The Travesty of Awareness or Am I the fruit loop you think I am?
The Travesty of Awareness, Or Am I the fruit loop you think I am?
By Tony DeLorger © 2011
Yes, I am self-involved, much of the time lost in introspection and on a quest of self-realisation. Often I see myself removed from what people call sanity. In psychology reality can be defined by what a certain percentage of the populace believes. The dictionary definitions of reality and truth are so broad and complex the word definition itself becomes a misnomer. However, the smaller percentage of what people believe would no doubt encompass me. I have never professed to be normal, another ridiculous term, but I do remain connected to the world in a certain, if not expected way. From that perspective I am not completely insane, sharing a level of engagement with life.
Perhaps I am eccentric, never satisfied with mundane and trite answers to my problems. I always go further, much further. As an example, you may watch television, observe the vision in detail, following characters and story-lines and be mentally and emotionally engaged and enjoy the experience.
I sit there watching energy spew out of the television and follow the contours of the screen, across the walls, converging in the corners of the room like millions of tiny coloured ants swarming. I see electricity gushing out of the plug and through the wires, lost as aimless energy, only a portion if it feeding the television. I observe the vision, millions of tiny coloured dots that form familiar shapes so I can relate, understand and connect with the technology.
I watch a show and can see the set, where the boom is and what camera angles are available. I see a camera operator having a bad hair day and needing deodorant. I see a director pissed off with one of the actors, and minutes before the scene was shot, verbally roasted him for a lack of professionalism. I see a slim hardworking woman who works for the caterer, standing at the edge of the lighting, watching. In the background, life goes on, oblivious to this human endeavour. I see the editor not happy with the director’s ideas and having to cut too tightly for his taste; but he needs the job more than an argument.
I see all this in layers. I watch the story and try to understand the plot, delving into the mind of the writer to understand how the words drive the plot, and how the screenplay has been modified to better suit the medium. Some of the changes the writer is not happy about. I watch the vision and wonder if the cinematographer is unhappy about the final edits. While all this going on I’m wondering about my HubPages stats; is anyone reading my last hub? I’m thinking about the algorithm that they use to compare and determine individual Hub scores and wonder if the scope of large hub numbers degrades the levels because of older rarely visited hubs. I’m thinking I want a cup of tea.
I can in no way not be self-involved with a mind this active. The process of my mental gymnastics reveals a great deal of information, some worthwhile, some not. But my search for a broader sense of reality is ongoing and consistent. I have never been normal in an average sense, and my perceptions guide my life with informed accuracy. The problems that I face have more to do with my heart than anything else. What follows in life is experienced with depth and intensity, and that often forces my reclusive lifestyle. I see too much and suffer for it. I can with time rationalise human events but my souls often aches with sadness.
I am fragile to a great extent and not many people understand my ability or disability, however you want to see it. I can do no more than accept the way I am and continue to write my thoughts, which are often modified to find connection with my audience. I impart that which my soul chooses, and when it so chooses. Writing then, is the last stage, the endings of my thoughts.
Am I a fruit loop? Well, yes no doubt. Are my words worth reading? I hope so. One thing about writers, each one of us is individual, unique in our own way. No matter what people think, no-one else in the world can write like we do, and for that reason alone, we should be read.
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