In the age of cheap and fashionable technology, the dead no longer keep their secrets. The dead bombard the Internet with platitudes they parrot and banal media they upload. Their videos plead us to subscribe to their channels yet offer nothing of value, and their images plead us for validation yet offer nothing of interest. Everyone poses the same way and peddles the same tired slogans describing how unique they are. They become emotionally invested in vulgar, narcissistic celebrities and athletes. They clad themselves with arbitrary brand names completely unaware that they’ve morphed themselves into walking billboards. As this behavior reaps profits, society not only accommodated but normalized this specific case of delirium. Being a fanatic warped into being a badge of honor. Wrapped up in their tribe’s colors and logos, they’re oblivious to their uniforms turning into shackles. If our team loses, our irrational feeling of loss is commended. After all, we must prove our loyalty to a franchise or brand that never will and never should care about us. Regardless of any corporations’ sociopathic micro focus on the bottom line, the vicissitudes of the seasons and playoffs parallel our own. The spectacle of playing with balls takes precedence over making this place better for future generations. The dead are hopelessly compelled to feel a part of something but have a true stake in nothing.
Sprint To Nowhere
When the dead feel alone, twitchy, and squirmy, what do they do? They go be alone, twitchy, and squirmy somewhere else. They never look so lifeless as when they take a trip for leisure. Unabashedly snapping photos and purchasing useless mementos, they are actually destroying the enjoyment vacations claim to provide. Immersing ourselves in the experience degraded into consumption and preservation. The dead fail to recognize the futility in trying to preserve their experience. Identical to life, we strangle the experience in the attempt to immortalize it. Those who lift up their smartphones to film the fireworks or the big game are actually capturing their own death. They even upload their videos with an improbable wish in the back of their minds—that their death gains immortality. The dead don’t travel for the new experiences. They go abroad, eat strange food, watch strange performances, and participate in strange activities for the sole purpose of telling others of their adventure. The dead are also impressed with charity in exotic locations, because helping the poor in your own country isn’t nearly as ego stroking. Why are they devoted to suffocating their experience instead of living it? By going viral or at least receiving half-baked envious replies, they can rest assured that, for a moment, the positive reactions will quell their feelings of inadequacy. Although, the feeling, like all feelings and experiences, will be transitory, and the dead will have to share in vain once again.
No matter how vain the dead are, they still try to cast out evil by chasing their own shadows. Perhaps it is because they have not gotten to know themselves. When livid or self-righteous, going from twitching and squirming to flailing and thrashing, they become serial pointers. They recklessly place blame onto object after object after object. The dead being so accustomed to giving away their power, they’ve granted an overwhelming amount of power to these inanimate objects. Unbeknownst to them, the objects only reflect our state of mind as a species. This simple concept is why burning, banning, and hoarding objects reinforces our own self-induced, rabid slavery to these objects. The crux of the problem isn’t smartphones, video games, nor guns. These objects only boomerang the poison primarily held within our minds. Humanity’s job is not to travel and vainly profess how cultured we came to be, nor is it to destroy objects that cannot have any bearing on our minds unless we permit them to. Training our minds and purifying our spirits constitutes our job. This work is real and cannot be monetized. In this place, our monetary system riddles society with jobs designed to enslave and waste time, and work for the greater good is largely left incomplete. Ban objects from civilized society and we send a clear message to ourselves that we’re petulant children who aren’t disciplined enough to handle them. As a matter of fact, the dead are worse than insolent children. Not only do they lack the discipline to handle objects, they lack the courage to take a good, hard look at themselves.
Dreaming of the Womb
The dead lack the courage to embrace silence and solitude and without the filter of rationalizations and self-delusions, even listen to and let go of their own thoughts. In place of this behavior, they make lots of noise without ever saying anything. They compulsively cough up overenthusiastic, asinine comments toward anyone considered at least semi-attractive. They deconstruct the personal lives of others for an instant boost in self-esteem. Their words are wails of a child who just vacated a safe, warm womb. They revel in their awful stories describing how rebellious, interesting, and humorous they pretend to be and in simple ways, they feign compassion for others as a ploy to receive acknowledgment. If you feel insulted when someone doesn’t thank you after you bless them or when someone doesn’t return a nod or a greeting, have you not exposed your own hypocrisy? If someone doesn’t laugh at your contrived joke, is that the fault of the person whom you told? If your audience doesn’t participate enough for you, is that their problem or yours? Their poor attempts at humor and their over reliance on platitudes demonstrate how twitchy and squirmy they really are. Let us sit still and avoid letting them coax us into entertaining them. Idle speech eliminates any awareness we once thought we had. We really thought there was something to hold onto in life. Nevertheless, we could face the truth. We could also try the alternative that never worked—crawling up the vaginal canal. Isn’t that the essence of entertainment? Do we not throttle down our brains? Is entertainment not a wonderland of deception, the artificial recreation of the womb, a fantasy where war, starvation, and disease cease to exist? We must not slip into unconsciousness like the dead. We must stay vigilant. The seeds of blindness lie within all of us. We may be alive one moment but in the next, lulled asleep and fantasizing about the womb.