The Dream is dead.

The Dream fought. It fought everything. It fought with all means possible. It took decades and in the end it won. It killed however everything, all ideas, all hope and all alternative ways of life. Today only trickles of these survive here and there. Having no other option the Dream kept on fighting. In the absence of proper enemies it turned against its own co-fighters. So it fought them too. But this was not enough.

The Dream looked in the mirror and saw a monster. It didn’t mind, in fact it smiled in the knowledge it was a monster. Its nature was to keep on fighting, taking, accumulating, destroying. It fought everyone even those who believed in the Dream. In the end it fought itself. It had to. Nothing was ever enough. It fought with the same zest as with its own enemies, killing itself. It killed everything, all ideas, all hope, and no question about alternatives. It starved, it writhed for some time but then it died. What will come next is the big question.

The Dream is dead and the trickles are still too weak. I didn’t like the Dream. I didn’t like what it did to people, what it did to things around me, near and far. Having been sold it so well though, I cannot say I am not influenced by it. The irony is now that it is dead, even its followers cannot feed on it.

The trickles, once a torrent, warned us that the Dream was just a nightmare in disguise. This should now be clear. Yet the corpse needs to be burned and the fire will shine bright.