Like Minded Minds Think Alike

Like-minded minds think alike. Penny Rimbaud from Crass once stated, "she cleans the bathroom mirror, so she can line her eyes. An expert in delusion, an artist in disguise." Forty years before social media fueled discontent and disillusionment via misinformation and straight up lies, a group of British anarchists deliver an early inception of what it will mean to participate in social media.

In the days of "glossy ads where men are men, and women simply cute," it was simple to avoid exposure; simply refuse to participate in whatever it was which would gain publicity. In 1982, the notion that one must maintain an ever-relevant, synthetic and public appearance would have seemed blatantly terrifying. Only two years later, in 1984, would the full Orwellian vision be expected to come to fruition under the worst of circumstances. Yet forty years later, the idea of a mere Telescreen watching one's every move seems rather docile--rather benign. In 1984, the protagonist was able to find some small corner of existence just out of reach of the Telescreen. It was there where Winston would write down thoughts in his diary, confessing his hidden desires, his curiosities to explore, shall we say, "unknown pleasures." In our contemporary society, one voluntarily submits to the constant monitoring in an implicit manner--an even more terrifying prospect. Society is no longer forcibly monitored, but rather now have incentive to voluntarily submit all personal details of one's life into a centralized, non-deletable, legally-discoverable database. It is subject to subpoena and scrutiny.

One creates the social media account to keep the friends. One keeps their appearance clean and civil to avoid the scruitny generated by so many faceless, anonymous hateful minds expressing the same form of discontent and arguing about the semantics of why they feel this way. The left wing begins rioting in the streets due to misinformation spread by the right wing, all were incited by faceless actors, untraceable forces, and obscure, esoteric ideas. If you're in the know, you're in the know. You see the little green frog and immediately associate it with the Holocaust. We get it. This is not clever anymore. The meme is the most unintelligent form of communication. Yet it is the most dangerous form of shorthand communication which, at the same time, offers the perpetraitor some form of plausible deniability. At some point, it operates more like a numbers station transmitting via shorthand radio frequencies. The true goal of those who circulate the hate--to chill free speech and ensure radio silence.

Meanwhile, the Facebook profile has failed to generate enough likes, and that addictive crack cocaine dopamine release cycle which lead to the mass incarceration of mostly inner-city Black men in the 1980's... it has been legitimized, streamlined, and brought straight to your pocket. That cycle, of seeking the next hit, the next acceptance, the next "like," is dangerous. This is full-blown clinical depression, but you Googled how to get Concerta from the doctor in a convincing manner--no worries anymore. Do you wish to harm yourself? No. Do you wish to harm others? No. The boxes are checked and you're good to go. The only thing that really worried me, was the LinkedIn--and I knew we'd get into that rotten stuff, soon enough.

Your profile picture has revealed that you've taken mostly selfies--you never get laid because who is takes these pictures? Obviously you, you desperate ass motherfucker. Reader: this means you.

Now you know that they know, that you know, that you never get laid. At the same time, your LinkedIn profile picture reveals, unbeknownst to you, that you are a member of a protected class. Brother, you're experiencing systemic discrimination but being gaslighted all the meanwhile. When you've had all that you can take, you can post your disillusionment on Facebook and get put on a terror watch list. You only wanted some company of the opposite (or same) sex, and now you are a terrorist. With nine billion lives on the planet, your author assures you that this has actually happened at some point*

You now have two options: kill yourself with your own gun, or reactivate LiveJournal and post under an anonymous pseudonym. But there is a caveat: should one choose the latter, one must tell people you have committed the former. Only a stupid ass, mother fucking loser who should fuck off and die via suicide, reactivates LiveJournal... when Instagram so succinctly captures the essence of life.




* no sources cited to substantiate this claim.