Inden i en hver stor historie, er der en lille historie. For
alle historier starter småt, før de bliver store, men de store historier bliver
ofte så store at alle glemmer at det hele drejer sig om den lille historie. Det
er den lille historie der bygger den store, og den store historie er altid et
spøgelse, noget forstilt og den store historie er altid en drøm.
Ingen starter den store historie. Ingen vågner op og tænker,
jeg vil redde verden. Først forrås de, i den lille historie. De møder modstand
og overvinder den og der kommer ny modstand og de overvinder også den. Skridt
for skridt udvikler den lille historie sig til en stor historie der forfører en
verden. Ofte forfører den store historie også manden eller kvinden der levede
den lille historie.
Som Thunberg. Det startede med en lille historie der spredte
sig, og i dag udveksler Thunberg historier med verdensledere. Jeg håber ikke
hun bliver forført af sin store historie og den store historie kunne blive at
hun reddede verden. Men hun ville bare den lille historie. Nu er hun allerede
blevet en stor historie i en alt for lille verden der er ved at brænde op.
Den dag hun tror på den store historie, har hun tabt, lige
som alle de andre der startede småt og lod sig forføre af den succes den lille
historie havde.
Jeg bilder mig ind at det var det samme med Jesus. Hvis han
fandtes en gang, og lad os bare sige at han gjorde, så startede han ikke som
guds søn. Han startede med en ide om at noget er galt i verden. At noget ikke
virker. De stærkeste kræfter den gang var bureaukratiet og kirkerne.
Bureaukrati, kan ingen bekæmpe, uden at bekæmpe selve samfundet. Bureaukratiet
er samfundet, det er reglerne der stopper de ”onde” og fremmer de ”gode” i et
etisk perspektiv, skabt af kulturen og kulturen bliver altid skabt nedefra og
styret ovenfra.
Der er en revolution på vej. Der er altid en revolution på vej.
Men den næste bliver anderledes. Hvordan den bliver anderledes ved jeg ikke,
men på sigt nytter det ikke, for eksempel, at vi tillader direktører for store
virksomheder at maksimere profitten for aktieholderne. Det er en sindssyg ide,
der hjalp os med en af de største revolutioner i menneskehedens historie:
industrialiseringen.
Bevares, der var mennesker der bekæmpede den revolution og
prøvede at lave en anden revolution. Her, et par årtier inde i det 21.
århundrede, ved vi at de fejlede. Revolutionen kom ikke fra mennesker,
mennesker blev trynet, men fra ideer der skabte fremskridt i en skala aldrig
set før.
Informationsrevolutionen var ikke mindre mægtig og har på få
årtier allerede ændret verden til uigenkendelighed, i hvert fald for os, der
var med til at starte den og fulgte den og nu lever i den. Og tak ikke fejl: Menneskeheden
er revolutioneret.
Oven i informationsrevolutionen, kom den revolution vi har
nu: Meme-revolutionen.
Der var en gang mennesker måtte samle sig for at lave en
revolution, men informationsteknologien samlede os, så vi er allerede samlet i
et fælles univers, på kryds og tværs af globen. Selv ”flat-earthers” er sammen
med os andre. Vi er, for første gang, alle sammen, i samme båd og vi er alle
tilstede, i det samme rum. Selv de mindste af os, de fattigste af os, de yngste
af os, de dummeste af os, kan skabe et meme der kan ændre verden. Det er
demokrati, der sker for os.
Vi, lige nu, i næsten 2020, står midt i mellem to epoker. En
gang var epoker nået der varede århundreder. I dag er epoker noget der varer i
årtier. Vi er blevet hurtigere. Og vi skifter hurtigere.
