Requiem To The Stories of Lore

 The stories of lore that we have all heard growing up. Romeo and Juliet, Paris and Helen, all these have had deep impacts on the psyche of the people of that era and it continues to be so centuries later. Gratitude, however, for these stories to have shaped our beliefs has been remiss as we show blatant disregard for the lore and the history behind them. I remember reading about The Beauty and The Beast. A marvelously magical land, with enchanted teapots and dancing silverware seemed so mesmerizing and so profound back then. Now, when I think of it, the first thing in my mind is Stockholm Syndrome. And make no mistake, the mind is right to jump to such a drastic conclusion. But that makes you wonder, when does a child's sense of wonder become child-like wonder in a person's life. What is it that changes the person so jarringly that something that was so homely and comforting becomes nothing more than a guilty pleasure. What makes a man stop and think twice before even considering to enter a candy story, much less eat a lollipop that he enjoyed for well over a decade in his childhood? Some say it is a fear of ridicule in the ways of being dubbed homosexual. But that can't be all. For if societal pressure is all, then why does the man still hesitate to pop a candy when he's by himself in his home? When does a person cross a line from being a carefree child, to a stressed out adult. Why has adult become a cuss word in and of itself? Why has romanticizing something become a sin in the digital age? Over the millennia, romanticism has been the source of great power, inner peace, satisfaction, hope, kindness, love, comfort, and in some cases even wealth. Why is romanticising so wrong? Why is love lost in the crowd of charlatans masquerading even further under the guises of saints and mercenaries of justice while trampling upon the fabric of faith and hope to achieve their self proclaimed destiny? 

It is thoughts like these that make a Cornelius, a Rupert, a Lenny, a Travis, a Trevor, a Mr. Taylor bring out their inner Tyler Durden. Whatever happened to our love, our love for the powers that be. Our love and faith in destiny and fear of the higher being. Our sense of self and a modicum of trust into our own capabilities. We were truly born in the middle era. The millennials, the generation z, we are the middle children of history. We have no wars we fought, no great depression, we had a pandemic but that didn't do enough. Because we fight wars everyday, and our lives have somehow become the great depressions of our existence. We are nameless creatures, denizens of the mortal realm, only in death shall we have a name. But alive, we are cogs in the machine, we are slaves to our own wills and we are victims of our own crimes. As I look around at the lives of the men and women in my life, and by that I mean watch their Instagram stories, all I see are liars, thugs and goons, though not in the usual sense of the words. For someone can claim to love the canines so damn much and make it their life's purpose to build a doggie day care, is the same person to turn a blind eye to a dying mutt that can't even sit up anymore. The person who acts like the most jovial and kind hearted person, is the same person who uses and exploits the good men in her life and use their souls to add another stroke onto the de Cappelle facade of  positivity. I see beings topple their sense of self based on who they live with and who they spend their time with, from being Catwoman to entering their soft girl era. All it is, at the end of the day is just lies piled upon lies to cover the lies that define their old lies and make room for their new lies and swear to never lie again knowing full well that that in itself is the biggest lie of them all. Men and women have waged this war on humanity for as long as time unknown, though this generation chooses capitalism and consumerism as it's culprit. And as I look at their lives through a filter of their choosing, I am filled with disgust at the fact that I, whether in the past or present, thought it to be a good idea to associate with such monsters. But I'd be lying if I said I don't feel pity for these fools living a lie day in, day out, scrounging at the feet of the sisters of time for another day, another week, another moment of existence to make an impact that would last. But take a long enough timeline, and everyone's survival rate turns to zero, and so does their memory.