The Art of Maury van Loon / Fall~

Written by Alexander Greco

June 29, 2020

The more I delved into the artwork of Maury van Loon (artist name, Fall~), the more I was reminded of two books: An Eternal Golden Braid, by Douglas Hofstadter, and House of Leaves, by Mark Danielewski; and I was reminded of two specific concepts from those books: consciousness as a feedback loop of infinite, mirrored reflections, and unconsciousness as a labyrinth, with our conscious egos/identities as the trapped Icarus.

Maury’s artwork really clicked for me when I saw in them these mirrors and this labyrinth.

And Then the Bubble Burst
Summer 2019
A5 paper. Pen and ink.

Making almost exclusively black and white ink art, though with a few notable pieces that include color, Maury mixes elements of surrealism and abstraction with influences from anime and similar art styles. Her artwork has wide range of content and subject, but the primary focus seems to be on identity: our identity in relation to others, and our identity in relation to ourselves. Maury does this with portrayals of faceless or featureless individuals, depictions of bodies disassociated from their faces, mirrored counterparts of either twin-like or dualistic individuals, and of people falling into vast or disintegrating spaces.

However, as Maury discussed more and more about her creative life, I discovered her interests and skills to be far broader than only visual art. In addition to surreal ink-work, Maury is active in music—including work on film scores—currently studies Japanese Language and Culture, and has worked off and on for a few years on a fantasy story. Though our interview focused on Maury’s artwork and the underlying themes of the artwork, our overlapping interests opened up a number of topics we only scratched the surface of.

“[…] I would currently describe my endeavors as an artist as ‘illustrator’, but I have a degree in music composition, and I’m currently studying Japanese which sometimes makes me feel a bit in Japanese I would say barabara, which means ‘in pieces’, as if I’m holding a handful of different identities and I am not just one person.”

Still, though Fall~ has a wide range of interests, art has been and remains a central part of their life.

Us
April 2020
A4 paper. Pen, ink, gel pen.

“I have been drawing since as long as I can remember. It has always been a form of expression, as I had (and to a certain degree still have) trouble grasping the meaning and reality of my being. I think I started with illustrating, since it’s a very low-key form of art. Basically I can draw whenever I want, wherever I want, because I only need a pen and paper.

“I do believe all different forms of art have their own ‘language’ of expression – music or film can take you on a whole different emotional journey – and I am more than only an illustrator, as I have done a degree in music composition with a specialization in film and I’m currently doing a degree in Japanese Language and Culture with a specialization in Japanese film and animation. But making art is the one that seems most consistent throughout my life.”

Here, I completely agree with the idea that every form of art has its own sort of language, but I would also go on from that and say that every artist has their own variation of that language, with Maury being no exception to this. So, what is the language she speaks with her art?

We Live Inside a Bubble
Summer 2019
A5 paper. Pen and ink.

Maury speaks with sharp contrasts of black and white, swarming lines like black static, and blurred clouds of grey. Maury’s syntax is the human form, floating or falling into teeming mouths of the abyss, or into the vast emptiness of space. Faces especially are key in this language, whether they are emotional, blank, expressionless, hollow, or replaced with disconnected, celestial objects.

Many of Maury’s pieces depict twisting, knotting throngs of arms reaching out to or out from the piece’s subject, or other similar serpentine forms. In many pieces, there is a symmetry to them, either a mirroring of images or some other geometric translation, and many pieces also possess a yin-yang type of duality, strongly influenced by the black and white contrasts. In others, there is an almost anti-symmetry, a chaos of lines or ink static.

Circles are a consistent motif, some being the subject’s head, some being in or through the subject’s head, others being in the subject’s chest or abdomen, and others surround an individual or individuals. These circles—often comprised of circles within circles (sometimes within even more circles); and often ringed with jagged lines or objects, or with twisting, looping, knotting forms—recall the forms of the labyrinth, particularly the Classical Cretan labyrinth and the Medieval Chartres pattern.

However, the best example of this Labyrinth is not in any of the pieces with primarily circular patterns, but in “Lost in Thought”, which really shows this maze-like nature of the mind.

Lost in Thought
June 2020
A4 paper. Pen.

“This piece is about how far you can become separated from your true self, by trying to fit in or please people around you. It’s a recent piece, but it reflects back to a time when I truly lost myself and now I regularly evaluate my choices and how far I stand from things that matter for me, instead of trying to become the ideal of society (or rather, how I think society would like me to be). The further you get, the harder it becomes, so the line between body and brain becomes this maze-like thing and at some point, you will get stuck and lose (like in the Nokia 3310 snake-game).”

