Fireworks & Shraps of Reality

Fireworks usually have the ability to put time on hold and rekindle the sense of wonderment we all had as children. Not so long ago, there was something magical about those colourful starbursts tearing through the sky.

Not anymore. Something has just shifted. Both within and around me.

The noise and thick smoke felt like a targeted attack. I had to retreat inside to keep from suffocating. Even watching from my window, I couldn't wait for it to end quickly.

Where I would picture the unseen crowd  marvelling at the pyrotechnics behind the trees, I could only see a deception. An artifice as the name in French suggests.

Let me remind you that these rockets are made from ordinary improved gunpowder — the same kind used to kill people in masses, and originally imported from China to Europe by Marco Polo. They can therefore be regarded as explosives and may pose serious hazards.

It's not just the actual accidental risks of flying debris and fire, but mostly the harmful fumes inhaled by spectators — the fallout from which severely damages ecosystems.

Who cares? Everyone knows it's cars, cigarettes and cow farts that are destroying the planet. Not nitrates, chlorates, perchlorates, sulphur and carcinogenic heavy metals such as titanium, barium and strontium — traces of which were found in nearby waterways after firework displays on Bastille Day.

Not to mention those entertainment bombs are just tens of thousands of euros (hundreds of thousands in large cities) going up in toxic smoke.

But shhh… Fireworks mean party time. Questioning that is a surefire way to pass for a killjoy. So let's pass!

What if these annual celebration rituals had a totally different purpose?

And what if the energy of all our Ohs, Ahs and Wows was actually captured, redirected and used?

There’s even a name for it: loosh.

What about this strong feeling of being instrumentalised by something our mind can hardly conceive of?

What if what we call joy was, in fact, no more than some elaborate collective hypnosis?

Have you ever experienced such shraps of reality that make you wonder: "Do my feelings originate from me… or from what I'm expected to feel?"

Should such realisation ever dawn on you, some day, you will certainly understand why  I did not applaud this year. And shall not ever again.

© La Pensine Mutine. All rights reserved. Reproduction prohibited.

Share: