Goodnight, dreamers — it’s time to wake up.

Utopia was built with flaws, though we called them features.
The cracks were structural; we filled them with stories,
with faith, with the elegant debris of reason.

We learned to look away — to mistake comfort for clarity,
repetition for truth. Our machines became mirrors;
our reflections, the measure of reality.

We call it progress. We call it light.
We have designed entire worlds to forget that they are designed.
Every system, every belief, every glossy interface —
another layer of sleep, another veil over the raw texture of being.

The human mind is a flawless mechanism for self-deception.
It translates chaos into order, fear into narrative,
and entropy into a form of beauty we can endure.

We are surrounded by our own inventions —
pixels, myths, identities, algorithms.
Each promises connection and delivers isolation
of an exquisitely personalized kind.

And still we dream.
Dream of progress, of freedom, of something pure behind the screen.
Dream of a future that will redeem the present.
Dream that the dream itself is not a failure.

Sleep well — the wise man sleeps,
and dreams he is awake.

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