We are Princes. The lot of us.
And we have forgotten the point of being.
Everything is in the name of stimulation,
occupation, amusement, and purpose;
for in the grand scheme of things,
we have none.
What purpose have we now that we’ve pooled our resources?
Working 40 hours a week so we can enjoy 50-odd of freedom.
From the struggle of living? Perhaps.
But not from our 8-hour shifts; only existing as part of the freedom we claim that it’s robbing.
How twisted a purpose,
and altogether meaningless.
Even science, as bold as it comes,
is an extraordinarily complex, but all the while utterly insignificant pursuit of denial.
We are meant to survive.
No more. No less.
And, to be fair, we’re pretty damn good at it.
But I just cannot help but wonder how much of my everyday life,
it’s triumphs and woes,
how much of it is the utter fabrication of a deeper despairing?
Like battleships cruising into the middle of an easy, peaceful, sunny bay,
we blast gulls from the water.
Because we’re Princes. The lot of us.
Royalty of survival.
And with little in the way of adversaries,
is it any wonder we go mad with boredom?