BIMBO CABIDOG
You get the hang of the day scrolling on your social media wall for eight hours or more.
It’s called information (or in many cases, disinformation) overload. What is it
about?
Overload in information
or hogwash is same as having gobbled so much stuff from movie marathon viewing five
or ten films on a dogged weekend. While at it, you lose yourself to the
unnatural realm, disturbed calm.
You absorb the characters,
like you are they or they are you, especially the hero ones. You pack yourself with
self-identities more than you can be. Your brain groans about to puke.
The online newsfeed
churns an engulfing stream of thought that streaks into cognition, like rapid
rays from a laser gun: five-paragraph stories, chopped two-sentence narratives,
broken hugot (sentimental pull) lines, and short-phrased emotions out of the
irrational
The sum of the
whole stuns the brain dead with rude electric shocks. And as the laser assault
zeros on the core, and you give each of the status feed your energy of thought,
you sizzle out like a burnt gunpowder.
What havoc the technological
self-knowledge wreaks, rather than organize the mind. So much of it, you forget
where you stand and whirl into air. Then from a dizzying height, you swoosh down
to the horizon below like a deflated hot air balloon, with absurdly nothing inside.
From all the
characters that you wear, you now have to go back to the true you: momentarily the
identity of a terrified mortal noticing the ground approach at the speed of light.
It is you nauseated as the earth dances around you seeming to go out of balance
and smash.
Snap back very
quickly or you stay permanently… in nightmare dreamland. Escape from the painfully
banal world has been easy. But returning to real life is now about pushing frenziedly
the button of a remote commander to switch channel, but the battery is gone.
You have to be
where you were, back to friends and loved ones, and the familiar lanes and
byways of concrete being. You can’t suck forever from the bytes technology
processes. You cannot for so long keep getting informed by the virtual, until elan freezes in dream state.
So what the
hell is information? Understand that even the untrue can be information, for to
be simply informed is different from to get the fact. You may be told by a
piece of fake news that the president holds office in Mars. That by itself is
information, but utterly not the reality you can believe with what you use to
know.
Do you live
fully or more fully to have alternative reality make up for what life seems
short of? Or is it time now to pull off the technology plug? Do so. Stray out
of the daily grind. Get off the usual and expected. Tarry a while, look
elsewhere, and notice what you did not care to throw attention.
It may be a
wildflower in bloom on the roadside that you nearly even trample whenever you
walk to work, but finally behold in full splendor. It may be the young kid at
play that you eye every day, but do not look at. It may be their extraordinary
ordinariness melting your uncaring attitude that will realize what the full or
the good life truly is.
Do not be
technology-driven and slip into overdrive. Don’t give yourself a harder and
harder time to process the finest out of mundane experience. What is peddled in
the marketplace is not what you always have to buy, for actually the best
things in life are free.
Finally,
technology does not produce meaning from data, or wean facts from lies. It just
offers the confusion of following either way. It does not raise awareness to
the level of enlightenment, half-truths to correct assumptions.
Yes, it can
manipulate you to the road of perdition with wrong outputs from presumably
right inputs. Break out in no time at all from the slavery of conviction in its
superiority to life.
Better
sometimes are the uneducated, for they have this immune system against
technologized education. They regurgitate out of their mental digestive track its
alien falsities. They blow into the limbo of suspicion the feed that their mind
does not swallow, because it smells and taste a rotten lie.
No worse
turmoil the world may ever hatch than the addictive bowing of freely thinking
men to the unthinking machine.
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