we bought in. they cashed out.

cultural taxidermy, heroic cosplay, and the hollow dream

there is a specific kind of unease that comes from realizing the symbols they gave you were not built to hold anything. they were never sacred. never functional. they were always placeholders. now they are just shapes, worn-out forms, easy to repaint and pose. easier still to point to when the system runs out of explanations.

you have seen it before. and when you saw it again, you stopped. not because it was strange, but because it was not. he was never a hero. he was never meant to carry meaning. he was a mascot. a fiberglass advertisement. a branded smile built to sell you an experience. now he is dressed like a savior. red and blue. patriotic. recognizable.

but nothing else has changed. same grin. same pose. just a different costume. this is what you are meant to believe in now. not action and certainly not change. just the echo of something that once looked like power.

you were told that the dream was real. that it all stood for something coherent. something just. that if you stayed good, worked hard, did not ask too many questions, you would be rewarded. with belonging. dignity. a future of prosperity that had room for you.

but that story was packaging. the script was advertising. it was written to be easy to repeat and hard to resist. written for stability, but only for markets. written for freedom, but only the kind you can brand. it was never written for you.

you look at him now, this big boy in a superman costume, selling nostalgia as memory and it fits too well.

holga 120n / kodak portra 400

never needing to wear satire or absurdity. in fact, it only needs to feel familiar. that is what makes it dangerous.

when the system runs on branding, the image is more valuable than the reality.
and when leadership fails, the costume steps in. power dressing up as virtue. corporate governance playing dress-up in capes and flags and strong-jawed patriotism. they wear the language of justice while protecting capital. they rename their theft as policy. they pose. and we are told to applaud. because it still looks like the dream.

but the dream was never about justice. it was about obedience. and when the seams start to show, when people begin to ask who this was really built for, they do not offer repair. they offer performance. they repaint the statue. they point at the silhouette and say, see? it is still working. it has always worked. they say, this is what we have always been.

you take a dead idea, stuff it, dress it, and stand it under good lighting. not because it still moves, but because it still sells. because the dream has never been what they said it was. it was never built to lift you up. it was built to move you along. forward. consuming. quiet. obedient. it needs motion, not clarity. it needs nostalgia, not memory. and it needs symbols that hold still while you keep moving.

it never felt absurd. it was too familiar. because it matched everything you have been told to feel. because the pose was perfect. but you have seen that smile on every institution that let you down. now that you cannot unsee it, you recognize that the dream did not die. instead that it was never real, just a lie in perpetuity that keeps being repainted. the lights hit. the words hold. and the salesmen never stop smiling.

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