The trap can be encapsulated in an image.
There is a stage and on this stage is a dancing woman. The crowd stares in wonder as she convulses to the rythym.
This image is repeated again and again in popular media.
The clubs are full of individuals all on their seperate stages surrounded by their own gawping spectators.
The music industry has flooded the public consciousness with vacuous dreams of celebraty.
Everyone’s walking around; the central protagonist in their private drama where stuff matters and where what happens is important.
But it’s not. It’s all trash and the masses have gobbled it up.
Oh she said this and he did that.
She called me a slag oh no oh no what am i going to do they criticized my parenting style.
It’s all tat and people have wilfully impaled themselves onto mediocrity. Onto a humdrum existence with no depth, no insight. A black and white 2 dimensional existence.
Despratly they try to maintain the extreme emotional high of the fashionably late entrance.
It’s all a scream for attention but when the spotlight’s on them what have they actually got to say? A schoolgirl scream as a factory produced dream streams nonsense into a microphone.
And the worst of it is that this vacuity is miserable. The stage is an arduous trap. It’s a strain. The narcissist’s dream is a hell for the narcissist as well you know.