Puppet Master

They call me the Puppet Master.
You never see me, but you know I’m there.
You can see exactly what I’m doing.
The strings are attached.
Oh, but I dance.
I sparkle.
I dazzle you silly to the point where you don’t know what’s real anymore.
Am I fake?
What happened to those strings?
You are too bothered and distracted.
I entertain.
My words are slick and routine is mastered.
I make you think of all the things you desire.
I make you think of who you wish you could be.
Then I tell you, you can.
Only if…
And just like that, you open our eyes, and realize
That what you saw was not for free
In fact you paid with your Freedom
In fact you paid with your Willpower
In fact you paid with your Strength
And justified it all as being “my money’s worth”

The dollars own your soul, and the ones who have it are the ones you strive to be.
You have come to believe this happiness thing can be bought.
And when you try to buy happiness…
You succumb.
To me.
Cause the dollars own your soul, and I own the dollars.

[Crazy somewhat poetic ramblings of student reading her Advertising, Society and Consumer Culture textbook.]

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