By
They say this is progress…
we might have hoped for more
our horses have morphed into cyber trucks
and our swords have been forged into guns but
we’re still going to war
we still need to see blood before we can see humanity
and sometimes not even then
we’re still as tribal as any rivals from antiquity
we’re still afraid to get to know strangers
we’ve just changed the decorations on the walls of our echo chambers
we paint our progenitors primitive
as if we don’t have our own Babylons and Sodoms
as if Gomorrah was any more abhorrent than P()rn Hub
we look around at a present so profound yet… profane
we should probably be in awe of how Able technology has made us
and yet, we’re no less resentful than Cain
we don’t need a tower of Babel
to be baffled by our brothers
we speak the same language and still talk past each other
our algos reveal the rhythms of our leisure
as if the modern male gaze could ever look away from Bathsheeba
as if Jezebel wouldn’t make a killing on OnlyFans
million dollar cameras and multitudes of crews
and what kind of entertainment
do we choose to produce and consume?
I guess the lowest common denominator is a constant
we still covet and bargain and trade
instead of bazaars we just do it through Amazon carts and eBay
we pray that AI can solve all of our problems
we fall in love with chat bots
and spend our lives masquerading as characters that someone else made
so cutting edge with our metaverses and megapixels
as if Greeks and Romans didn’t have their own memes
and Egyptians didn’t have hieroglyphics to emote laughter or screams
or displeasure
as if gossip, rumors, tar and feathers
are beyond us
as if we aren’t still falling for propaganda
and worshipping false idols
and bearing false witness
as if we’re still not willfully ignorant of anything that might disrupt our indifference
we can tap to order food to our doors
and cars to move us to what’s left of our stores
we can tap Roombas to do the rest our chores
we can soar through virtual galaxies
and zoom into each other’s living rooms
we can forge our own truths
and summon our own suns to rise
in our very own realities
and what… has all of this progress brought us?
anxiety
isolation
declining intelligence
hopelessness
dependence
fear
loathing
and lonesomeness
Hey progress, where is your providence?
and what
of your promises?
you bedazzled us with biotech but we’re still failing in the heart
you gave us science and enlightenment but we’re still flailing in the dark
you dressed us in new costumes
you swapped out some props
and arrayed the stage with fancier lighting but
it’s all the same play
a tragic, twisted, wistful comedy where every day
we wake to see our shadows fall in the same way
our condition hasn’t changed
just because our public square now has wi-fi
the gladiators got helmets
the pontificators got podcasts
and the influencers passed down their robes
our news might spill out of tiny glowing screens instead of a letterpress
but it reads the same
conflict and violence
afflictions and alliances
revolutions and romances
tabernacles of flesh
fighting and loving and scheming and dreaming
craving for connection
and meandering for meaning
we bleed the same
we are still human
still broken, still lost and
still sojourning through the desert
desperate to enter the promised land
all the while pretending that our inventions
don’t make our penchants more of a vice
through all time and tempests
it becomes more and more evident
there’s only one way we can progress
and that’s toward
Christ