Gamle mennesker, som mig, begræder situationen og kan ikke
forstå at vores børn er så afhængige af skærmen de stirrer på hele tiden. Jeg
kan huske, da jeg var barn, og der opstod en Walkman. Den voksne verden var
forfærdet og der var ingen ende på artikler om hvor håbløse vi var, hvordan vi
døde fordi vi hørte musik og ikke hørte en bil der dyttede. Der var artikler om
hvordan hele min generation ville blive døve, fordi vi hørte for høj musik. Vi
er ikke blevet døve, vi er ikke døde, vi er blot blevet gamle. Det er altid den
gamle generation der hænger fast i deres revolution og skælder den nye revolution
ud.
Jeg er ikke i tvivl om at de unge generationer har mistet
noget værdi. Jeg er heller ikke i tvivl om at min generation har mistet noget værdi
i forhold til den generation der kom før os. Hvorfor fatter ingen at det er
sådan vi mennesker udvikler os: Hurtigt og uden respekt. Det er det vi gør og
det er det vi altid har gjort.
Jeg synes at vi skal vise mere respekt mod det der virkede for
generationerne før os, men jeg synes også at de generationer der kom før os,
skal lade være med at glemme, at vi gjorde det samme. Det skal nok, venner.
Hver generation, eller måske hver anden eller hver tredje, vil ændre alt. Det
tog længere tid for 2000 år siden. Det tager ingen tid nu.
Det der er så fantastisk ved de unge generationer, er at de
vænner sig til revolutioner. De oplever dem med få års mellemrum. Menneskeheden
er endelig ved at gå Meta på os selv og det er eddermame på tide.
Men der er en mellemperiode, hvor den gamle verden, stadig
vil bruge den gamle verdens tricks og mennesker som Trump, Boris, Putin,
Dawkins, Hidgkins etc[MTS1] vil kunne spille den gamle verden ud mod
den nye. Vi er ikke i den nye verden endnu. Og ja, denne kamp, som det virkelig
er, mellem det gamle og det nye, vil enten bringe os til udslettelse, eller den
vil bringe os til et nyt niveau.
Vi gamle er så bekymret over at mennesker i dag kan vælge
deres egen virkelighed. Men det er fordi vi ikke indser hvad en virkelig
demokratisk virkelighed er. Vi ser det nye gennem den gamle verdens øjne, og
den gamle verden vil aldrig lide den nye, for den nye vil altid udslette den
gamle. Men vi går altid fremad, efter hvert tilbageslag. Men indsigt flytter.
Hvor ville vores matematik i vesten være i dag, hvis det ikke var for det indiske
NUL.
Vi i vesten, ser os selv som bedre, mindre primitive og det
er en af de største løgne på planeten. civilisationer opstår og uddør, men
viden udvikler sig; nå ja, med mindre biblioteker brændes ned og viden mistes
for evigt for kun at genopstå, når den samme viden erkendes igen.
Jeg håber og tror på at andre dele af verden, ser sig selv
som bedre end vesten og at nogle dele af verden stadig ikke er faldet for
Mickey Mouse og kapitalisme. Vi, mennesker, er ikke i en krig mod hinanden. Vi
er i en krig mod universet og den videnskabelige tanke er at vi kan nå længere,
være mere, blive mere, vide mere.
Det er mennesker. Vi behøver de dumsmarte som sejler over have
de ikke kender, med et blindt dum håb, om at der er noget på den anden side,
når alle siger at det er der ikke. Vi behøver de der bestiger bjerge der ikke kan
bestiges. Vi behøver dem der siger ”det tror jeg ikke på”. Vi behøver dem der
holder fast i ”noget”, om det er så er revolution eller religion. Vi er en
samlet organisme, os mennesker, og vi har høj fart på vej mod en fremtid vi
ikke kan forudsige.
Du var ung en gang, du mødte de ældres styre. Du udfordrede
det, eller du fulgte det.
Jeg er med jer der udfordrer os alle og jeg er med jer, der
rent faktisk tager en udfordring alvorligt og ikke bare skriver til en 16-årig
pige at der ikke er noget galt med klimaet og du skulle bare slappe af og se en
god film.
