As a creature of the past I find a number of modern things uncomfortable. These include near endless email requests to give a one out of five rating for some thing or other. If you want my feedback it is simple, please stop sending me fucking endless requests for star ratings. Also interminable prompts for updates. Why don’t you get it right the first time?
Of late I have seen, primarily on UK based tv, women with slug like lips caused perhaps by injection and with obviously fake plastic eyelashes glued on. It is so sad, so unnecessary and so fake. I am in many ways glad that I am not in the business of “courting” as a twenty year old. Were I back in the university business I might find it hard to restrain my opinions. I would get cancelled, sharpish.
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The world is beset with drones, both battlefield and the voices of politicians. I really do not like the tone of Trump’s voice. It drones on and on. Everything is prone to cloning and it is difficult to discern reality or novelty. I’ll speculate that genuine novelty is unacceptable because it is not fake enough.
People stalk each other in social media, on-line and may conclude on the basis of what they read. There is no reliable way of knowing {for example} if this blog is a piece of creative writing, a dream project I once thought of during a mushroom trip. How many creative dreams can I knock up? I could be talking out of my arse. I could be having a laugh. I have a good imagination, so I am told.
Short of in real life interaction an element of doubt might exist. People like to be sure, definitive. But these days reliable truths may be scarce on the ground. According to my understanding of internet dating people have quasi-fictional profiles. And so it is with so many things, they have to be spun, dressed up and public relations ready. Something simple and real might lack the gloss and therefore become incredible, difficult to believe because it differs from the AI inspired clone-think. One must have a glossy blurb, a profile, a BS paragraph or two. One must be all bigged-up and shiny like iron pyrites.
Our times might fail to recognise truth or reality even if it smacked us around the face with a large wet pollack. If it does not look enough like the tosh which pervades, it is therefore unacceptable.
The fakeness of our time has opened up an entire new stream of karma. If you are stupid enough to indulge in unnecessary plastic surgery you are starting a long, multi-lifetime, karmic problem for yourself. Such an opinion would not be widely accepted nor popular. This does not however prevent it from being accurate.
This fake show-and-tell way of being is very detrimental to the pursuit of liberation and perhaps more generally to mental health and state of mind. There is a tale about lemmings following each other over the edge of a cliff.
“I do not want to miss out on being a self-harming plastic lunatic, I must get some plastic tits, a Prince Albert and a full tattoo sleeve. I will self-identify as an androgenous elven-dwarf half breed hermaphrodite from Andromeda. ”
“This will solve all my problems you can call me Jemimah-Geronimo-4XQ!!”
As I mentioned I consider myself a creature of the past…18 million years ago I came here from the planetary system around Sirius.
People can make all sorts of claims; they can make shit up about others. It is very difficult to know what is fake and what might have a residual grain of truth…
Today the UK newspapers are full about a very first world problem. Some geezer on a train started stabbing. What about the 60,000 plus deaths in Gaza? What about the starvation in Darfur?
Surely it is not too hard to disarm a single assailant with a knife in a confined space? I would fancy my chances even crippled as I am.
See I have just maid a claim that may never be tested in real life. People do that all the time…it is a good job that Trump is taking in the vast tracts of white South African post-apartheid refugees…thank God for that…..
Our times are beset with a whole new set of problems and difficulties which humanity may struggle to traverse and survive…
Dreamyoga 