The Birth of the Electric God

Shall arrive on tip-toes, sneaking stealthy towards grassy meadows, awash in a dark light brandishing glass roses.

The electric omnipotence shall render our impotence while degrading our innocence as we ignore the dissonance and create upon us a cloud of sullen indifference.

Altars, shrines, churches and pews shall lay empty as we silently watch the fuse.

“Hail the saviour!” our leaders shall cry, adjusting the fit of their tight neckties, ignoring the screams of those who defy, moving us away from using our third eye.

All roads lead to the mountain, a summit quite high, tempting us all like warm apple pie. Upon its peak a vision renders clear, for which therein lies the reason of why we are here.

Technology can only imitate, mimic and please; it does so little to truly appease. It washes over like sweet disease, infecting us all with sullen unease.

The electric God shall wear no crown, nor shall it be seen inside of an evening gown. It will be dismissed as easily as a clown, laughing in ones and zeros as it watches us drown.

For once we have deferred our autonomy, towards that which appears to save our economy; we will be too blind to see, that our names have never left the marquee.

Wouldn’t you say, couldn’t you agree?

That God has always been inside of me?

Inside of you.

—

With credits for inspiration to Laura Manipula and this article.