"Time flowed through the Mediaeval hourglass, but it was the same sand which flowed back and forth from one globe to the other. On the circular clock-face, time sheds its seeds and never returns. An irony of forms: the new spirit took its form from a dead reality, while the bourgeoisie is wearing the death of time, specifically the death of its time, in its wrist-watches as in the cheap finery of its humanist woolgathering, both of which appear cyclical."

Raoul Vaneigem, The Revolution of Everyday Life (Chapter 22: "The Space-Time Of Lived Experience")

The mind - fed inverted realities - will deal with what it has. Further, an organism will try to cope to exist - and will seek to survive anywhere when it cannot get all the oxygen of authenticity it needs for a realistic conclusion.

Picture an experiment: enforce the wearing of tight hats and inversion glasses, make the release of tension convoluted,  regulate alkalinizing minerals and seratonin-balancing amino acids. Convince the experimentees that they are the experimenters and to embrace static social relations as the means to quality living, even though it's all in the numbers, Now watch the churning of organic "social" machines as they tear away the marvelous possibilities of here and now -- replacing them instead with hive-like drivel, hyperlinearity connecting dot-like egalitarian objects. They immerse themselves in recycled vision, deficited hope, banalized dream, misinterpreted time, deceiving space, objectifying equals, commiserating tolerance, self-enforcing scarcity, characterizing stasis, deifying  self-banalizing or rigid behaviors, degenerative dis-ease, self-spectating movements, ad finitum, ad nauseum. The symbols of themselves - these living dead - seek an expected stiff, understandably contorted escape into symbolic life -- futuristic aliens with honorable intentions, poly-reincarnating superstars, Captain Kangaroo and Mister Roger ghosts, interdimensional car salesmen of every variety bearing unquestionable logic regarding better deals yesterday and tomorrow -- reification haunts its point of production, alienation calls our name. Stillborn life is teething, gnawing. Authenticity scathed of its actuators finds reality only in the logic of before now and after now, because now is a bitter kiss. It is slow death and walking without feet. Examining the fetishes and symbols of inversion reveals the inversion but paying rent for it inverts and enslaves all the more. Images of a process are imaginary realities and understanding them as such concludes in a mass suicide, the bucolic plague, or social revolution. Now - that's a simple choice. There....