Here is a random child, possibly mine, who will serve as today's object lesson. Note the scrapes and scratches.
Look close. See beyond the subject's obviously forced, cheery nature. Pain must throb and wholly own the conscious center some might call his sense of self or current awareness. The poor waif has no ability to reason or remember, only to feel. He is consumed by the horrific injuries you see in the image I have so indelicately uploaded. And how has the boy come to this sad state of writhing agony?
In the picture he sits at his favorite spot, a location in space and time so replete with his presence that when he intermittently leaves, ghostly images of himself flicker in and out if you care to look. Should his family leave on an errand, or even go on a trip in which they forget him and leave him home, upon return they find him there invariably.
Back to the injury. Do you suppose the boy sustained these great gashes as he sat at his desk and clicked?
Nay. This post-pubescent teenager strayed from his comfortable surroundings and entered what some call the outside world. And why would he do this? Let us suppose his stated reason went something like, "I'm going to hang out with or chill with . . ." fill in the blank.As is obvious in the photograph, all who enter the outside world live (if they are lucky) to rue the day.
I am pondering this line of reasoning as I sit on my couch and watch a television program broadcast from Rio de Janeiro.
Oh, the unholy light stream inflicted upon my eyes via diodes!
What lies! Arrayed before me, legions on parade who seem to have lived fully in the outside world, eschewing comfortable chairs and computer screens for exertion, effort, injury. For what?
Behold the true sirens of myth!
Better to view and click, my brothers. Find your happy place. Inhabit your happy place. Never leave your happy place.
Better to view and click.