This Mad World: If It Was All a Movie
I would watch this world if it was a movie.. I’d find it mildly amusing in parts, atrocious and unthinkable in others… I’d give it an A for special effects, but otherwise I’d just be thankful it was “only a movie”.
It would probably be a Zombie movie… lots of zombies. Hordes of blank-faced, mindless people wandering around, moaning unintelligible things about Labron James and Lindsay Lohan.
They wouldn’t eat people the way movie zombies usually do, instead they would devour bottle after bottle of pills with names they couldn’t pronounce and wash it down with a tall glass of heavily fluoridated water.
As these things usually go, there would be among the zombified populace, a few who had maintained their conscious wills and cognitive functions, but who instead of attempting to kill the zombies, would desperately be trying to cure them of their living-deadness.
Those who would do so are then met with great hostility by the Zombies who operate under a strange, robotic psychology which is nearly impenetrable.
The Zombie psychology could not really be called a psychology which Belongs to the zombies themselves, rather it’s like a computer virus which has infiltrated their minds via routes of infection which are put everywhere in everyday things.
Those everyday things first inject a highly addictive element which makes returning to the source of infection a great delight to the individual as they are slowly and obliviously sapped of all their will, reasoning capabilities and common sense.
Oddly enough, by the same increments it deprives those people of those things which impart functional intellect, they become increasingly sure of their own competence.
This is the means by which the “infection” becomes so persistently hard to cure of course.
Somewhere in the shadows are insidiously greedy and heartless men who have gathered great piles of wealth by way of easily influencing the zombified society to buy and consume everything which they market… all of these things in turn having the secret ingredient of “zombification” imbued in them.
An endless cycle ensues which both profits the villains and keeps a tight, nearly unbreakable reign on the unfortunate souls who sink into a slavery which they remain entirely unaware of and unable to question.
The horrified minority who still retain their wits beg and plead, reason and debate to no effect. They heap piles of official documents on the table declaring the agenda of the villainous slave masters, they show photos of said evildoers doing their evil, they produce lists and lists of ingredients of the “zombie toxins” fed them.
The Zombies stare blankly, laugh occasionally and reply in cyborg tones:
“Aww… those don’t mean anything really.” “You Photo shopped Those!” and “what the heck is Bisphenol A? Must be good for us or they wouldn’t sell it.”
It’s enough to make the intercessor on behalf of the zombie cry, or yank their own hair out… or maybe even a brief moment of wanting to yank the zombie’s hair out.
The frazzled, would-be good Samaritans take to the streets with signs, hoping in groups they’ll be noticed, maybe even televised, only to find that the Zombies work in every faction of society and media employs the zombiefied exclusively.
In no time, zombies employed in law enforcement come, and without due reason or explanation, drag the hapless freedom fighters away to be fingerprinted, photographed, and filed, then to sit behind bars hoping that somehow justice will prevail in spite of the madness and that they might go free.
Out in the Great Mad World, everyone else is having a lot of fun. They go on shopping sprees with their girlfriends and out to bars at night… they stay up late watching their favorite shows, go to football games, mumble and giggle about this and about that.
They each feel a nagging emptiness, but of course just a little more of the “drug” and they’ll forget it for a while more. They each feel a sense of something wrong… they know they aren’t “measuring up” somewhere… but if any of them dare to ask for an answer or a remedy they are quickly herded to the nearest resource of zombified psychology to be reassured that they are OK… it’s just that they haven’t come to love themselves the way they should.
In reality, they haven’t failed to be self concerned… in fact all they are ever concerned for is themselves.
They want to be a Good Member of Society, have lots of money, nice clothes, nice cars… they care immensely what all the other zombies think of them because they know that, just as they do, all the others are measuring themselves against them and they want to come out on top.
This is part of the disease of course, because as long as the victim is concerned about how they “measure up”… they will be much too distracted to find out that it doesn’t matter since they and all their peers are simply slaves.
So on they go… loving the pointless and hating anything that smacks of a “fringe” thought… which is nearly any sort of thought at all.
They stand roaring for their favorite sports team in a packed and glaringly lit stadium, overcome with the ecstasy of “victory” that is as meaningless and material as their own lives.
The faint sparks of neural synapse still firing are bent on a primal blood thirst in the wake of a battle for who knows what. Somewhere, lost in the midst of the clamor, a peanut vendor drops his merchandise in the aisle.
His epiphany comes in stark revelation, surfacing from the buried memory of a nameless would-be benefactor of zombified people that shatters his perception with a single, reasonable idea… “this is stupid”.
“Hey everyone… what are you doing? Don’t you know that those peanuts have MSG in them? Don’t eat that! What are you watching? Don’t you understand that all those players out there make millions of dollars and you spent your kid’s shoe money to come see them chase a ball around? What’s wrong with you all? Why aren’t you Living? Why aren’t you caring that there are people in this world that can barely survive who are doing more living than you? Don’t you know that life is short… time is short… there are questions to be answered, a Creator to get to know, things to discover, joy and peace and wisdom to be gained?”
Well… I don’t know precisely how the story ends for all those people who are screaming over the one little voice of the peanut vendor, but I suppose I can guess how it goes for Peanut Guy himself.
Amidst all the frustration and heartache and trouble he is sure to encounter in the Mad World trying to cure a zombie or two… he’s finally free.
He’s probably going to feel like throwing in the towel one day in the face of so much apathy and lunacy… but he knows that there is always that next single voice in a crowd of thousands who might one day ask “What’s wrong with all of you?”.