I suppose it goes with the territory. Look at what we are doing ... conversing on a regular basis with people we've never met and likely never will through a medium most of us, unless we happen to be geek hobbyists, have no idea how they actually work. There are people out there living their entire lives in ratty pjs glued to these little boxes sharing their most minute life details with complete strangers. Points for the most heartfelt, the most revealing of minutae, the most ingenious command of links to others firmly locked into the same pizza delivery lifestyles, when at its most pronounced means what? Based on the global popularity of this particular manner of survival, it reveals a tragic longing for connection to others that is obviously absent in their 3-D. We've always known this at heart, but paid little, if any attention to whatever we might do to change it in our own 3-Ds. It may be that serious external change is impossible in these times, the imaginary neon lights beckoning from every angle, every waking minute, something like living on the Las Vegas strip if it were physical, so that you can not escape the pressure of your zeitgeist even if you try with every ounce of energy, the very impulse to indulge, for the most part, inescapable, the life blood of the New World pumping through every little person heart because ... because that is all there is. That the controls manufactured specifically for managing overpopulation make casual conversation, normal courtesies and compassion very close to impossible, thus the out of all control populations revert enthusiastically to the fantasy of connection through invisible mediums, except they blotted out all the really good stuff that makes life beautiful. The individual desire for attention has gone into overdrive, the unmet narcissism of the lonely Human Being has no time for, or memory of, the real person behind the written word. And while all those fonted words of temporary, inanimate connection produce a brief semblance of reality, the acknowledgements pale in comparison with the real thing. They bear numerous, serious and cautionary downsides.
The worst of them being the unknown chorus line accompanying electronic reality. Behind every feeling put into binary code await uncountable chorus lines ready to parachute into your authentic life in ways least expected. I'm saying this must be part of the draw. When the false meets the real, the narcissistic ego is assuaged as a three prong plug meets the socket - snap-pop-bingo. Its a step up, closer to something intense (whatever that is), greater leaps of fantasy are taken, after which 3-D hardly matters. Of course, considering the common state of 3-D, it makes a sort of secondary logic the individual would desire retreat into imaginary communes of supposed agreement.
One day, not too far from today, these electronic mediums will be directed towards their final purpose. Cyberwarfare will replace all ground and air wars. Its already happening. It is backwards now, too expensive, too contagious and unwieldy to use in full today as it will be used eventually, but great highways of inroads are being made by the hour. Why wrangle with the problems and expense of F35s when any resource-laden nation can be brought to its knees through cyberwarfare? Eventually it will become the weapon of choice and all the little bloggers, tweeters and effingbookers clogging up the bandwiths will be phased out by stray variants of worms and hacks. Not only will it be a self-defeating exercise to manage your add-ons, heh, how many of us actually know how to stay clean of the as yet unknown electronic diseases still in the womb? Busting the little people's small pleasures will be immeasurably easier than lining us up to take seriously manufactured stupidity.
Back to the chorus lines. Recently, I was kind of shocked into recognizing the sea of humanity's Dagwood and Blondie grouping into simpleminded sectors of black or white mass opinion. As I thought at the time, the first episode was a feeler. An how far can we go feeler. Apparently, we can go VERY far. Everything one might type or dictate into the electronic medium of their choice is food for the black and white chorus lines of mass opinion. This is but a stage my friends, a training exercise for tomorrow's plot line. In the future, whatever overpopulation does on an individual basis will be accompanied by choirs of opinion, long lines of faceless, disembodied people you've never met and never will, speaking to you through multiple devices as arms and hands in text stretch out in unison coercing you to feed them what it is they want. And how do we know what they want? Whatever we feed them will be twisted to suit what they already think because they don't really think, they adopt what they've admired from afar and use it as nourishment for their own pathological needs. This behavior is a sideshow mirror of the courts of our current justice system replete with prosecution, defense, judge and jury, as if a "crime and criminal" were identified and opinion camps firnly established. It is just-us after all. Who are we fighting, who are we defending today?
Before I had the rockbuggy, my beloved V8 was smashed. I was forced into battle with the offender's insurance company. Of course, when something like that happens, my first instinct is to be done with it, but it immediately turned into a full time job because not only was I dealing with several different agents, I was dealing with Godzilla, the insurance industry's computer system that decrees your fate. The cast of characters grew by the hour, from the state, to storage at the tow guy's holding facility to insane repair estimates. I came to realize each massive industry out there has its chorus lines, the required-by-law parades of needy, greedy hands all screaming "gimme gimme" and all of them in full ignorance of the victim's plight. And let us not forget the byproduct groupies these TBTF industries spawn such as the underground parts market or the hot, slimy breath of municipal auctioneers. Doesn't it make you wonder WTF is gonna happen when the states' agencies are mandated into health insurance exchanges? Geeze amighty.
Enough of that for now, I am merely bringing to your attention certain evidential fallout one may not have grokked was included in Mayan Prophecy that is actually in full bloom as we speak. The artisan carvers of prophecy obviously were mistranslated as lost and foreign languages in metaphor often are. Sybil whatshername told us that much as did Condoleeza concerning Ahmadinejad's poetic letter writing skill. If you were keeping up with this blog in 2012 and earlier, you would have seen it too. The whole year of 2012 spelled itself in bold, you had to be institutionalized to miss it, TEOTWAWKI. Another part generally misdiagnosed is the Prophecy's exponential power over the immediate and going forward. Take heed.
Open your eyes, take a clean reading, unplug for a month and see how you feel. Concentrate on what you personally can do to love more, help more, SEE more, be more receptive to the Forces of truth that are always there guiding us. You will never hear them as long as you are cursed with the motivation of feeding your dis-ease in the netherworld's underbelly of cyber-genergated opinion modification. Look at your actions: Every action has a reaction. Every re-action is then multiplied until it becomes another mass moron behavior acceptable primarily to the actors and their fawnng, hungry chorus lines.
Missing neil, irreplaceable, genuine, deep, so real his pictures perfectly match the man envisioned. How fortunate we were to have him among us for that little space in time before he returned to Pandora. We want to say "Take us with you."
