At one point, we dreamed of traveling the world and romanticized faraway places and their exotic cultures. Now, we don’t even study geography anymore and we don’t travel, we just transport our home to other locales and leave our stench wherever we go. There was a time when dreamt of exploring outer space, but now that we’ve been there its yield isn’t enticing enough to convince us to keep returning.

At some juncture in our recent history, we dreamt of a leisure society wherein automation and technology would allow us to focus our energies on creativity and passion, where leisure would present opportunities for evolution. Now, we can do just about everything that can be done through our telephones and we’re still working menial jobs and living unfulfilled lives, our anxiety disorders skyrocketing to near pandemic levels. Then, it seemed like the answers lied in inner space and the world of the mind, but we just used this as an excuse to celebrate ourselves and to shut out others.

 It’s not that the future failed us or that we failed the future or that our ideals were too wide and didn’t anticipate the turns. No, the problem was that the future was hard and so we outsourced it to someone who could do it for us. Except what they created was a false future made out of hijacked dreams. We’re not actually living in the future, but instead we are participants in what capital cthulhu believes we want progress to look like.  We are passengers on board a satiating vision of misinterpreted dreams, just close enough to withstand protest, but distant enough to be plausibly denied.  We're actually somewhere ancient, somewhere unfamiliar, that's been painted to look like home. But no one belongs in the past.  No one should feel like anything but a visitor in any one's memories.