G. and the Input Blitz

Your right hand reaches into the pocket of your jeans, and emerges from the denim depths with a house key. You walk out that door, turning around only to secure your sanctuary with the jagged piece of metal. Nothing unusual. Yet. Where the story goes from here depends on who the protagonist is. You might be walking to a bus for another mediocre day at generic public school #101. A car seat might we waiting for you to insert your weary behind on it for another day at work. If your about thirty something, and your waking up after a long night of drinking cheap supermarket beer at your parent's house, I just might slap you. If I could. I'm only the narrator. Anyways, it's not about the destination; the journey is where it's at. What's so special about commuting to work, or walking to school, or hiding in a bat cave waiting for the night shift? Well, nothing. Nothing to do with you; but what's around you. Input.

It's everywhere! In the newspaper. Your cough when you realized you forgot to vacuum. All the engine lights going on when your car starts. Advertisements, crying babies, guy in chicken suit, honking madman in the next lane; it's too much to process!?!?

That is, if we process it. Because we don't pay attention to any of that now do we? If we did, we would be a tier above normal crazy. That's because we don't pay much attention to our surroundings any more. And why would we? There's a far better place to hang out; our own minds. And hence the Input Blitzkrieg means nothing... or does it?

What does it mean to live in a state of perpetual dreaming? To live real life on auto pilot. When a person dreads waking up the next day. When the bus ride to school is one of irritating sleepiness. Auto-pilot is great for when the pilot of your commuter plane gets amnesia and no one has experience with a Microsoft Flight Sim. It's a horrible way to live.

Any rational person would say that survival has to be placed above all else. But is the sacrifice of the fire in your soul worth the kind of life that seems to mean little more than a dead man walking? There's so much input, so much hidden in our surroundings. To forever live in our own heads, instead of experiencing what's outside of it; that's real suffering. A mobile jail cell; one that many of us have put ourselves in, willingly or not. The only way to escape? To bring life back to the soul.

Sorry for the little delay with this post. Please, if you've got an opinion on any of my thoughts here, I would love to hear it.