And I know – this is an old-time-kind-of-post and not a quick meme. Bear with me. I’m old. But I’m with the next revolution.
Mark was
sad. It had been 3 years since Ma died, and hi finally missed her, but he didn’t
know why. She had been gone for three years. She hadn’t made any impact on his
life, since she made the last impact on him, back when she was still alive. The
form of impact she had made, was childish and Mark really didn’t miss talking
to his teddy bear with mom.
Still he felt…
Loss. Like he had something once and like he didn’t have that something
anymore. Rather basic take on “missing”. Missing something meant to have lost
something. Or someone. And he had lost ma, but he still didn’t get the sadness
about that. Still, he finally felt sad. The word finally clued him in on
something. Why would he “think” finally? Had the sadness been there long, “finally”
being let out? Or was it that he didn’t feel sad, when he knew he should have?
What ever
the course, the sadness was here, unpossible as it seemed. Seems that
unpossible is possible, just with a longer waiting period.
But the
sadness was general, it was all in him and not at all focused. He looked around
himself, seeing himself sitting on the bed in what he would undoubtedly call
his childhood room, at some point. That point was not now.
Now he was
just sitting there, watching himself and the small space around him, and all of
it spoke volumes about him. He was seeing himself on the shelves with the books
and the toys. He was seeing himself in the Marilyn Manson posters posted on the
wall, just hanging there, exactly where he posted them with glue and tape, not that
many months ago. He saw himself, wherever he looked. And of course he did. This
was his room, and the things in this room, was things of his choosing.
Maybe they’re
make-believe, he thought. Like a vision of who I want to be, and not who I
really am, he thought, and then thought further: Maybe I’m not seeing me as I
am, but as I would like to be.
It was hard
for Mark to tell, and in all truth, it didn’t even really matter which who he
was, as long as he was, and he thought that that was the deepest thought he’d
had all month.
In every great
story, a little story is hidden within. Often, the great story is not really a
great story, without the little story. This story is smaller than most other
small stories hiding within greater ones.
It just
starts with Mark asking a question. The tiniest of questions: When will you be
home, Ma?
This morning
Ma was late. Not just a little late, and she didn’t really answer the question
as she should have: Like, thinking the question through before answering. So
she answered, haphazardly as one does when one speaks without putting ones mind
into the thinking. “Soon, son.”
It was to
prove itself a falsehood. Not that Marks’ mom would be able to tell before she
left, but Mark could tell later on. That’s the way with mindless promises: They
end up to be much worse than just an agreement that couldn’t be fulfilled. You
don’t give promises to people you don’t care about. You make promises when you
care, and Mark realized his mother must not have cared that much and honestly,
in that moment, she could have cared more. Instead, she mindlessly gave a promise
she would never live up and that broke a heart.
It’s much
to easy to break a kids heart. Maybe that’s why it happens so often.
On this particular
morning, Mark didn’t much mind. He would take himself to school, as he was used
to. In his mind would be this implicit idea, that ma would be there again after
the day had gone. He just assumed and he didn’t even know. He was not yet old
enough to realize that adults have no power over the now and here.
I have no
truths. I never had any truth. Well, there was moments, where I had. But life
destroyed any truth that I may have had. Today I have no truth.
Life is truth
less. I trust you get it. Do you get it?
Naah, I don’t
think that you do. ‘Cause few people get it when I ask them. And I do. Ask them.
Hardly anyone gets it.
I Ask: Why are you here? You don’t know. I know.
Almost
nobody can even answer the question. I have the answer to that question, and I
don’t get why you’ve even not asked yourself by now:
WHY ARE YOU
HERE?
So, come
on. Apply your self. Why are you here? Really, why are you? At all? Why?
I know, and you should do too.
I know why I’m here. You don’t? Well most of you never fucking asked the fucking question: Why are you here?
So, ask your self, Why are you, at all?
