Spin, Wheel of Fortune

There are plenty of things wrong with the human race. Stripped of our cultural trappings and cushioned seats, what are we really? When its dusk after dusk with no dawn in between, what do we become? When the music dies down and the dance floor is empty, we shrivel; we turn our heads as we pass the mirror. To distill the essence of my rant into one phrase, we are ugly.
The newspapers of today aren’t black and white anymore, they are red. Stained with the blood of the murdered and the remorse of the bereaved. The city of lights, the city that glistens scarlet.

A  tendency core to mankind and the ultimate catalyst for its downfall is perhaps ignorance. We just don’t get it. What goes around will most certainly come around and choke you to death. These days however, we kick up some dust while we can and to hell with karma. Take people in power for example: they’re skipping around thinking life is a ball, all the while quite oblivious to the giant churning doom known as the Wheel of Fortune. Politics everywhere is united with its common affliction to this spherical form of fate; kings rise and fall, noble titles grow faint, mighty empires crumble. We are all caught in this whirlpool of political delusions which fluctuate around us and yet we are blind to it. We can’t see that power doesn’t last; politics is a viscous circle which will elevate you to the stars and then drop you to the bottom. But power is also a drug- once tasted, it can replace your blood until all that you comprehend is wanting more, more, more. We can see this illustrated in our red newspapers. Strapped to this cyclic image, humans suffer and endure, prosper and decline. Up and down, round and round until our very existence can be envisaged as a carousel spinning round and round until the end of time.

 What is the lethal flux? Aspiration; the wheel spins; riches and treasures; the wheel spins; the music stops, humanity is lost; one last spin; and the city is screaming.  
But still we do it. Still we do it.