Something is wrong. Technology is beginning to feel evil to me. In the same sense that money may be viewed as evil; meaning it’s giving us greater opportunity to destroy ourselves.

I feel as though I’m disconnecting. Drifting deeper into a void of flippant words, haphazardly injected into my conscience through lifeless text with no tangible substance to tie to existence.

I would much prefer to write this down than type it on this tablet via simulated keypad that frequently disregards my touch and intent with words and wording. Autocorrect and misinterpreted thumb presses have me doubting my abilities to produce coherent sentences that properly convey my thoughts. The problem is that I just realized I don’t own a single piece of lined paper. These words don’t even really exist as words. They’re just a bunch of zeros and ones posing as letters when I look at them. I don’t necessarily trust that my intent is being fully conveyed and stored in this attempt at expressing myself through the use of an agreed upon form of language known as English. Do you know how many two,  three, and four letter words I’ve had to correct or let Autocorrect correct just to get this point in this rant? Too fucking many. Words I know I know how to spell, but I keep on having to have my attempts at spelling them corrected because of the method of input technological advancement and my eagerness to advance along with it. I’ve not used a single word or turn of phrase that should warrant me meticulously proofreading this before I post because I’m not inept at writing. So I won’t proofread this. Because I never had so many fucked up sentences in anything I’ve written since I learned how to spell words before I started depending on a fucking computer screen to function as my writing utensil.

Yes, I am actually very upset about this. I’m upset because I’m actually starting to question myself on things that I feel are entirely too fundamental for me to be questioning as 31 year man that can clearly remember when he never proofread anything and rarely ever had anyone tell him later that he made a mistake in his spelling. And it’s even worse when you research to make sure you know how to spell the word correctly and this fake ass keyboard STILL ends up fucking it up. Infuriating.

I shouldn’t be this frustrated at the writing process. I LOVE writing. But this is a tangent I could frustrate myself with trying to express on this horrendous ass device for hours. So back to the original point.

This “electronically connected” movement is starting to feel like it’s nothing more than a means to dehumanize one of the most fundamental aspects of human existence; social interaction. We are not connected to others via tweets, texts, message boards, Facebook statuses, or even FaceTime (or any other videoconferencing technology). NOTHING can come close to actual face to face human interaction. Nothing. Consultants whose job is to help businesses be better at communicating will flat out tell customers that no form of communication is remotely as effective as face to face communication. No form of communication can provide as complete a message as face to face communication because most of communication is not the words. And every time you reduce the information that accompany the words, you drastically reduce the effectiveness of communication. Most of what passes as communication in electronic settings is only words. Disconnected. This is not communication at its sincerest. Not even what I’m writing now. At least I’m aware of that.

I miss writing on paper because it has elements of face to face communication embedded in it. You can observe the weight of the pen stroke instead trying to interpret what words in caps lock signify or guessing what it means when there are three question marks instead of the normal two for that person (if you’re even sure they’re actually asking a question). I guess that could still be an issue with handwritten things, but I personally associate writing things with hand with trying to spell and punctuate with as much care as I’m able.

I don’t think I like how much is out there to judge a person by.

We all judge. If you say you don’t, I judge you to be a liar or almost completely mentally disabled. I think people are afraid of judgment because judgment and punishment have become one and the same in most people’s minds. They aren’t. You still have to do both separately, though usually one after the other in a consistent order. Everyone has the responsibility to judge. The right to punish is quite another matter. Most people don’t have that, though that may not stop them from trying. There is a power in naming your fears. There is a danger in giving your fear the wrong name. If you fear punishment, be clear with yourself and others that this is the case. There isn’t much point in fearing what you cannot control. Judgment is  uncontrollable so there are things to be judged.

People don’t think things through. People can’t think everything through. Not completely. We have limited capacities for basically everything, so there’s no reason to believe thinking things through should be the exception. We are designed to be fallible. It’s in our nature. It’s gonna happen. We constantly present others with information for them to judge us by. It’s how life works. It’s how communication works. As I said before, this electronic form of communication lacks so much of what is important in communication. Yet it’s so convenient that it causes plenty of people to communicate things to an audience that they normally wouldn’t communicate such things to if given a choice. Flippant words haphazardly injected into my conscience. I do it, too and I’m sure it’s not helping.