And people, most of you don’t even get then question; Why are you?
I know him. I know what He will do. So I lift my gun. I shoot Him. Then 10 seconds later.
It’s like it never happened. He’s standing right there. Right in front of me. Again. I still know what He’ll do. He should not do that. No one deserves what He will bring to them. So, I lift my gun. I shoot Him. 10 seconds later reality is wiped clean of my sin. And He’s there again. I still know what He’ll do. So, I raise my gun and I shoot the motherfucker.
Love, I shot
him again and again. Reality just doesn’t care and wipes that moment from
existence and time after time, reality rewrites itself. He’s there again. And I
kill Him again. For every kill, it gets easier. He’s still a monster and the fact
that somehow reality will not let me kill Him, makes me want to kill Him even
more. Every time he goes down, He rises back up. I can not have Him do that thing
to you again. So love, I kill Him.
I don’t
know what he is, except he’s evil. He will do onto us what we have done to Him…-ish.
But worse. And I killed Him a thousand times
over. I remember those kills. It doesn’t change anything. He rises again every
time. Every death is just a new birth. Every moment can be rewritten. Every
moment is rewritten. All the time. For all of us. Somehow, I am the only one
that sees it. I see all the rewrites. I see all the righteous kills. And I see
them made undone.
Can you not
see it? Don’t you know that the only ones dying in this world, are the other ones?
You will live for ever and suffer for it. This is not Gods world. This is some
other dudes’ reality, some other entity’s world. You are in it to win it. And
you will. But you must loose so many times. You, me, we must learn.
Only other
people die. You will never. But you will live in fear of a death that will
never happen to you. It will only happen to the people that you love. You’re
just a prisoner. And you will never die!
At some
point you will be reset. As will I, shortly. I remember all the times I’ve
killed Him and I always just repeated the killing. Again and again. I didn’t
learn. So, He will reset me. As He have done before.
I stop the
killing. I look in His eyes. But He’s not really a man. He may be a woman. Or
both. Or something else entirely. I stop killing Him, and He lets me be born
again.
My brain is
too simple at first. I can’t remember things. I only have emotions. I cry. I
laugh. I’m only the moment. And then something happens: I wake up. I get conscious.
I’m not
even two years old. I’m sitting in the kitchen. Holding on to my mom’s pants. I
look up, and I remember beforehand: This is my mom. The next 40 years flashes
before my eyes. I will live this life again, I know. And I did live this already
and more than once… I do nothing wrong for the next 40 years. In forty years, I
will take the wrong path, again. For a good reason, I know, although I don’t recall
what that reason is.
I’m here again. In the beginning of a life. Starting over. Fucking 40 years of repetition ahead of me. 40 years before my war will start. We’ve all got it in ourselves: A war. The only war. We will never die, not until we’ve won the war.
I can’t
find my binky. I am forgetting all that I just remembered. The last thing I
realize, is that I will remember all this again. In 40 years.
I’m hungry. So, I cry. I get fed. I sleep.
Chapter 2
Do I know
this to be true? I do not. I have this memory. Of that moment. I remember reaching
op, grabbing my moms pants, realizing she was my mom and that I was her son. I
remember this, vividly. As I remember this really psychotic moment, and it must
have been, right?, of seeing into a future I couldn’t possibly perceive. Nor
even comprehend.
But I did.
In that moment I knew the next 40 years of my life. And then I forgot, and everything
started all over.
I went to school. Wondering. What the heck were you all doing. You were all like the toddlers you were, and like the toddler I should have been. But I wasn’t. Being a kid, I was watching all of you. And I didn’t get you. I didn’t get me. I didn’t get anything. I was hyper-sensitive but still able to be brutal. I know. Brutal isn’t usually a good word. For me it is. You betray me, I will end you.
I’m really able to be brutal. And I have been.
So, I was
hiding behind the plate with needles in different colors. While I was looking
at you, trying to anticipate you. Trying to figure out who you were. I saw Stan.
