Tag: reality

  • The virtual reality of life

    There is no line between virtuality and reality. Any line that you thought existed was simply a deception of your own mind. Online platforms give us the ability to escape our real lives under the guise of anonymity to the point where we identify ourselves as a url and assume that that is sufficient to justify our deceptive nature.

    Living a lie, be it online or in real life, is still living a lie. At no point is it acceptable to live by differing standards of morality because doing so lays the foundation of insincerity that will contaminate the flesh and blood relationships that you have. It feeds the same morbid self-indulgence that drives us to deceive those we’ve allowed into our personal space. If your online profile is vastly different from your real life behaviour, you’re fooling someone, and in all likelihood, that someone may very well be yourself included.

    People that are trusting are dismissed as gullible, while people that are insincere are accepted as normal. This is truly a case of us focusing so closely on the form that we miss the essence of what we’re doing. Escapism is entirely possible without misleading others. It’s easy to cry victim when we’ve been misled, but almost impossible to see our own deception for what it is simply because we’re looking to defend our actions and explain the context rather than appreciating that hiding behind masks is as detrimental online as it is in real life. 

    If you still believe that it is justifiable to hide behind masks online, then be clear about one simple truth that seems to elude many. Sincerity dictates that you are always clear about what is fictional about you and what is real. Whether this is online or not. Sincerity doesn’t come with qualifiers or disclaimers, nor does honesty. Any actions that I have recently defended or objected to online I will do so again, despite growing evidence that I may have been wrong. 

    In a world of spin doctors and politicians, and masses that despise them but aspire to operate like them, I choose to be the naive idiot that sits with egg on his face because others were more adept at seeing the reality of deception rather than trusting others the way they yearn to be trusted. For every single time that I assume the worst or treat with unfounded suspicion the actions of others, I warrant, justify, and invite the same for myself. 

    I may be cynically jaded about life, and entirely sceptical about people, but I will never use my life’s struggles to justify the blatant manipulation of others under the context of “they should’ve known better cos everyone else does it as well.” Regardless of how accurate or inaccurate my observations may be of others, who I am relative to how I live will always remain a constant, either on equal footing that leads to wholesomeness of purpose, or on unequal footing that will lead to chaos in my soul. 

  • Happy Damned Birthday

    Birthdays have always been an ominous occasion for me. I can never find a reason to celebrate because of the stark reminders carried by such a milestone. I’m certainly a glass-half-empty kind of person when it comes to this, probably because my glass full of life just got emptier at the passing of yet another year.

    I’ve been obsessed with this image of a long curve or arc that symbolises time stretching inversely across the horizon with only the very tip of its apex brushing the soil. And that single moment of its brushing represents my entire lifetime in the context of the universe, making me realise exactly how insignificant my existence really is.

    And this is not even close to my birthday, which incidentally has ceased to hold any significance for me, be it joyous or otherwise. It really has faded into just another day, because it has never changed the condition of my life in any way except to serve as a reminder that I’m supposed to take a moment to benchmark my life against others that have grovelled for as long as I have.

    We’re all beggars. Some just more dignified than others. Who is not begging for happiness or contentment, wealth or comfort, companionship and fame? At our weaker moments we morbidly acknowledge this, but when the memory of pain subsides, such realisations are discarded in favour of feelings of false elation. Forgetfulness is probably our greatest gift and mercy. Imagine the pain of a life that bore the intensity of the memories of every moment of distress or destitution? 

    Oh yes, birthdays…I hate those. It’s supposed to signify the passing of another year, when in fact it’s just the passing of yet another day. Just another day, with more significance attached to it than anyone could ever justify. How I despise the feeble-minded that define themselves by such whimsical milestones!

  • If I had it my way

    Bipolar Disorder would be called Bipolar Personality. You could be so colourfully delightful if you just weren’t so extreme.

    Obsessive Compulsive Disorder would be renamed as Obsessively Impulsive, since chances are good that you’re mostly giving in to impulse and ignoring reason because at times we all feel like we don’t give a damn, and that perfection must be worshipped.

    Schizophrenia would be something like Spurious Mania, because we all have those inclinations to want to role play and act out our fears and hopes in unrestrained proportions, but some of us don’t because we’re shy and introverted, and others don’t because they have other ways of expressing themselves more creatively.

    People who ‘innocently’ refuse to take accountability for their actions should be punishable by law and forced to do community service.

    People who deliberately provoke others to bring out the worst in them just so that they can say ‘I told you so’ must be dragged out in public and flogged with whips made of foreskins. 

    And most of all, people that pretend to be normal must be placed in homes for the handicapped, because if you are able to maintain normality in a world like this, then you either haven’t been paying attention, or you lack the faculties with which to understand what is really happening, both of which are a threat to society. To be normal is to be complacent. There is far too many normal people in this world. 

    Personality ‘disorders’ wouldn’t exist because people will realise that we all are screwed up when in a weakened spiritual state. Don’t confuse spirituality with religiosity, too many people do that already, which would probably contribute the most to the group of those that deserve to be flogged in public with foreskins. 

  • Living consciously in an anaesthetised world is the most lonely endeavour

    Cynically Jaded

  • My thoughts are profanities strung together to form a cohesive reality that I despise

    Cynically Jaded

  • Truth…something most are unfamiliar with.

    (Source: http://life-confessions.tumblr.com)

  • Eventually something you love is going to be taken away. And then you will fall to the floor crying. And then, however much later, it is finally happening to you: you’re falling to the floor crying thinking, “I am falling to the floor crying,” but there’s an element of the ridiculous to it — you knew it would happen and, even worse, while you’re on the floor crying you look at the place where the wall meets the floor and you realize you didn’t paint it very well.

    Richard Siken, Crush (via nivenryan)

  • Thanks for answering my question about reality and depression. I’m not sure I agree though, because just browsing through my dash on Tumblr alone seems to indicate that optimism is needed more than realism. Realistically, the odds are stacked steeply against us. Optimistically, we could ignore it and persevere anyway. Reality is depressing. It’s the belief in the unknown that seems to keep us going…belief that things can and will only get better, despite the trends of our lives. As cynical as I am, this same belief plagues me as well.