Act one

Actors are accessories to the crime of dilution of the species. Directors are facilitators to the same. But the ringleaders of this monumental war crime are we the human race ourselves.

I don't know when we started or if there was ever another way. But we lie to ourselves. We create fantasies whole cloth with total disregard to anything resembling truth. When I gaze back through the thousands of years to are more unromantic beginnings. Where was love then? Where was your God then? Where was the word humane. What was justice? Do you begin to see it? None of this existed, but yet we did.

Move forward in time and language developed. God was created. Justice was recorded. Love was hinted at. And the lie gained momentum. Don't scream no, no, Philistine, Heretic! We know for fact because we have cave paintings. There was no love. There was the search for food. The war of villages. The extermination of necessity. And God was a mentioned sidenote. A vaguely understood pictograph in a sea of thousands. And love never showed its head.

Someone discovered in order to lead the sheep you had to give them a shiny object. Written language gave rise to the story, the legend, the myth. God was finalized. Love was quantified. The dawn of the actors. Their mission to arrange the parts and play them. Get the sheep to believe. And so the wheel turned. Time like a river moves on. The sheep worship the story. They icon the act. Giving rise to the actor. Someone discovered the power in this. They realized civilization must come to pass. There are too many sheep and they must be organized. The day of the director had come.

Harness the actors. Organize their craft. See the big picture of the story and focus it. Tweak the mythos just right. No, hold her tighter so that the audience gasps! Back light him from behind so that he is more angelic! I know the physics but we have to have sound in space how else will they know that this moment is important! And the sheep watched. Even after the credits rolled. And there is love. And there is God. And there is righteous indignation. And there is the quality and handholding and humane treatment of our fellow man. And we all stand shoulder to shoulder against the evils of want! The evil of what? Why the evil of yourselves says the devil. In the creation of God and good there had to be an evil, a devil.

Enter the age of backwash. In the thousands of years of the glorious story. The sheep began to grow tired eyes and strained neck's from looking to the sky at an invisible reality. They began to tire of the beautiful colors painted on their walls and streets. They began to realize that the life of sheep would never be as shiny bright as the lie promised. They began to explore the other side of the fairytale. The actors only cared about keeping the sheep's attention. So now the evil becomes star. The hate becomes bestseller. And God becomes a quiet joke. All the while the devil becomes the new hero. Have you ever wondered why so many blockbuster movies and TV shows have heroes who are criminals. And we rush home to see the next episode of what they'll steal next. The hitmen, assassins, con artist, serial killers, are adorable. They're handsome. Charismatic. And the virtuous are fanatics, rigid, cold, and unimaginative. And the directors hold the focus.

If you speak out against you will be spoken against. If you choose a lie to live you will be called a liar. Where is love now? Where is God now. Now that the actors and directors no longer act or direct that particular part of the fantasy. The actors with an act so good that they don't mind even deceiving themselves. They think themselves crusaders. The directors so pumped up by their own direction helm the ship of their craft into the very heart of the sun with vision!

I claim no divinity. I claim no innocence. I claim no grand vision. I am lost to the story. Somewhere before the last plot twist. Lost in the maze. Staring at a favorite tapestry. Hung up on a clever quote. Just one of the sheep who never hungered for the new story. Still clinging to the old one. Still gazing at the tapestry of an angelic divinity delivering love below. Smiling upon the masses. But the letters are faded from the word love. And I stand alone staring at this particular tapestry of the angelic divinity. I know it's a story. I know it's a myth. And I know what I would be without it. But I also know that I am standing here after all the other sheep have moved on from seeing it. I am not an actor nor a director. Where is love now?