He sat in a car, it was a children’s car. Like, no motor, just wheels on wheels. And Stan drove
it. All the way around the sandbox. One time. And I thought: This kid gets it.
But then he
took one more turn. And I know, I’ve would have figured it out by now. But he took
one more turn. I thought: Ok, he figured it out, now he wants to figure out how
fast he can do it. But he took a third turn. And a fourth turn. And a fifth.
I just didn’t
get it. I still don’t get it. Didn’t he get it? Didn’t he get it on the first
turn? I did. And I was only watching. I wasn’t even trying. I was just looking,
observing. Trying to find out what life is. It seemed like no one else did. It
seemed like you’ all was just doing. I wasn’t.
Chapter 3.
I have no
truths. I never had any truth. Well, there was moments, where I had. But life
destroyed any truth that I may have had. Today I have no truth.
Life is truth
less. I trust you get it. Do you get it?
Naah, I don’t
think that you do. ‘Cause few people get it when I ask them. And I do. Ask them.
Hardly anyone gets it.
I Ask: Why
are you here?
Almost
nobody can even answer the question. I have the answer to that question, and I
don’t get why you’ve even not asked yourself by now:
WHY ARE YOU
HERE?
So, come
on. Apply your self. Why are you here? Really, why are you? At all? Why?
When I was a kid, mischief was my hobby. I broke glass, stole candy, I abhorred authority and I made it my call in life to disrupt.
Then I got older. It seemed that the adults were never there. I became a journalist, thinking that journalists fight the right fight. What I experienced was anything but the right fight. We were rewriting press releases. We were not investigative. I only once met the classic romantic idea of a journalist when I met a woman that I thoroughly underestimated.
One journalist lived up to my ideal of a journalist among hundreds of journalists I’ve met. Even I didn’t. She did. And by herself with the world against her, she won. She made a swindling litte crook out to be the swindling little crook that he was. Except he wasn’t little. He was BIG and swindled for billions. And he went down. For more than four years she chased that story while everyone said she was an idiot. She wasn’t. She was right. Dorte Toft, ladies and gentlemen.
Today, I am, by age at least, an adult. But I’m not behaving like an adult. And I can’t seem to find anyone who’s an adult, who’s not too old to do anything.
What the fuck is happening with this world? Everyone seems to be balking at each other and no one seems to want to find common ground. Common ground is the adult way. Screaming slurs at each other is 4th grade behavior and frankly, it’s embarrassing to be human in this world when ministers of state and even presidents do just that.
I get it, humans individually can be great, humanity is never better than its lowest denominator. We have found ways that can lift anyone up to a higher understanding of humans. But we have not yet found ways to make the uninformed act smarter. We are still slaves to the lowest common denominator.
Why is that?
It’s because this is not the “enlightenment”. This is not the age of getting smarter. This is the age of getting even and getting equal. But we are not all equal. We are all different. What we see now, is just that: Our realities are all real. This means there is no reality that we all live in. Our realities are different. That we forgot that or didn’t learn it in the first place, is the real crises we face.
And it is a general trend. You see it in media when common folks are suddenly experts, when Joe Nobody gets to challenge real experts and when journalists think that their opinion has no bearing at all. No one has the guts to be an adult anymore and if they have, they will be misunderstood, because the only reality that’s true in the 21st century is your truth. And yours. And yours. And mine.
So, we feel somber and true to reality when we send our feelings everywhere and don’t think about it. Come on; we’ve figured out long ago that our immediate respons to anything might not be the right response. It’s an emotional response. the right response comes after reflection. The moment when you take the entire situation, even yourself, and weigh everything, is the moment you have a real response. A response that your heart and your mind agrees on. The emotional response is always wrong. The rational response is always wrong. Only the response that match heart with mind is the right response. Right?
The enlightenment, supposed to have happened hundreds of years ago, was not an enligtenment of the public. It was an enlightenment of the few.
