Sad but true, my friends.
But in this particular game, Overstimulation was not 'benched', 'barred' or 'banned' from the almighty ring after it's appalling display but pushed up and paraded out by the punch-drunk hordes. And there was no tearful press-conference or ambulance waiting by to take the wounded Imagination off as he sat bleeding all over the canvas floor as all the EMT's left with everybody else. Yes, truly a sad sad day.
It has come to my attention that not even ten days ago, I was also one of those people. Listless, my mind was like one of those pictures that is made up of thousands of little pictures, (I'm sure you know the ones I'm talking about) yet there was no pretty, greater image to see. It was television fog. Or snow, whichever makes everyone happy. There was nothing to focus on and the second I tried, it was turning the dial of an FM radio really fast over and over again. Then I saw a two paneled comic on a site called fatpita that brought something to my attention. Of course, when I first saw it, I snorted with contemptuous laughter, rolled my eyes and agreed with it, as if I had discussed the idea just the other day and this drawing was the proof that smugly enforced MY snooty opinion (we've all done it before, there's not a one who can claim differently, some of you might even be doing it right now... think about it.)
Now, in the first panel of the comic sat a man reading a book, and surrounding him were bubble of places and adventures that evoked him to smile and dream. The panel below that was the same lad, looking a bit doldrum with a game controller in his hand as he stared mindlessly at the television. His thought bubble contained beer.
After seeing that, I quickly clicked on the link to see the next amusing and random picture, got bored, turned on Hulu, caught up on some TV series latest shows, looked for some new ones to get interested in, played a game of ISpy against my laptop, looked up current affairs, continued playing against the computer as I checked my email, then checked my phone, returned a text message and three hours later wondered when it had become so dark. Later I am sure, if memory serves, I picked up a cookbook, watched several episodes of Brisco County Jr. and then a movie...Mouse on the Moon, I believe all the while learning how to make the perfect Bearnaise sauce and other random things.
ENOUGH!!!
Each of the little pictures is an episode, an article, a song, a game. Hundreds of them, thousands even. There's too much. No wonder I can't focus! How can anyone? Are we all so happy with fuzzy brains that we akin it puppies rather than mold? If Aldous Huxley could see us all now, he'd laugh and close the lid to his coffin. And that silly little comic keeps popping up in the back of my mind, even now.
Hopes were raised high when the Harry Potter books came out and not just for the obvious reason of a good story. It's because people were picking up books again. A reintroduction if you will. People were beginning to see themselves in the tale; feel the atmosphere, the chilling fog. Feel happy and sad because they had the chance to take the time to know the characters, know their world and through this association and a touch of our imagination, we hoped for them to thrive and grow.
When the first sheets of paper were added into a stiff binding to preserve their content, the term 'book' was only truly known to monks (who produced them) and the political elite. It was a sign of wealth even to have one on your bookshelf, and now bookshelves aren't even used for books, but trinkets and figurines. It is lucky to find even a handful of tomes in a house that have been read by the occupants, let alone any at all. And now they are so cheap that they can be found for a quarter, which is instead used to buy a gumball or fake tatoo from a vending machine. So few anymore can remember or even once recall a time when they read so long that their body ached from it's still position and cursed it for being so disagreeable. Where you were so intrigued in a mystery or thought, that you read it until you realized it was so late that the next day was all ready upon you and cursed the characters for not giving you a chance to put the book down and had completely forgotten about the author.
We no longer have time to get to know anyone, let alone people who don't exists. Life is a flurry of shows that offer quick beginning, middle and ends- and people barely care about the middle. We want to see the boy get the girl; the houses get torn down and the family cry to see it back up; the rude people get what is FINALLY coming to them and the anti-hero get the unreformed criminal who likes to hurt cute baby animals for sports. It wouldn't be all bad... if there was any sense of restraint or self control... but we (yes we) don't. We watch episode after episode, feeding our cravings without really knowing what they are, but they are being fed, we think, and that's all that matters.
We have so much being shoved into our faces- people screaming that we should all care about this and that, we should all be informed about everything, and then we should watch others do foolish things for money so we can be amused by them for no particular purpose, laugh at the newest yet same sitcoms so we can be on the same page as our coworkers (lest you be caught not knowing who is sleeping with who and the witty thing they said about it on the show when you're standing around the water cooler), keep up with the dramas and explosions and heists and wrong doings and most recent inflammatory PETA commercial... It's exhausting to even type it all out. Sayings like, "I have to leave, my show is on soon." and "I'll wait for the movie to come out." are commonplace. It's become acceptable instead of revolting and people make plans contingent on these notions, other accommodating them, which fuels the idea it is, indeed acceptable.
I let my laptop and TV rest to plow through an old favorite of mine several day ago with nothing but the cars passing by and my neighbor trudging up the stairs for music. After I finished, I cursed myself for not putting it down earlier (as the sun was getting ready to rise), I knew the ending after all but I simply could not help myself.
This will be my second book in a month, and it's been over a year since the last time I indulged.... No, not indulged. There was plenty of time for it, I just chose not to. I turned on the Tv instead and that truly is a shame, especially with the realization that I'm not better than anybody else. I've noticed something, however, and that is, for the first time in years, I feel focused. I only hope I can return to being that person in the first cell of the comic.
Imagination has lost to Overstimulation, and no one seems to want to help the bleeding bugger out; but I suppose I can go look for the poor words ear and put it in a baggy with some ice.
Sincerely,
Dust in the Wind
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