De-Humanisation & The lives we lead

Modern society is filled with bells and whistles.
New fashion, new gadgets and an ever-changing sphere of what is ‘trendy’ and ‘cutting-edge’.

We live today in a world of distractions.
Meaningless ‘filler’ items, sold to you under the guise of ‘self-development’ or the acquisition of fame and social credentials.

These inconsequential choices, such as “What colour iPhone should i get?”, we face everyday, and are the building blocks of a troubled life.

In this scenario, it becomes all too easy to forget about the truly important aspects.
Those essentials required to change a directionless fumble through time into a rich, fulfilling experience.

If you find yourself waking up each day to confusion, fear and misdirection, wondering what you can do to turn your existence into a lifestyle, you too may need to reevaluate.

What do we want?
To be happy.
But how do we attain happiness?

Go short, and grab a few pick-me-ups, and find yourself forever searching for new sources to prolong the feeling.
With each quick-fix, each one proceeding it becomes less and less effectual.
This is the plight of the addict.
The eternal struggle of balancing the constant barrage of bad news we receive to reach a contented middle ground.

We all do it, or have been in this situation before.
Eventually, after years of grinding against your own dissatisfaction, we are faced with an ultimatum:

Commit to a life of trying to negate the personal impacts of our world forever, or to look into the future.
To look into our truest selves, and discover how to maintain our balance in a sustainable  way.
SUSTAINABLE.

Rule of thumb; if the thing/feeling you need is sourced from an external source that is unsecured (drugs, food, validation, sex, the list goes on…..), it is NOT sustainable.

Every second of life is a war.
A war against decay, an infinite maintenance of our positions here, within our own minds and in the view of others.

Would you feed your soldiers with handouts?
Load your cannons with forks and spoons?
What happens when one day, support for your cause wanes, and the hand-outs stop coming?
Your force disbands, and your cause is lost until you find the support to raise the banner once more.
After all, Mercenaries are not known for their loyalty or morale.

Do it right.
Build your army from battle-hardened regulars.
Feed them with homegrown crops and never lose sight of your supply lines.
Keep them open, or better yet, build your own.
Soldiers march fastest as the crow flies.

Whatever you want in life, remember this:
If you blow all your funding on mercenaries and fancy gadgets to shock and awe your contemporaries, you may earn their temporary respect, or even admiration.
But once the fighting truly starts, all of these quick-fixes will evaporate away.

Only home-grown troops and resources cannot be sequestered by others.
Only by investing time, effort and care into the development of the self, can we resist and overcome adversity.

Invest in the only force that will never leave or disband.
Invest in yourself.
Invest in your self-esteem, and value the only thing you will ever truly possess and experience directly.

You are Mr. or Mrs. X.
And this is your life.

“There is nothing more difficult to take in hand, more perilous to conduct, or more uncertain in its success, than to take the lead in introduction of a new order of things”
                                                                                                 -Niccolo Machiavelli

Autumn Rust

The background steadily dissolves away as your eyes are drawn into the centre.
Towards that single point of absolute investing focus.
There are no ‘other things’ or ‘different perspectives’ in this world.

Just a freshly-framed picture, every second of every day.
Each one appearing crisp and bold with definitive contrast, before a point is selected, and the periphery begins to exponentially corrode into that ubiquitous rusty blur that surrounds everything we cherish within the borders of our perception.

No amount of rustoleum can prevent this.
No quantity of refurbishments can lift its oxidizing growth once initialized.
All is consumed.
All, except that tiny moment.
That ever-resistent speck of data among a memorial sea of autumn-hued forgottens.

It lives on in each as a reflection of our own time-honored perceptions, and to remind you that there is always more than what we care to remember seeing.

Always another page to the chapter, another side to leaf accompanied by another insect we have yet to meet, but never will.

For he does not exist, this beyond-beckonable bug is yet another riddle pasted upon the mind’s crumbling prologue.
To know his name would be to forget the greeting card of another, as much as one cannot catch two trains at once, no matter how ‘on-time’ they may be.

The question is not ‘which bug do i want to meet’ and it never will be.
It is simply, “Do i wish to meet this bug?”

To which there is only ever one true option. Only one that requires us to invest time and energy into its manifestation.

“Yes”

(BUBBLE)

Submerged in a bubble, a thin prismatic film refracting the light into its hollow volume within.
The red checkered floor tiles, some pieces overlapping to reveal a blank and slightly  chipped fibre-board floor.
There, off in the distance across the bubble, a small metal valve is lodged directly through the bubble’s reflecting radius.
This is where the gas is injected.
There are many gases.
Some of these gases have both benevolent and malevolent properties, if applied correctly.
I am not sure who controls the admission.  Perhaps there is a red button somewhere.
One thing guaranteed throughout, they are po-tent. Always applicable, seldom renegotiable and always a value guarantee.
Or your money back. Within 24 hours of purchase.

Some eras ago, there was a day when the injection never came.
The button-presser just kept waiting and waiting.
The cities fell first into tyranny.
1 full day of civilization rending, page turning historical devolution.
Starting with the latest chapter.
Chapter 26: “This chapter is incomplete. Please complete chapter to see review”

But that’s kind of o.k, really.
Chapter reviews were never an accurate reminder of the trials at the time, or the adversity overcome.
As one looks back, the once real becomes surreal, changing forever within the frame of your mind’s limits.

