It is an age of eventfulness. Through this filter of inaction come the shattered pieces of ideas that our forbears have cried out for us to enact. Slowly, with apathy, these pieces collect as silt on the bed of society, and the culture is muddied further and further until these ideas vanish into an obscurity so close to reach that they become intangible objects of fiction. The treasures we seek have become dust and have been spread througout the mud of familiar waters.
The civil disobediance of the past has become violent video games, and the fighting youth have come to fighting unconsciousness. We have become a culture of insomniacs and narcoleptics fighting only for the mediocre feeling that at least we were partly conscious for most of our lives. Our essences are mere caricatures in a dream--a dream in someone else's head. This devolution of actions into thoughts allows us to be controlled by a populus much older than ourselves. We are content with being used as long as we get something out of it.
We can't complain about the music industry if we are buying Usher's newest album and downloading the music of independent artists. If you want "Yeah" for your party mix, take it off limewire; but if you really love the Decemberists' new album, why don't you give them a little support--they could use it. Feed into the causes you see as good, and avoid becoming a marionette for the financial benefit of a detatched puppetmaster. It's your show, and if you don't run it then someone else, likely someone you don't like, will gladly yank the reigns from your hands.
"Be the change you wish to see in the world."
-Ghandi
It happened one year ago, yesterday morning.
It happened one year ago, yesterday--mourning.
And although the time has been over a year,
It seems much more present, real, and near.