Follow the crowd, they said. It’ll keep you safe, they said. And here we are: a civilization built on the whispering echo of bad ideas passed hand to hand, like a cheap cigarette that no one dares refuse.
The crowd doesn’t think. It imitates. It congratulates itself for being busy while it drifts toward calamity with all the grace of a drunk in a revolving door. And you—oh, clever little you—attach yourself to it. You trust it more than yourself. Thinking for yourself is hard. It is terrifying and occasionally fatal.
Elections, naturally, are the crowd’s pièce de résistance. A thousand fickle, opinionated idiots pick their praetors, cheer them into office, and then scratch their heads when the same men proceed to lie, cheat, or steal. “Who could have predicted it?” they cry, as if the universe owes them foresight. No, the universe owes them nothing. The crowd owes them nothing. You owe yourself everything—and you’re too busy mimicking your neighbors to realize it.
Look around. The crowd is always defending its own idiocy. Every petty injustice, every moral compromise, every compromise of sanity is justified in chorus. It’s easier to shout “We meant well!” than to stop, breathe, and think. And worse, the crowd punishes dissenters. Step aside, judge for yourself, and suddenly you’re an alien, a threat, a heretic in the eyes of people who never opened a book in their lives but fancy themselves philosophers.
And yet, most of us still cling. We nod at bad decisions. We repeat them. We pass them along like poison sandwiches. It’s only when the flames lick our own ankles that we notice, too late, that the crowd wasn’t a guide. It was a predator.
The remedy is simple. Laugh quietly at them. Step aside. Judge for yourself. Make your own mistakes, your own spectacular, hilarious, avoidable mistakes. At least then you can enjoy the absurdity of it all rather than being flattened under the weight of collective idiocy.
Because the crowd will never notice its own foolishness. It will never learn. It will never stop. And if you stay attached, you will go down with it—screaming, outraged, and utterly unsurprised by the predictable horror of your own undoing.
The world belongs to those who are willing to stand apart. The rest? They get what they deserve.
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