All your life celluloid dreams taught that you are an actor, a director, a producer of your own destiny… You think your “paper or plastic” choices render you unique, self possessed and definitive.
But the truth is you are merely a patron, largely an audience member, mostly passively watching a tragic-comic film set in motion at least one thousand years before y0u were even born…
On some level, your ancestors lived, dreamed and died before this same, awful spectacle—invariably squirming in their seats, talking amongst themselves, but most importantly, separately and simultaneously synthesizing details, fit and finish for ultimately some seven billion theater chairs.
But you are unique in one way: you are alive, today, still inside, as the worst movie ever made is ending. And so your dominant species has one very important choice now to make: to die in the theater, as before, only now complete in knowing the movie ends as tragedy; or to quicken, arise and step to the light of a fate you can never anticipate, except that civilization must finally mate physical reality. (In the absence of a conscious regulator ultimately nature must suffice.)