Recently, I have had to make intensive use of my mobile phone against my will because I need to use the said device for banking operations. Having prostituted my soul in such a way; having to use hours of my time to familiarise myself with the wretched ‘applications’ of the phone, leads me to say a few things.
One of my sponsors is correct, at least in part, to blame technology for Aryan decline. I became aware of this a few years ago when, far from the cities and their mundane noise, I had a moment of halcyonic rapport in the countryside, touching a tree.
The communion with nature made me realise what an incredible level of degradation it is to live in a metropolis, or even a modern town (recently I was complaining about the noise of the air conditioner in the village where I live). I even plan to unplug the refrigerator so as not to listen to the damn engine while meditating, and to get into the habit of buying my groceries daily so that I don’t need to refrigerate food.
One reply on “Halcyonic”
I’ve never used an app in my life, thankfully. I’ve never found the need to. I make a habit to compartmentalize all my devices, with one function per device (such as a cheap air-gapped PC for storage and a cell phone for phone calls) and make do happily with a Nokia 105 on a 2G network (though keep a spare for 3G), which sits for 95% of its life on the high shelf away from me, as is never taken outside. Still, I agree with the commenter over the horror of technology – my main PC drags me in far too much daily, and I end up vegetating in between projects, sometimes for hours of the day. One senses the gathering brightness of the world outside, and knows that, no matter the seemingly addictive ‘importance’ of their tech-wizardry, they have wasted their day. If I don’t get out to the forest quite regularly, or at least take a walk around the outskirts of my area daily, including time in my garden, I go mad. We are not meant for ‘plugged in’ cubicle living. My own cul-de-sac street is bad for noise: cars insisting on driving up to turn around all day, and lazy neighbours parking after a return from the local stores, the single white female neighbours on each side of the terrace playing degenerate hip hop music, and more ghetto sounds from the flats at the end, where the drug dealers had used to hang about. I don’t mind the sound of children playing in the street on their bikes, but I dislike the neighbours coming out to swear and argue, and late night drunks. Too many people – and I mentioned their general qualities before – crammed in to too small a space has caused this. Hands always on smartphones as they scurry about, necks crooked gazing down into their personal underworlds. And I class this pseudo-village housing estate as a quieter suburb by British standards, at least in built-up Essex. I miss the sensation of absolute silence, with only the breeze for company. Much as I use these devices now, and would probably be transiently stressed dropping them all, I think part of me relishes the idea of blackouts and technical failures (the pain and reticence of quitting long term smoking, no more), if only to return the real world to us that we’ve unfortunately plastered over with all these bleeps, and whirs, and tiny swipes across dark screens, all dead machines anyway. Most of us unfortunately seem closer to them than to life, much as we’re ideally very different.