You open your eyes each morning into a storm of sound. But no one dares call it noise. They name it news, entertainment, trends. The flashing billboards, selling half-clothed illusions on your commute, aren’t seen as chaos, but as advertising. The endless scroll of outrage, gossip, arguments, and distraction isn’t called a sickness—it’s celebrated as the pulse of culture.
But pause. What if all of it—the neon temptations, the viral spectacles, the rituals of consumer worship—wasn’t harmless background, but the carefully built structure of a colossal asylum? An institution where everyone you know has become both prisoner and warden.
They whisper that this is freedom. That you can choose. Yet every “choice” is the same: consume more, react faster, shout louder, think less. You can switch outfits, but never your role. Trade one mask for another, but never take it off.
And here lies the paradox: never has humanity been so connected, so informed, so able to speak. Yet never has the soul felt so anxious, hollow, and lost. Why does depression rise in a world drowning in comfort? Why do we feel lonelier when anyone can be reached instantly? Why does “progress” that promised liberation feel so much like captivity?
This is no accident. A society claiming to cure loneliness manufactures it. A culture shouting about freedom designs dependency. A world praising individuality rewards only conformity. You’ve felt it, haven’t you? The pressure to laugh at jokes that aren’t funny. To clap for what you don’t believe. To pretend joy while your heart quietly protests.
And deep inside, a faint voice trembles: This is madness.
But what if you’re right? What if the insanity you sense isn’t your weakness, but the very air you breathe? A mass hallucination so vast that sanity itself feels like rebellion. Nietzsche once warned: “In individuals, madness is rare; in groups, parties, nations, it is the rule.” He spoke not of lone lunatics, but of cultures drifting into delirium while proudly calling it progress.
What is modern life, if not exactly that? A fever dream of vanity, distraction, and endless hunger—packaged as normality. And the terrifying question follows: if the whole culture is unhinged, how would you even know? Wouldn’t you mistake the asylum for the world itself? Wouldn’t you defend your prison because you couldn’t imagine life beyond its walls?
The truth is unsettling: the madness of culture isn’t distant. It isn’t just in politics or corporations. It has sunk into your words, your values, your desires. It has entered your dreams. Even your most private thoughts may not belong to you.
So ask yourself now: are your thoughts truly yours? Or are they echoes of a system that keeps you asleep, obedient, and convinced that sickness is health?
Because once you see it, you can’t unsee it. Once you name it, you can’t return to ignorance. The question is no longer is modern culture insane? The question is: will you keep playing your role in this theater, or will you dare to break the script?
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