Tell you see it too? 




KindredSpirit's picture

Loved it

Since I'm on the kick.

 Thank God I can read.

Amen sister

 You're preaching to the choir.