Poisoned Mind

There she sat, beautiful and pristine. Some would say she was an angel. She lured you in. Whispered heavenly nights and even brighter days. She knew her power and used it to her advantage. She was a goddess and you fell at her feet whether you wanted to or not. She was the potion master and no one left her with their mind in tact. She decided when it was enough. She chose what concoction would poison your mind.

She perched on a tiny table, weaving mystical stories and telling you tails of lands far, far away. She used her mastered wiles to spin reality into fiction and fiction into reality. You regarded her with awe; mouth hanging open, drool on your chin and forgotten crisp packet in your hand. The couch became your home and those eyes that once danced and sparkled were now flat and dead. Glazed over with a film that marked the first signs of her poison.

I saw how you slowly changed. From popular and outgoing to lonely and holed up. You used to be the fastest and sneakiest hide and seek player but now you only hide from the sun. I remember climbing trees with you, now you refuse to walk through the garden.You used to smear paint on the back walls when we finger painted, your tiny hand prints are still there in bright orange paint. But you haven’t picked up a paint brush since the day you met her much less got your hands dirty.

I tried to talk to you once a few months back, you said to shut up because I was interrupting her. Our house is silent but for her songs, her music compilations, her “wise words” and her instructions. God forbid, a day goes by without her.

What on earth would you do?

How on earth will you think?

It never fails to amuse me how she recommends places to visit and things to see but instead of letting you go there she dangles the images in front of you and holds you captive… She has an opinion on everything and she cleverly ensures you always agree with her.

She feeds so many with hyped stories and twisted statistics. So many allowed to degrade themselves into racist bigotry and despotic fascist beliefs under the guise of supposed freedom without any repercussion when they take it too far. Let’s not forget the unfair portrayal of so many minorities in order to feed the now blood thirsty masses or the way Miss Media giggles in glee every time tragedy strikes for now she can add to her potions a new found poison sure to suck them in deeper and spit them out faster.

Nobody is safe when she decides to sink her well manicured expensive nails into their soft under bellies. Not the smiling young child star nor the super model or the corner shop owner. The child star will always be too fat, too thin, too unruly, too weird. The model will be controversially shamed by her bedroom secrets splayed across the tabloids. And poor Mr corner shop will be attacked by one of her cronies hell bent on feeding her passion.

Back when I was little, and South Africa was emerging as a changed nation, we played in the park all races and creed. We played as a community; street soccer, cardboard-sleigh hill races and even hop scotch. There was no such thing as sticking to cliques or separating certain kids from the rest of us. We grew up open minded and yearning change. We craved something new. And for a while, it looked as though we’d make it. We’d be the generation to make a difference. We’d move forward. Born Free and respectful to each other. A time when I was as equal to you as you were to me. We stood together reaching for a common goal.

Today is miserably hilarious because I remember a time when not even I could win an argument against you. A time when you were strong and opinionated. A time when you researched before you agreed and ensured you were seeing the whole picture.

There was a time when you were educated.

A time when we believed you were the future.

Now, all I see in you is Miss Media’s well strung puppet…

Gone is the hope that, maybe just maybe, the future of our world lies in the hands of the infants and youth. For now, we have let Miss Media create a generation of “yous”. A generation of poisoned minds filled with hatred and anger for reasons they themselves cannot explain.

And the I’s are left standing, watching in dismay, as everything they fought for slowly falls apart…

Helplessly part of the poisoned generation,

Signature (6)

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

Comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s