Transitions: Cyborgs, Huxley and the Hilarious House of Frightenstein

I’m finding a lot of things in life are shifting at the moment: going from pen to typing, switching blog names, getting glasses, getting older, becoming vegan…hopefully shifting from disconnected thinking to being more conscious with the environment and people around me and more embodied in the process. What may seem typical is that it is happening in the spring, yet I don’t want to belittle the slog of winter getting there. It has been a process of flow (being present in the moment and not as heavily burdened on the shoulders) and flux (stuck in the sticky, rawness of the burden of being human). Each time I venture in this direction, I hesitate and look at the navel, but I know it so much more.

My angst has always been situated with all the difficulty of the realities of progress ever accelerating toward the post-human, cyborg…virtually sensual and pornographically mutilated. When I see a row of ducklings emerge from the classroom en mass checking their cellphones and texting someone else, somewhere else, I wonder about what awaits the educators whose vision of lifelong learning is increasingly a blip on a screen of some distant memory or perhaps, a dream. We are increasingly far removed from our diets, our relationships, our earth and our lives. We seek substances and objects to satisfy the hunger for perfection. We are becoming increasingly entitled in the globalized, McDonaldized world of corporate domination, yet as individuals, less necessary. How much longer until we are only figments of some distant imagining of a world that may have existed…but who would be imagining such things? I think of how I was brought up on The Hilarious House of Horrors, the “Portable Phonograph,” The Chrysalids, George Orwell and Aldous Huxley. Perhaps it is self-fulfilling prophecy to be part of some psychedelic dream (akin to Waking Life).

When I step back from the fear mongering I self-inflict…I remember time passing and things happening…what about the feeling? I’m seeking a better connection with the senses that may occur when I stop jamming the receptors with screen watching, Netflix craziness. Everything is coming to Goldstein’s, “Tipping Point,” in a Blink it changes…and yet nothing really feels any different.

The Hilarious House of Frightenstein

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