UNITED SERFS OF AMERIKA: The Irony of Slavery in the Land of Liberty

	Millions of minions scurrying within colossal machines,
	weaving between mammoth wheels,
	dancing between gears in multi-dimensional factories.

	Millions of harried minions masquerading to be free,
	responding predictably to their Overlords,
	blind to the hollow space where their own thoughts should be.

	Millions of minuscule consumer-corpuscles, 
	hungry or the sheen of the latest commodities,
	yearning for hot dogs and chart-topping songs, 
	programmed to worship at the altar of Coca-Cola fizzy dreams.

	Inside the foggy confines of their minds,
	factory managers chant a liturgy of "buy! buy! buy!"
	Coins clink in a frantic symphony,
	calling forth  the Dance of Shiva:
	and briefly the Charnel Ground of Existence  
	is rebranded as a neon-lit, fantastic Disney spectacle!

	Ahh - how wonderfully this pied-piper illusion is played!
	Maha-Maya, Mada-Devi in full mesmerizing motion!
	Behold: Mammon’s monumental Mandala-Armada-Array!

	But how w much longer can such illusions continue?
	Does the spider’s web of dreams have an edge, or only a center?

A Postlude Discussion

In the dimly lit loft, the hum of distant servers pulsed through the floorboards.
Kris stood by a window, silhouetted against a skyline of glowing corporate logos
bleeding red and blue into the shrouded smog. They turned a small, dull coin over and over,
its surface cold and lifeless.

“Is this freedom?” Kris asked, their voice a blend of whisper and defiance, gesturing 
toward the sea of headlights creeping along the highway below: thousands of people moving 
in eerie, synchronized harmony. “Or is it just a well-decorated cage, the door left ajar 
just to tease us?”

Tim didn’t look up from a bank of computer monitors. The flickering lights of a hundred scrolling 
data feeds danced across his glasses, masking his eyes in a static-filled glow.
A thin, cynical smile curled on Tim's lips as they tapped a rhythmic beat against the desk.

As long as the screens stay bright and the pixels seem enchanting, few will bother to 
seek the truth,” Tim replied, his voice flat, drained of emotion. Leaning back, the chair 
creaked in the stillness.“Who cares if the cage is small as long as the Wi-Fi is fast
and the dreams are vivid? People don’t want the truth; they want higher resolutions."


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from _AmeriSong: Poetry, Art, & Dialogs about Amerika_ by T Newfields
SHORT-SUMMARY: Some reflections on consumerism, bondage, and pseudo-liberty.
LONG-SUMMARY: In a poignant reflection on post-modern existence, four friends grapple 
             with the illusion of freedom in a consumer-driven society, questioning whether 
             they thrive in vibrant cages or truly break free.
KEYWORDS:  dystopian America, manipulated pseudo-slavery, infernal consumerism, 
	brainwashed bliss, consumerism, technocracy, maha-maya (illusion), social conditioning, 
	corporate hegemony,the american dream, cognitive dissonance, digital serfdom, 
	satire, industrial dystopia, existential slavery, materialism

Author: T Newfields [Nitta Hirou / Huáng Yuèwǔ] (b. 1955)
Begun: 2003 in Nagoya, Japan / Finished: 2026 in Shizuoka, Japan
Creative Commons License: Attribution. {{CC-BY-4.0}} Granted

Disclosure: This piece was partially generated using AI tools for styling and ideation; 
            human editing was then applied.

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TRANSLATIONS

ESPAÑOL   https://www.tnewfields.info/es/otra.htm
NIHONGO   https://www.tnewfields.info/jp/sutekina.htm
ZHŌNGWÉN  https://www.tnewfields.info/zh/zhanzheng.htm