An interesting week. There was an election, the sort that questions the validity of democracy. Perhaps my mood is tempered by thoughts prompted by Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury. We have no real control, the populace is easily swayed, perhaps even stupid.
That stupidity is a collective action. The power exerted by the mob, or the emotion that rises up within you at a football match or pop concert. That emotion is outside, it's a reaction to the world out there. Compare it to the tears that spring when faced with internal emotions; the death of a relative or friend, the despair of failure.
So it was last Thursday. The election results could be sensed. There was no need for an announcement. We knew. For some election, for others quiet despair. It's trite and obvious to suggest that for the majority indifference was the best collective reaction.
What interests me is whether we have become so programmed into acceptance, that feeling of 'there's nothing we can do' and whether people do really care, or are just resigned to being powerless.
Perhaps I should accept that the collective will does bring about the right decision. That's difficult to accept. History suggests we are constantly struggling, usually making silly mistakes.
It makes me withdraw into a small shell. It's dark, unkempt, solitary, filled with quiet despair. From the outside it is ribbed, with shiny white bands of conformity that are separated by varying shades of brown that merge downwards to dark black. The public face that is me.
One day I may find a way to open up that shell. To invite someone in with whom I can share, admire and desire without feeling fearful that I will lose my last scrap of individuality.
There's a silent scream there.
That stupidity is a collective action. The power exerted by the mob, or the emotion that rises up within you at a football match or pop concert. That emotion is outside, it's a reaction to the world out there. Compare it to the tears that spring when faced with internal emotions; the death of a relative or friend, the despair of failure.
So it was last Thursday. The election results could be sensed. There was no need for an announcement. We knew. For some election, for others quiet despair. It's trite and obvious to suggest that for the majority indifference was the best collective reaction.
What interests me is whether we have become so programmed into acceptance, that feeling of 'there's nothing we can do' and whether people do really care, or are just resigned to being powerless.
Perhaps I should accept that the collective will does bring about the right decision. That's difficult to accept. History suggests we are constantly struggling, usually making silly mistakes.
It makes me withdraw into a small shell. It's dark, unkempt, solitary, filled with quiet despair. From the outside it is ribbed, with shiny white bands of conformity that are separated by varying shades of brown that merge downwards to dark black. The public face that is me.
One day I may find a way to open up that shell. To invite someone in with whom I can share, admire and desire without feeling fearful that I will lose my last scrap of individuality.
There's a silent scream there.