What we face today is the realization that most humans are dumb and asleep. We’ve come to the real test of democracy: We’ve let the stupid people out. And that’s not bad, it’s actually good. Cause now we can finally find a way for all of us to work together. We just have to align the very smart, with the very dumb. Which is actually hard, cause smart people think that dumb people are dumb people. They are not.
The smartest people I’ve met, was not from the top tier of society. The smartest people I’ve met, were people so unlikely to stand up and take a stand and fight. The people I’ve met who had the guts to try to change the world, were privileged from the birth of them. But the really smart people I’ve met, were absolutely not privileged. Because they were not privileged they thought that their thoughts were indifferent to reality. What’s happening now is that those not privileged are coming out. They are speaking out.
And us smart dudes and dudessses don’t like that. This is like #metoo: It’s a realization that we’ve lived in a bubble of lies and mischief. For thousands of years,. we’ve believed in the the gifted and the good. Now, the gifted and the good are loosing their power and what we see is humanity as we are. Stupid and ignorant, even when adults tell us what is real and what is not. Because we don’t share our reality, and because we don’t get that we don’t share it, we are at war with each other.
We need a mission for humanity that is not elitist, that will still allow our most brightest to forward humanity, while allowing the most stupid to have an influence. While still moving forward.
First, we need to realize that we don’t share reality. We don’t. We may live in a reality, but we don’t understand it like others understand it. We have our very own reality, and we need to learn that our neighbor and friend live in a different one.
Most of us just take reality for granted. We can see those other people, we feel that air blowing around us, we hear the noises around us. Surely, we experience reality.
Problem is, we don’t. We don’t see with our eyes and we don’t hear with our ears. All the sensations we receive from any of our senses are brought together to a reality that seems whole. In our minds.
Thing is, the world you see and hear and touch is a world inside your head. You don’t even have access to what your eyes are seeing or what sounds you are hearing. Way before you get access to you senses, some inputs have been chosen, and others have been deflected. That’s our reality. But what if your brain get’s it wrong?
It’s hard to hear what your own language sounds like. Because you don’t hear your language anymore. You hear the words and the words are presented to your mind; not the sounds. They’ve already been analyzed and recognized. We no longer experience the real world. We experience the memetic quality of those sensations presented by our brains as reality.
Having a mind makes it possible to doubt the messenger. Not many people do. But if you do doubt you brain, you will find that there’s ample reason to doubt it. You brain is a lying bastard. Still, your mind is made in the brain, we think. So how do you come to peace with this dichotomy ?
When you should “hear” the sounds that I make while talking to you, you only hear the words. And the words is what your brain have analyzed my sounds to be.
We don’t even hear sounds anymore. We hear memes. We see memes. We see the map. Cut off from real reality, we all live in our memetic experience. We no longer experience the real. We experience the memetic reality.
It’s like the map. Do you see the map or do you see reality and if the map was made 1:1 with physcical reality, how will you know which one is real: Reality or the map?
Humans have always been involved in the map. Isn’t it time we found out what is map and what is real? I think it is and a lot of people is trying to find out how to not mistake one for the other.
Sorry sir and mom, you no longer see reality. You see your memetic reality, but you think it’s real.
The only conflict humanity have ever faced is the conflict of reality. Are you more real than I am? If there is a reality, one of us must be closer to it than the other, and would therefore be right.
Humanity is still caught in our animal distress or disorder. There is a higher common ground and only humanity on planet earth can make this distinction. Not that many of us do.
You reality might not be real. If it’s not necessarily real, what is? And if you doubt your reality, as you should, shouldn’t you be the first to tell strangers that “you might be wrong” in stead of being a troll who KNOW that they are right?
No one is right about anything. We’ve come to Nietzsche’s reality: Some will overcome these memetic designs and transcend them
Have you? Or are you just the only god given truth in the fucking universe??
