Tragedy

I have read that we do not write true tragedies as we once did.

Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet, Oedipus Rex. I’m not as well read as I’d like to be, and so I’m unqualified to critique that assertion, but the article seemed to suggest that it was a forgotten art form.

I say this now because I wonder if the real tragedy is the world that we live in and the society that we have allowed to exist. I’m not too sure when we started to go so dreadfully wrong, but it’s clear to see that not all is right.

Everything around us has been developed and set up in ways to control us, and to restrict our freedom. It is everywhere that I look.

“That’s just the way things are” one may say; but why?

I’m loathe to swear when I am writing, it seems lazy. But, alas, why the fuck have we allowed the world to become what it is?

The rich and powerful control governments, which now function not to help its citizens, but to control and restrict, and to funnel the means of labour so that those at the very top can profit off of the blood, sweat, and tears, of the 99%.

We have become so brainwashed that we do not even question it any longer.

I know you can feel it. The injustice of it. I know you do.

You know that something isn’t quite right, even if you haven’t been able to put it into words.

I’ve felt it too. It lays heavy on my soul, and my thoughts have been restless and disturbed and how unfair things seem.

The greedy and the corrupt and mean and terrible rise to power and there is seemingly no consequence for those with ill intentions. In fact, it seems as though it is rewarded. It’s hard to argue that governments are not being run to the whim of some unknown people who are forever lusting for more power and wealth. Political parties change, as does policy, but there is never any real positive change for society, other than for the worse.

You are taxed more and more and yet you see less and less for your contribution. You can barely survive whilst billions are spent on bombs.

Where can you go that is not owned? Where can you go where you do not need permission to exist?

Freedom is but an illusion, a dream sold to the normal man to placate him so that those in the shadows can profit; and the price to pay is but his soul.

Writing tragedies may be a forgotten art form, but the real tragedy is that we have let the world fall into the hands of immoral people who restrict our freedom.