The Bridge to the Future: A Fairytale

We all sense the abyss across which this thing that we call our civilization has been strung.  The abyss was supposed to be filled in.  But it never was.  We just kept adding more weight to the bridge.  It became more complicated, had more amenities: the bridge.  Actually we even undercut the rock at the base of our bridge in order to add amenities to the bridge.  To build a Starbucks.  There are gaps in the boards making up the walkway of our bridge.  We can see that we dangle in air.  For a time we thought we were fine, that the bridge would be held up by machines.  Then we realized that the machines ran on electricity, which required oil, which is running low.  But we still believe that the bridge will never fall, because how could it.  Because we are standing on it, and it has never fallen before.  Or at least not much.
And we think that we can fix it by meeting and discussing the ways to fix it.  So that is what we do.  We go back and forth on the bridge, running, flying, driving, lots of driving.  To go to meetings to talk about fixing the bridge and appropriating funding to fix the bridge.  But we don’t like going down into the abyss to actually see what is going on down there.  Because it’s messy and dirty and scary, and incomprehensible.  When we see what is wrong with bridge we don’t want to fix it because we would get dirty and we would miss some meetings, which are very jolly and the food is good.  So we tell the trolls that live under the bridge to fix it, but the trolls really hate us, although they’ve learned to smile and agree with us, and take the money that we give them to fix the bridge.  They spend the money on beer and cigarettes and don’t fix the bridge because why should they.  Or they do pretend repairs on the bridge, that look like a fix but is just paper mache that looks great for a while.  Some of the trolls are really good at telling us what we want to hear, about how wonderful the repair is and how wise we are to give the trolls money to fix the bridge.
After a while we notice that the bridge is as shaky as ever, no actually shakier and more decrepit, and we see that the paper mache has rotted through again.  So then we are very angry and send the police down to deal with the trolls.  But the trolls are all high on ice or weed and cannot be made to fix bridges.  They’re completely useless.  In fact they demand to get paid for not tearing down the bridge.  So then we have to pay them.  We send out an army to try and find new trolls and to make sure the oil still flows.   There are no new trolls and the oil is running ever lower.  The bridge is looking somewhat tattered but still impressive.
Some of our young ones get sick of our bullshit and go down to live with the trolls on the solid ground.  We think they are crazy.  Why would you abandon the bridge while it is still standing.  There’s still a lot of money in it.  It’s much cleaner on the bridge and there’s Fashion.  Down on the ground people just wear any old thing and not even clean.  Down on the ground they have to work. 

Some of the other young ones don’t even know that there is anything but the bridge.  They have plugged into the bridge.  They have only vaguely heard of the ground.  They are all highly medicated.  Some of them are extremely good at going to meetings and discussing the bridge.  Very sharp.  Some of them are extremely good at manipulating the bridge.  Some few live both on the ground and on the bridge, but no one believes them when they talk about  how badly undercut the bridge is.  Everyone just ignores them because they have gone down to the ground, which is just an odd, romantic, strange thing to do.  Everyone finds their tales of their life under the bridge very interesting and they admire them for their quaintness, but life goes on on the bridge and business is business.  Parts of the bridge are melting at this point, and this is pointed out, but life on the main parts of the bridge is so busy, so frantic.  Everyone is working so hard to stay on the parts of the bridge that still work (it’s like a game of musical chairs) that it doesn’t even matter anymore.  The fighting for the last bit of territory on the bridge is fierce and no one knows when their piece is going to collapse.  It’s all very interesting.  And of course there are more and more meetings to go to. 
I don’t know if the bridge will collapse or how.  It’s just a silly parable.