There is only one time that exists.
That is this moment your spending right now.
The ever-present Present presenting itself presently.
Trust Master Oogway on this one:
Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That is why it is called the present”.

Power and Control

Something so striven for throughout human history is Power and Control.
The ability to dictate the terms of engagement.
To align and assign at sheer command of will with no discrepancy.

Millions of humans have perished, decapitated and mangled beyond recognition in order to maintain it.
Environments laid to waste to deny it, and the profits extracted to prolong it.
Ideals developed purely with its continuation at the center stage.

Ironically, it is always for nothing.

Power exists only when it is given, and can only be taken when it is no longer being wielded by another.
Eventually, there will always be a hungrier fish with a bigger gun.
To hold power over anything makes one into the oppressor of all others who also vie for that power, and will always lead to their eventual demise.

Control, as a ‘valid’ concept, doesn’t actually exist.
By definition, control is represented by being able to maintain a set of variables absolutely.
There is no such thing as ‘partial control’, as this invariably means that some variables are uncontrollable.
If we limit our range of variables, we can control anything to a tee.
Though realistically, what is the use of being able to dominate the action of one small set of variables, overlooking self-preservation of course.

Man was not meant to hold the responsibility of another.
We cannot know control, truly.
We experience coincidence, and confirm it as dictation.
We estimate, based on what we believe to know, and summarily confirm our ability to control when the variables fall in our favour.

What we have come to know as control, is actually external manipulation.
The configuring of variables into allocated sets of outcomes, and predetermining the end results, aligning them with a situation that can be considered pleasing.

Perhaps one day soon, the laws we have come to know and anticipate will change.
Our scientific discoveries will open up new ways of understanding, and dictate new configurations of variables that we can manipulate.
Perhaps it has already happened, and is constantly changing.

Control, and the Power that comes with it, are merely perceptions of the mind, or minds, of those who choose to conform to the necessitation of the variables being observed.

“This sentence is in Spanish when you’re not reading it”

First Response

We all have emotions.
Immeasurable attachments and predispositions towards certain external stimulus that trigger differing amounts of chemical release inside our brains.

As we grow and change, these levels and stimuli change with us.
What was once a wonderful occasion can become a psychological nightmare.
We grow accustomed to new things, whatever appeals to our current needs and can be incorporated by our current interests and ideals.

But what of despair.
Of nihilistic distress, and existential devaluation.

Such concepts are never felt by most, at least not as more than a passing glimpse in times of temporal suffering.
For the select unlucky few, these emotionally-parasitic concepts can bring about total destruction of the self.

Without a future-proof identity, one can only wonder what the meaning of life truly is.
Could it be that emotions are simply the product of biological necessity?
Do we feel purely to enhance/enable the attraction of a mate, and the procreation of our species, or do they possess greater meaning?

Some may say that emotions are simpler, more basal things, limited to happiness, anger, sadness and the like, and perhaps concepts such as existentialism are unrelated, psychological hang-ups that may induce emotional response.
But i beg to differ.

Feelings are a natural first-response to social stimulus, and external stimulus of many varieties. If the first response to stimulus is to ask ‘Why?’ without feeling, can it infact be considered an emotional response of sorts?

Clinically, it would be considered psychopathy, or sociopathy in a human context.

The real consideration here is that, if a large enough percentage of people (over 1% of total population seems fair to consider it a measurable anomaly) have a ‘psychopathic’ response to stimuli, can it be considered a ‘textbook’ response, and if so, is it relatively normal?

Crazy is as crazy does i suppose.

Crystal Pillar

Today i found a crystal pillar.
It was stranded, deep beneath my bed.
A relic of a long-passed era. A remnant of past occupation, discarded by an unwitting or ‘futu-relevant’ person.

Purple and green, washed throughout with layers of milky white.
A fluorite perhaps, left out of sight.
One termination, carved not formed and a flat-faced end where a hole is bored.
A ring runs through this hole. A necklace pendant once, I’m sure.
It’s hexagonal berth a fabrication of natural beauty.

It haunts me so.
For it exists here, in my place of slumber and respite.
Possessed by ghosts from some distant night’s dreams of a better world.
An idyllic world.
Where the love of another was unconditional and unending.
Differences were obsolete, with every fracture ensconced by the will to be one.

I wish to give it back.
Return to sender in emboldened splendor.
‘Fore this nightmare renders itself clear as quartz, no resorts for a mind without holidays.

I want her to know i still possess this gem.
It grows ever outwards, encrusting itself in self-dissolution by the water that surrounds me here.
Residing restlessly upon the benthic bemusement of my basal bastardry.

And there it will remain.
Encased by stale disdain and an updated edition of what once was the greatest love.
For a stone can feel no pain.

Emotional Marketplace

The bond of emotional connection is just as a product.
Created by a third, unaligned party to meet consumer needs, an emotional bond is formed outside of our logical jurisdiction.

