Delayed Flight # 4

Right now the only reality in TV is me watching hour after hour in a dead silence. I owe it to myself to do something more. My life should be more important. My life is what should be remembered rather than an identity that’s defined by marketing slogans and chorus hooks from manufactured pop songs.
After it’s all said and done, after the world encounters another drastic climate change, or a meteor hits the earth causing another powerful species to become extinct, this is what will occur when a new evolution of man re-surfaces giving meaning to an extinct period. It’s nothing like the movies:
They will come to the conclusion, after digging up the land and excavating that all franchise chains, corporate businesses, and apartment complexes were religious shrines.
They will find Barbie Dolls and action figures sealed in their boxes and define them as fertility symbols similar to our meaning of The Venus of Wilendorf.
They will find junk mail and coupons sealed in envelopes as letters sent to one another with a deeper meaning.
Malls mistaken for cities. Thomas Kincade prints, Affirmation posters, and store-front animations will be mistaken for our timeless art.
They’ll think the Starbucks logo was a Goddess.
They’ll think, “Just Do It” and “Can you hear me now?” were daily prayers or relaxing mantras.
Who won’t be remembered is me.
I will have left nothing behind that truly leaves a mark that lasts forever. My home will not be a reflection of me since someone else built it. When I die, others will occupy the same space, leaving no trace of my existence.
I must realize now there is nothing around that will give a glimpse of who I am since everything is by a company name or logo that doesn’t physically exist. Everything around me is ready-made, particle-board and compressed saw dust built to last through a year’s lease of renting.
Eons back there was a time when things were built to last a life time. Structures and monuments constructed out of marble and stone, brick and solid wood that stamped a seal of a past generation that would never be forgotten. Stored and preserved in museums and government controlled lands. But that time has passed.
Now, life is meaningless since all I do is consume more than what I need, to have someone else make it for me.
This is life on fast-forward, flying passed me quicker than my cable modem connection.
The time is now to realize I don’t really own anything. Life is based on the illusion of possession and the things I claim ownership to. The only thing I truly own is my life, and I’m giving it away to others like a kidney, spending my time at a place I hate for a check that I will eventually give away to others to fulfill a small piece of happiness that fades far too quickly. Today, my nothingness, my life should mean everything. But sadly it