The Flat Circle Tarnishes with Each Turn

Nostalgia

is bait in the trap.

The bait may be real,

but the trap is a falsehood.

~

We’re clinging to the hope of a feeling

rekindled.

When you were a child,

when you were a teen,

when Big Brother was a myth,

nothing more than a warning

from a man named Orwell.

~

If only that show were airing again;

new episode ever week.

If only that author was still writing;

new book on preorder every year.

Remember those shoes?

Why don’t they make those anymore?

~

What was

no longer is.

That feeling

can’t be reclaimed.

It doesn’t mean

we won’t try.

~

Of course, the industries will try.

Everything’s turned so sour

we’ll pay anything to turn it sweet.

And since we can’t see a chance of sweet

in the future,

now we’re looking back.

The industry knew;

the industry felt it, too.

And capitalized.

~

Let’s try it again.

You’ll expect it to be good,

so you’ll buy it even if it’s not.

Those trinkets,

those stories,

those affectations

are all a reminder,

their visages recapturing that sense of

safety.

They look like

those long lost Dodo birds:

uncomplicated,

affordable,

achievable,

believable.

They were never there to begin with,

but it was certainly better

back then.

~

There are the outliers:

those who remember the feeling

well enough to pay homage

rather than regurgitate.

It’s not paint on the cage

for them.

It’s their memory, too.

But they are the outliers because

they were the best in the first place.

Those things from way back when

that weren’t very good

are the ones we forgot.

Not all was made of gold

in the Good Ol’ Days

either.

~

The ratio of diamonds to coal,

however,

seems to lean toward the latter lately.

Nobody wants to make something new

anymore

because somehow

everything new goes wrong.

They don’t make things

like they used to.

So let’s taint the old with the new

instead.

It’s gotta be better

than this plastic piece of crap.

~

Welcome to the reboot.