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Thursday, August 25, 2016

Social media and kryptonite

The term hamartia derives from the Greek ἁμαρτία, from ἁμαρτάνειν hamartánein, which means "to miss the mark" or "to err". It is most often associated with Greek tragedy, although it is also used in Christian theology. Hamartia as it pertains to dramatic literature was first used by Aristotle in his Poetics. In tragedy, hamartia is commonly understood to refer to the protagonist’s error or flaw that leads to a chain of plot actions culminating in a reversal from their good fortune to bad. What qualifies as the error or flaw can include an error resulting from ignorance, an error of judgement, a flaw in character, or sin. The spectrum of meanings has invited debate among critics and scholars, and different interpretations among dramatists.
People are always getting in trouble because they brag about their latest triumph on facebook. People read what they've bragged about and then call the police. Or the wife. Or the boss. There are a sizable number of people on Earth who delight in the suffering of others. I don't know the percentage, but at a guess I'd say it's at least 20 percent. One out of five people that you know, would enjoy watching you being tortured to death. Now you might just think that this guess of mine is just the cynic in me making up numbers and accusing the world of being Hitler, but I would argue that your reflexive denial of Human evil is meaningless. Just because humanity has only experienced a few Hitlers throughout history is only because 99.999% of you don't have Hitler's talent for gaining followers.

I don't have a facebook account. I don't have a Twitter account. No myspace, instagram, Tumblr, Reddit, etc.

Hubris! Pride! Downfall. Failure, Woe. WTF is the matter with everybody? Social networking is nothing more than personalized braggadocio. I already listen to way too many commercials. Did you really think that I wanted to listen to yours? Do your job, drink your beer, and STFU!

Everybody has an opinion, and mostly those opinions are uninformed. Example: "I think Obama is doing a great job. Unemployment is down, and the Stock Market has never been higher. What more do you want?" That opinion is uninformed. The perpetrator of the above uninformed opinion reads the New York Times. (The Paper of Record) Let the record books show that if your sole means of discovering the state of the world is that particular stack of misinformation, then everything you know is wrong.

Why do you waste the time that you do on social media? You read what your "friends" or "followers" say. You reply with your own uninformed opinion. Do you realize that nobody cares? Why do you do it? What's the point? Half the crap you read on facebook can be characterized as chain letters. "Send this letter to ten people or your first born son will die." I don't know if this is a chain letter or Passover! If your self-esteem is informed by the number of friends or followers you can claim on some social media platform, then—my friend—you are standing on thin ice indeed.

People aren't coins. They're not stamps. They're not baseball cards. Why do you persist in attempting to collect them? Collecting "friends" must be the most asinine hobby in the history of the world.

You call me a hypocrite? You say that this blog is proof that I'm doing the same thing as you do on Instagram?

Why do I write these essays of mine every so often? I don't actually assume that anybody reads them. I guess that probably somebody does, but it doesn't matter. If nobody ever reads my website again, I'll still be here telling somebody—not my friend, not my follower, not my "audience," not some piece in my collection—what I think. Why? Why do I write? Why do I spend a few minutes every now and then thinking about the world and putting it down in words? It's not for you. It's because sitting here at my keyboard, letting my fingers do what they do, is how understanding begins. It's slow. It's uncertain. However, as the years pass, my understanding of reality ensues. A piece of honesty that your facebook friends will never tell you: I do it for me, I don't even know you.

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