Nothing is normal anymore. Not, that it ever was but we are now nestled in a time machine that keeps running out of a fuel. The abhorrent need to be validated and even celebrated on a scale that surpasses the ones whose slots need desperate replacements — has given birth to a mental complacency that is both troubling and bewitchingly nonsensical.
Back in the day when admitting my age didn’t give me heart palpitations — the need for speed and vital interactions was still being authored — the drips of what was to come seemed somewhat fulfilling in the simplicity of having some level of control. The art of communication was beginning to shift into the spectrum of exciting possibilities that invited a sense of adventure and avid coherency.
Progression should never be threatening or else why bother?
At first we were delighted with the size of the screens and the buttons that shifted on command. And then when bigger and sleeker came into view — there was a trust that expanded with each delivery. Now, we could effectively reach out to anyone at anytime regardless of where we were situated. The limits were like fairy-dust speckled on the frames of the instruments that threatened to link us to the endless possibilties.
Now, that my age exposes the dismal realization of how far we’ve come on such notice — there is every reason to believe that what was once normal was just a fallacy of assumption.
We were always going to be overrun and left for dead by the betrayal of all the facets that were composed to direct how we stray into the habits of raving lunatics or better yet — wild creatures seeking the carcasses of misguided users for nutrition.
Our daily intake of vitamins consists of a steady stream of un-consciousness that is plugged into the adaptors — shooting out homegrown scenes — that would ordinarily pinch at our nerves in a nagging way — but we’ve evolved into a species with outer layers that don’t succumb to how tragic images overcome our devices.
We can comfortably lay out in the sun as the ocean rushes ahead of us and witness the brutal assassination of another human being — and casually recommend that others rate or certify the goods before it becomes stale.
We have no issue with watching a toddler buried under a dresser as his twin brother feverishly tries to release him. In fact we are mesmerized by these moments to the point of worship as if the alter of confessions weren’t bloody enough.
The numbers don’t lie.
The situation has to be violent and downright death-defying in order for the filmmakers to not only capture hearts, likes, and retweets — but also the grand prize of being selected for TV shows and other media events that only viral stars can enjoy at the expense of willingly surrendering their humanity.
But, who needs to feel anything when you can hide under the fleeting moments of bliss — that verify your relevance on the basis of how well you upload, post and anticipate how many of us will aimlessly drift into the world you created.
A temporary abyss containing the evidence of why you are a righteously bad parent or a callous bystander who would rather watch with glee rather than risk it all for the glory of what would now be sadly categorized as “a daring rescue.”
Video killed the human race.
It was quick but not as sudden as we would have hoped. It began as a fun and interactive tool that meant no harm. It was just the answer to the exercise of providing commentary to the days of our lives that are worth securing as nostalgic references. You could energize pleasant conversations with visuals that enhanced the colorful adjectives in your tone.
Then, the landscape shifted into darker territory — a place that was scary at first, but has become dangerously familiar and even addictive. There is no need or time for descriptions, and the playbacks are disturbingly crisp in presentation as the subjects are vividly depicted in circumstances beyond their control — under the watchful gaze of faux documentarians and the audience on standby with gadgets that dictate the realiably mechanical response.
The days of music videos that gave us hour blocks of our favorite pop stars is over. They have been replaced with scripted voyeurism that films the devastation of dating strangers online or being caught in a deliberate recipe of chaos and mayhem.
In a society that tolerates the slideshow that includes toddlers watching adults bleed to death while strapped in the back seat of a car, or harrowing ceremonies that erect the horrors you hear about and hope to the God you serve — you never have to witness — being able to define what we’ve become is certainly a painstaking mission that is too frightening to attempt.
The one thing that is glaringly clear is that we are anything but human.