I don’t mean to seem a pantheist in the padded-wall sense; but the idea is, for me, like an interface with existence, and for centuries it seems people have been cutting out interface elements, saying: this interface fails to give us completely accurate results, therefore we must cut it; and they cut and cut and cut until people are so totally isolated from the world, locked in their own heads, that they are forced to follow a kind of social circuit-path, and when they get to the switch they say yes or no, zero or one, and move as directed.
why do I feel some silent shame when referencing television, games, or any new medium? aren’t they works like any other? can’t they be filled with genius and spirit, perhaps more so, as the young have more life than the old.
but reality has the light of fantasy, or used to, before we stripped one from the other, brother from sister, parent from child; before these false prophets of the empty earth, before their new truth, and these new believers,
if you’re distracted, maybe you need distraction, for one reason or another
caricatures, shallow and artless, raised up as symbols of a better world; and artlessness is everywhere, more successful than ever
so eager to find evil, so bored, that we find it wherever we look: turning mistakes into tragedies
can we stop writing all these realistic fantasies? a contradiction in terms: a square peg in a round hole
the first generation teased with the world of the mind, let in the cold reality; I wonder what we expected from them?