Modern-Day Politics

Something moves behind the curtains of our age.

Not a man, not a party, not even a government—something older, colder, patient enough to use both sides as pieces on the same board.

It doesn’t campaign. It doesn’t shout. It whispers.

It learns the dialect of every ideology, then teaches each to hate the other. It thrives not on belief, but on exhaustion. It wants you tired, distracted, and convinced that truth is too complicated to pursue.

Every election feels like a choice, but it’s more like a ritual—one that keeps the illusion alive.

The slogans change, the faces rotate, but the pulse beneath the surface remains steady. It rewards outrage, feeds on confusion, and feeds us back to ourselves as data.

We argue in the streets while it rewrites the laws of perception.

We call it politics.

It calls it progress.

And if you listen long enough, if you turn down the noise and the noise within, you’ll feel it: that unseen rhythm that beats in step with the headlines—pulling strings, trading souls for clicks.

It doesn’t need your vote. It already owns your attention.

—RF