It all becomes so clear when the smoke and fog finally fade.  And that they do, before short becomes very long, with almost everyone.  Oh, sure, there are exceptions but there almost always are yes?

There is a fun ride at most waterparks these days- it is called the “Hurricane” in these parts.  Everyone climbs into a tube and the dude pushes you off and down a drop tube that winds a bit before dumping you down into a bowl of sorts where you spin round and round, each time dropping you and your folk ever closer to an unknown and somewhat scary hole- another tube, the exit tube- with each spin round the bowl.  It’s sort of like a big, but clean, toilet.  And if you scream you can hear your echo quite clearly and quite loudly.  It’s all good fun.  When it’s done you really want to go again right off unless it is your first time and you need a bit of time to recover and chase away your initial fears.  Rare, that.

But sooner or later you do go again.

Society spins in such a fashion at times.  In fact it spins as such most of the time but there is a difference.

In society you spin toward the exit tube, the final drop, the ultimate dumpout. with some ability remaining to fight gravity or at least slow the descent.  Think “friction” perhaps.  You can also just jump out of your tube but that would likely be a very large challenge.  Maybe I will attempt it sometime but not anytime soon.  No, like the others in my tube; the others in the tube that just left with a pushoff from the dude; the others waiting eagerly yet patiently behind us; like everyone in the line we all are ready to get going toward the descent.  Maybe it’s the thrill and maybe it’s just our search for entropy that propels us forth.  Dunno.

What awaits?  What thrill have they devised for us at the exit tube of this tremendous ride?  There is to be a semblance of order at the conclusion but I sense it is unconvincingly contrived.  There is no order in such disorder and, all things being the same and little changing from all that we see and hear and experience in these days of days we spin, we slide, we slip, we scream, we yell, we cry out, we throw our arms up to help to quell our fears but we can never escape the echoes and we can never outrun the tube ahead or pause to join the tube behind.   They have so brilliantly devised the ride, these anarchists, and they know that it takes a special person, a special people, to understand the plan and work somehow to end the madness.

That used to be us but is no more.  We ride, we descend, we are pulled to lines, just like all the others before us, in order and made to disembark only to willingly climb up, get back into line, behave in an orderly fashion, and await our turn to again be shoved off and sent to descent by the dude.  THE dude.  And we do it, again and again and again as if there is no choice and, now, nothing else whatsoever that can be done to stop it.  Not a bloody thing.