I’m not trying to start an exodus from Twitter, Facebook, the comments section on news articles, etc. I’m not even gonna try to wrap this up neatly. I’m just complaining. I plan on doing something about it for myself. The rest of you can do whatever feels right for you to do. Duh.

While you fight your inner demons the ones that care can see your inner being, glowing. A treasure. Is it comfort or pain knowing, you can expose yourself, whenever? And when you open will you still be able to hold yourself together? Is that even the goal then? Is your universe a still lake or is it flowing? How many barriers would you create to try hold it? How many carriers is it gon take to bring it all back in? Who’s strong enough to take on that task without collapsing? Who you gon trust to even try to help with all that, then? Are you really and truly as solitary as you imagined? Who’s really ruling? You’re barely yourself, let alone Lord and master. You gon bury yourself probably. A suicidal zombie with brain cancer. You can look inside for the answers but what you hear when you listen, all of existence whispering enchantments. Singing the truth like an anthem. It’s only us in the end. Minuses, pluses, and Ns. The only thing that makes a difference is space. Come closer, then. Let us embrace.

And so you disconnect by burying yourself in the world. And everything is good.
Until the world introduces you to someone that yanks you back to the surface and you’re forced to deal with your place in it. You’re faced with sensations that couldn’t penetrate to the depths you’d found.
You’re like a teenage kid, freshman year of college. First time drinking with no concept of moderation. Things are cool initially. The buzz is appealing. So you indulge. Next thing you know, the world is operating on a strange set of rules you’ve never encountered before and your struggling to cope. Functionality is a guessing game.
And if you’re lucky enough to not blackout and hurl all over yourself, you’ll still have to deal with punishment of the hangover. Your body attempting to reconcile the new crap it’s been introduced to the previous night. Headaches. Pounding headaches. Every movement is a test and you fail miserably each time. The slightest noises are elevated to deafening levels. Thinking is a stab in the brain. Right behind your eyes. Right above your temples. Somewhere deep in the middle of your brain. Hypersensitivity.
Then, just when you think your life has devolved into the sine and cosine in the bassline of the most excruciating EDM song ever created… Silence. Normalcy. Your body mass made its case.
And then you’re ready to go get drunk again.
And then you learn to deal.
And then it becomes normal.
Problem is, now you’re an alcoholic. And that is a problem, right?
My first time falling in love was like my first time getting drunk. Will everything that follows traverse a similar path? I hope not. A tolerance for love and pain sounds just as bad as being an alcoholic.
No idea what to do about it, though, since I’m gonna try for it again. Chasing the feeling. Fucking fiend.
Such is life, I guess.








This is helping me tremendously right now and I hope by posting it on my tiny, severely underutilized blood it will help others

As we advance, so we decay.
He that I am will not live past the day.
The joys of tomorrow diminish yesterday’s sorrow
the losses of today to future victories give way.
The love that once thrived may wither and die
but new love will soon spring on its grave.

The loss can be glory if better you find
but if progress is just forward, you may shed the divine.
You may lose all your morals in pursuit of the facts.
The hunt for perfection, who leaves not a track
may lead to a life where happiness lacks
And all that fulfills you may never come back.

Be weary, not timid
When deciding your moves
Think thoroughly, not long
Who you are, what you do
Assess what you carry
What you’ve lost and have gained
When dissatisfied do not feel ashamed
Instead steel yourself and resolve to correct
For going back and not forward can still be progress
Fate is but shackles if thought by the mind
That sees forward as destiny but notices no sign
Of left, of right
Of up, of down
Of backwards, of still
Of all that surrounds

How can perfection
For which he so sought
Ever hope to be detected
By one so lost?
So deceived by the darkness
Conjured by his own mind
That in a world without limits
He perceives but one line

Stayed by the word. Stuck by the silence. Prayed to be heard. Struck by the violence. As such, I’m just surviving. Justifying the persistence of love in the midst of the crying. Break the grip of denying it’s just a bad trip. Nothing clicks or quite slides in. Youngin’, reality bites. Pierces. Punctures. Long nights, longer days. Piece of my mind has malfunctioned. Peace of mind released my mind. Chaos in my playhouse. Plays out like a seance. Old ghosts and new spirits. Speak the emotion as I feel it. Who’s dearest to your heart but couldn’t care less? Whose fear made your fearless attempts just seem careless? Who cares? After all, you’re still there, kid.


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