On the Loss of Organic Knowingship

On the Loss of Organic Knowingship:

                A few days ago I engaged in a conversation with a social media acquaintance. If social media is good for anything its eliciting impromptu conversation over a simple post, rehashed and overused quotes, silly video, or satirical memes. This old friend who was on my friends list but I didn’t really socialize with spontaneously became a beacon for philosophical and intellectual conversation. He posted a political meme, I commented, he replied, we discussed, he invited me over for a beer and cigars to solve the problems of the world in one night. This mechanical conversation is quite literally the longest I’ve ever had with him, yet I feel like I know him more than I know certain people that I associate with organically on a daily basis. Everyday conversation is so shitty. So fake. So automated. While it’s understood that we have private lives that we don’t want anyone to discover, it’s also true that we’ve lost so much natural contact verbally. This isn’t about the expression of emotions as a means to really know someone, it’s about the expression of thoughts and beliefs. It’s about who we really are and what we stand for. It’s about not hiding. It’s about being real. It’s about having true conversation with someone in attempt to actually get to know someone with that simple end in mind. Maybe not with the potential goal to make them lifelong or intimate friends, but at least keeping that as an open line.  

Modern Everyday Conversation:

                “Hey.”

                “Hey. How are you?”

                “Good, and you?”

                “Good. Have a good day”

                “You too.”

                Umm, really? This is what conversations consist of. Even more depressing: We pretend to care and be interested in the other participant’s response. I recall once instance in which I asked a person how their day was going, and before he even replied I responded: “Good.” What the fuck? That was subconscious and systematic. Going through the motions, if you will. That's when I realized just what a joke “knowing someone” really is. I said “good” because deep in my kind heart of hearts I didn’t give a two cent shit about how he was doing. God, I hope that’s not just me because if it is I’m a dick. Still, I see these people every single day. I talk to them every single day. Do I really know them? None of the conversations had with these people are idea based. They façade questions. Shield questions. Irrelevant questions. The answers to those questions are just the same. People don’t want to let people into what they really think or feel. It makes them intellectually or emotionally vulnerable. Too open. Too real. So we build walls around our minds and our hearts in attempts to keep them as safe as possible. This is no life. Life is letting people in. Life is getting hurt. Life is being made to look like an absolute retard and learning from it.  Life is being exposed. Be exposed. Be vulnerable. Be unshileded. Experience. "All you touch and all you see is all your life will ever be." After all, what is the purpose of a caged and sheltered life? 

                 

Zombie Survivor Environmentalist (Part 1)

The room smelled of raw sewerage and vomit. Signs of struggle decorated the walls and floors as broken glass became floor and blood became splatted wall paint. Deep breathing and panting became deafening in the face of otherwise utter silence and eerie calmness. Windows were shattered, furniture was crushed, objects were scattered. In the mist of this chaos there he stood... illuminated by thin rays of natural light fighting their way through wall cracks. He stood with his head held high. He stood with a smile. Admiring. Proud.

The strange man looked of about 30, red messy hair and beard, plaid shirt which at this moment was covered in dots and splashes of wet blood red, torn blue jeans, and brown boots. His right hand held a bat warped with barbed wire with chunks of flesh stuck within wide crevices. His left arm was adorned with deep scars, scabbed wounds, and fresh cuts all in clean lines following each other like standing dominoes. He looked up, closed his eyes, inhaled, then smiled a big smile. At his feet the deep panting was slowing. A body laid in front of him, head bashed in, blood everywhere. Next to the tiny body laid a helmet, two rugged firearms, a bag containing who knows what, and a book entitled: "The Human Race: A Waste." The red haired man waited as the breaths at his feet became fainter and fainter. He waited until the child exhaled his struggled last breath before he took a small knife from his pocket, added a line into his arm, picked up the bag, took from it a pack of gum from the front pocket, shoved it in his mouth, kicked the door open, and walked out.... Outside: A dead world. A zombie apocalypse................