Dreaming of Days Gone - By Mizeta Moon

The TV is down to three channels now. One offers 24-7 bible studies and guest preachers. One is a constant barrage of fake news and indoctrination. The one that pretends to be entertaining is hardly that. Where once I had hundreds of options by pressing a button, now I’m lucky if there’s batteries available for my remote. I stood on a circle today like an obedient servant, but there still wasn’t any coffee. How I miss a good cup of Joe. 

I hated being forced into social isolation. I wanted to walk through a real store and shop. I didn’t want to live virtually without contact and emotional support from friends. It seems that everything we used to enjoy has been deemed sinful and un-American. I wanted to picnic in the park. I wanted to swim with my kids. All such activities were curtailed. Evidently, having fun was a really big no-no. Toiling incessantly for the elite was the only goal a plebe should, and could pursue. Private enterprise was discouraged at first, then quashed for corporate health. 

My big question is WHY? The planet can provide sustenance for every inhabitant. The sun can power us for eons. Incessant wind can be our friend. Is our problem a matter of unequal and unfair distribution of resources? Greedy bastards with a hundred cars when mine hardly stayed on the road. But, constantly fixing it didn’t matter once the roadblocks went up and you couldn’t travel outside a prescribed area that conveniently had services to provide for all your needs. Only, there seems to be a forever shortage of everything. 

I guess I’ll just have to sit here and take the abuse. Protestors are shot, or taken away and tortured. I’m old, so they’d love to get rid of me. Programming the young is easy. Getting old dogs to accept new masters is difficult, so they’d rather bury us in mass graves than allow us to contaminate the world with free thinking. My books got burned because they were filled with emotions. Good, bad, indifferent. Peaks and valleys, twists and turns. Now, we are flat-lined. Living in accordance or facing erasure. 

A woman ahead of me in line today smelled good. Was perfume available and I missed the opportunity to buy some? I guess I should lower my expectations. After all, without the guidance of our leaders there would be nothing at all. That’s what they tell me anyway. But I remember buying black lacy panties instead of stiff white ones. I remember the silky feel of nylons on my skin. I remember shades of lipstick and hundreds of products that fell by the wayside. I remember having a choice. That’s what I miss most of all. Deciding what’s best for me instead of being told what I can have, and do. 

Am I wrong for seeking to remain an individual? Not being a face in a herd? Aspiring to my own dreams instead of being channeled into limited opportunity?  I don’t remember giving anyone permission to thwart my ascendance. Regardless how I feel, who cares? Is there an end to this madness? Do I have to live another hundred years to see a return to reason?      I hope all of you are staying safe and thriving. Love Mizeta

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