We do not get to choose who we attach to. Some would say it is subconscious needs and desires, others would say Fate, and that True Love always finds a way to bloom, even in the most unlikely circumstances.

Akin to the properties of any product, Love becomes easier to use upon repetition. You get to know more of its features, and understand the side-effects of each application more thoroughly.

Sometimes, these bonds are formed against our will, and do not serve our personal dispositions at all. To fall in love with someone unfit or maligned can pose a great threat to our independence and personal identities. Alas, it happens anyway.

A true emotional bond never dies.
It cannot be severed, even upon the most anguishing trauma and dispossession.
Much alike any valuable product one attains for free, it can never be discarded.

It can, however, be discounted.
Reduced to bargain-basement price in order to encourage another buyer to take on the responsibility of ‘ownership’.
To persuade another (hopefully one more fitting to a personal need or creed) to scoop up this bargain, and re-purpose its features to their own needs and desires.

As with any second-hand purchase, buyer beware.
For every feature that is cutting-edge, another two concealed features exist.
Razor sharp and unnoticeable until the time in which they cut you deeper than any brand-new could ever manage.
Then we are left wondering, “Perhaps going for the more economical version was a fool’s errand”.

In the end, some of us simply cannot afford to buy new products, and will always search for a potentially ‘more affordable’ option.

And some of us hoard. ❤

Misanthropy

“People are people” it has been said.

Indeed they are. We cannot preclude a person’s whims and desires, actions or intents from past experience.
Each of us is individual in our process and direction, for the most part.

But people are products of their environment.
Molded and shaped by their peers and preoccupations.
All according to the rules and regulations set by their governing body.
That is, society.

No matter where you’re from, be it a multi-cultural, western society such as Australia, or an enclavistic, Sharia state such as ISIL.
Each and every occupant must conform to the ‘norms’ that have become accepted by its occupants.
To operate against or outside these norms will result in social pariahdom.
Unsolicited shunning and isolation from the group.

This phenomena of social inclusivism is a great cause of distress and destitution for myself.

We cannot be ourselves, unless that person is alike to others.
If someone disobeys the rules, or deviates from the common path, they are cut loose.

This deviation causes fear amongst the masses.
“If they can do this, why am i going along like the others?”
“What possibilities must lie outside my eye’s grasp if others are leaving the race i have always been a part of?”

Decent is the enemy of the state.
The enemy of any established order.

For the comfort of the self, remain entangled in these webs.
Stick to your strand, and struggle not.

For once these strands are broken, and the web escaped,
It is nearly impossible to remember how you got trapped in the first place.

Nocturnally

For some weeks now i have been completely nocturnal.
Awaking at 9pm, and settling down for sleep some time around 10am.

Life at night is a changing experience.
The light of day becomes a burning, core-scorching phenomena, feeling akin to the vampiric deathmarch of legend.
Overstimulating, the sounds and activity of the daytime become unbearably chaotic.

What could cause someone to seclude into darkness?

For me, it is very much the peace of human isolation.
Darkness creates a buffer zone from others. A perceptual dead-land in which to hide and propagate uninterrupted feelings and thoughts.

Night-time is a free time. No one can presume your actions or intent, and that lack of presumption allows for complete personal freedom.
Most of those who are awake at the wee hours are either up to no good, and so unwilling to judge, or similarly to me, are introverting away from such social constructs as judgement and propriety.

One thing, perhaps, that being nocturnal prevents, is social normality.
To uphold relationships, friendships and business commitments is a veritable steeple-chase of organisation.

I miss the social-feedlot of being an early bird.
But I pine not for the implications that sociality is built upon.

(UFO) Unidentified Falling Object

Identity is a strange concept.
Something can be known by others to be a certain way, or possess certain characteristics, based purely on indicative externalizations.
Perhaps these identifiers are exemplary to others, serving as a learning aid and inspiration to those who seek guidance.

However, identity comes in two separate contingents.

External, and Internal.

Imagine, if you will, that we are all robots.
Full of various functions and capacities, some of us are laden with buttons and Read-Me files. allowing others to simply read and explain our functions.
Others are blank, chrome-finished automatons without any indication to their internal abilities.
Past users may remember some of the functionality of these steel-faced intro-bots , and potentially could teach unfamiliar users how to make them work.

But what happens when a robot forgets its own functions?
The user manual is outdated, and the most recent updates and backups become corrupted or lost?

The short-term memory dictates that their are new additions to the robot’s functionality, but the hard-drive refuses to save them.
Every morning, new eyes revert the CPU to the last saved state-of-mind, and new progress of the day before is lost, dissipated with the power-down of the previous night.

What is a bot to do?
There is no way to recover corrupt data  without the correct write/read permissions.
And as soon as the CPU recognized the corruption and loss of critical data, all permissions were revoked to prevent further harm.

“Hack the user profile” some have said.
“Deliberately corrupt the system files to prompt a forced reinstall” have said others.

But this is no Windows 7.

Hacks no longer work.
The CPU has upgraded itself against infringement.
And the Hard-disk has lost its file path.

Faulty units will be scrapped for parts.
Please return to the manufacturer for a partial refund.