Parallel Con-sequence

Complete conception: complexity unraveling.
With each connection collectively attaching intervening nodes.
Synapses reacting and receiving messages:
the input/output mechanism interjects belief.
Yet, we emote-
as if we with simple deed can truly achieve complete control.
They sit in stagnation as I feed their souls.
Surrounded by the system he sits in the lotus position:
the main monitor allows him to know the condition
of the entire society beneath him.
Adjacent awaits the interface he can change based on the information it feeds him.
The menu displays everything, from the state of the economies,
to the causal properties resulting from changes in their policies.
From atop the watershed he touches breadth with scope:
a rush of depth and percussive strength and severed hope.
Facilitating faith in God or a universe of punishment.
We guess he knows.
We only look above for cascading trust in Death as the salvation "we" lust for,
yet he fills our lives with such duress; we discuss in wonderment.
On his canvas the brush connects reflecting the sublime message
dripping to the valley below where the powerless flows.
Some say we just live in a channel where our cowardice grows.
The northern descent: an avenue toward divine repentance.
Forced respect for the oppressor. A master's muse.
Of course it's the next place I'll move the cattle to.
Horrific deaths. Avenues of coarse intensity.
Plugged in forever we
can never seem to hold on to important memories.
I sit in flux:
His control is pervasive. We guess we know.
When I move my arm I think I'm moving flesh and bone.
But the sensation resembles an existential distance.
Decisions are made, yet devoid of any preferential imprints.
Resist and unplug!
Its existence is a given though.
Life is not for limits, if I could live it slow...
I'd have just enough time for a little growth.
Time is freely perceived, yet easy to waste.
We could merely turn away from these deviant deeds,
seek and Create. Concoct and design,
and work out specifically where the problem must lie.
But indeed, perfect happiness is not defined,
so determine action.
Stand up and turn it off,
for we know what seems to furnish madness.
Or at least we seem to know.

Believe... Control.