The spotlight is still on.
The stagehands are sweating.
The script is tattered and rewritten nightly,
but the show keeps playing.
This is not evolution.
It’s momentum without meaning—
a compulsive need to keep moving
even as we forget where we were going in the first place.
Motion has replaced purpose.
Progress, now a mere costume.
And every new scene, a slightly rearranged version of the last.
We speak in slogans now.
“Think of the children.”
“Act before it’s too late.”
Not wisdom—just soundbites sharpened into shame.
We call it urgency, but it’s mostly fear.
Fear of stillness. Fear of saying “I don’t know.”
So instead, we act—because to not act would mean we’d have to feel.
The systems we trust are built on fiction.
Not the kind that inspires—but the kind that obfuscates.
Money moving in circles. Solutions sold like theater tickets.
The applause is part of the business model.
The illusion isn’t just maintained—it is the product.
And we’ve learned to play our part.
Not as citizens, but as clapping audience members.
Approval is the currency now.
Dissent is uncivil.
Confusion is a flaw.
So we accept. Not because we believe—
but because questioning costs too much.
Somewhere, someone must be tempted to shout “Stop.”
Not out of rebellion,
but out of reverence for what could still be real.
Not a new plan.
Not a better app.
But a return to something rooted.
Something human.
We have built entire industries to avoid stillness.
And in doing so, have buried the very ground we needed to stand on.
We call it progress.
But progress toward what?
The betrayal isn’t that we’ve done nothing.
It’s that we’ve done everything but the thing that mattered.
The world doesn’t need more movement.
It needs memory.
It needs truth spoken without performance.
It needs someone to finally say:
Let’s begin again—
not with a strategy,
but with a soul.
— Wout
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