I am both fascinated and disgusted by this thing we call pop culture.
I don’t like using the word love so glibly, but I do love people. I love people watching. People are warm, brave, smart, endearing, witty, quirky, Machiavellian, passionate, stupid, and predictable and unpredictable at the same time. People ARE pop culture.
And people consume pop culture. But more importantly, pop culture consumes people. It eats away at them, US, starting with our brains and then onto our souls. We allow it to happen.
Take me, for example. I like to think I know better. I am an outsider, watching from a window, the sparkly, shiny happenings of the entertainment industry, our mecca of pop culture. I like to meet “famous” people and talk to them and ask them about their lives.
And at the same time, I see them as hollow shells, robbed of their humanness. Thanks to their handlers, agents, media consultants, and fans, they are no longer themselves–at least at some point of their journey. They are products, holograms of what “we” want.
Why do I feed into this reality? I could stop if I want to, but I don’t.
Our fascination borders on idol worship, and THAT scares me. I feed the myth every time I post on a social media site.
I love to laugh. I love adventure. And I make jokes that I would like to “stalk” specific celebrities, as if they are somehow more important than I am.
I give the impression that I am so infatuated that I spend all of my time thinking about something as trivial as a media-coated life of a person who dulls in comparison to the God whom I adore–and upon whose words I should more time meditating.
I am not infatuated. I despise the word infatuation. I am a thinker. I deliberate on my emotions, almost to the point of Stoicism.
But sometimes…it just feels good to get away from it all and step into this dream world, this illusion that has been created.
It is an illusion, you know. All of it. All of pop culture. Sadly, we humans living upon this spinning mass are losing, or have lost, the ability to discern between truth and deception.
We want candy to soothe us, but we ingest poison. Ah, but it tastes so good.
I reference Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 too often, but are we not like Mildred, living our lives as members of the audience? Do we not sit glued to our parlor walls and go about our daily business creating emotional barriers with Seashell thimbles in our ears?
We watch “reality” shows built from a script.
We watch the news, thinking that what we see is raw footage, but we forget that our eyes are only privy to where the camera points. Who is manning the camera? Is the news really unbiased, or does it matter which sponsor pays for the show?
Somehow I can’t help but think the truth is laid out for us in the comedies and sci-fi shows we watch to escape. But we’re so “dumbed down.” we couldn’t digest figurative language if it were force-fed down our throats.
Perhaps I should continue watching Big Bang Theory and wait for Sheldon to discover the truth during his quantum physics and string theory research.
As I ponder how I act as an enabler and turn a blind eye to the dimming around me, I want to go back to Facebook and delete all my self-indulgent posts that border on idol worship.
But instead I post a picture of Stevie Nicks.
GUARD YOUR SENSES
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