So much of Maury’s artwork relates to identity: either finding or rediscovering oneself.

How is it that the most difficult thing to find on this planet is yourself?

How is it that so many of our own thoughts can be so much harder to understand than the endlessly complex machinations of the external world?

How is it that our own minds—the place we ought to feel most at home, the place we ought to know better than any other landscape, the place we ought to feel safest can be the most frightening and cruel of landscapes; can possess the deepest jungles of the uncanny and unfamiliar; and, in times of great uncertainty, in moments of overwhelming depravity and in the darkest architectures of our Dreams’ wild cinemas, can our own minds be venues of such tremendous violence, disorientation and disassociation?

Let Us Catch You
February 2020
A4 paper. Pen, ink, gel pen.

There is also a recurrent theme of falling, though the movement of many subjects is ambivalent (in many pieces, individuals could potentially be perceived either as falling or rising). Paired with this theme of falling/rising, there is often an impalement or explosion from the abdomen, and in a few, there is another body emerging from the abdomen, implying something like a birth or a rebirth (similar in some ways to the emergence from a cocoon or chrysalis). This also carries on the ambivalence of rising/falling, as one body seems limp and lifeless, while another living body reaches up above it.

On this theme, Maury explained:

“It contains this sense of loss and despair, living in a world that doesn’t feel quite right. A world where you don’t seem to belong. When you long for something, someone, anyone, and reach out, but you can never really grasp it. Is it just an illusion meant for someone else? Are you not worthy?

“It’s a sense of the fear of not being in control yet at the same time it’s the realization and acceptance you’re not in control and that it’s completely fine. Maybe it’s not falling, but letting go.”

A number of pieces possess the motif of a wave-like object/figure which seems to be just about to crash onto the subject of the piece like crashing water of an ocean. This might be the internal ocean of the unconsciousness crashing down on the conscious ego, but this might also be the minotaur stalking that unconsciousness, overpowering the conscious mind.

The piece “Shadowself” puts a face to this crashing wave or cave minotaur, and Maury gives it a name.

Shadowself
March 2020
A4 paper. Pen and ink.

“My official artist name is Fall~ and the right character in this piece is the visualization of Fall~. It represents the unexplainable core of feelings and thoughts that want to break out.”

Does this make the figure on the left Maury?

Is this Maury studying Fall~?

And Fall~ studying Maury?

And if Fall~, as depicted here, is the “Shadowself”, the unexplainable core of feelings and thoughts attempting to break out, does that mean the Minotaur stalking Maury’s mind is Maury’s own creativity? Is the Shadowself (Fall~) a rejection and repression of creativity—of ideas, talents and expressions not welcomed by society—and the projection of negative attributes onto oneself?

A loathing of something you love—of something that makes you unique—until it becomes a monster you must reconcile with?

But Maury, rather than flee as Icarus did, confronted this minotaur in her artwork, and it became Fall~.

Here, I think I’m actually reminded of Gandalf and the Balrog’s fall in the Mines of Moria, prompted not by the wizard fleeing, but by his confrontation. This fall—this confrontation—not partially parallels the Icarus myth (Moria being the Labyrinth, the Balrog being the minotaur), but also has the ambivalent duality of rising and falling. The two’s fall eventually led to a rise back up from the depths, where the battle finally concluded on top of a mountain peak. This of course led to transformation, metamorphosis and rebirth.

These complexities of identity, self-identity and self-transformation do not end here, however, and Maury had quite a lot more to say about both one’s self and one’s ego, as well as one’s self in relationship to others.

“I think one’s identity is relative and thus continuously changing. Without people around us and memories to mirror who we were, who we are, and who we do or do not want to become, there is no ego. There is a certain human connection to it, whether through a shared experience, a longing, or a realization that you have gone so far from your true self. By exploring these areas through art, I can identify, acknowledge and express things that are blocking me, but also things I couldn’t or wouldn’t say out loud.”

Here, I asked if this fluidity of identity was something inherent in being human, or if it was a contemporary issue of modernity, and also if there was any way of truly getting to know one’s self. Maury replied:

“It’s probably part of human nature, but I do think modernity has amplified our sense of self and our capability to manipulate our self-image. One reason is that we are now encouraged to become individuals and have our own opinion, and this seems to go hand in hand with a sense or a wish to be unique and different […] On the other hand, there’s social media and textual communication, which allows you to have a big control on how you represent yourself in your use of words, your looks, your identity. With which sub-culture do you associate yourself with?

“Maybe we have become a lot more self-centered, but maybe we also have become a lot more dependent on the approval people around us. We’re more fluid. And because upbringing and environment have such a huge influence on the development of oneself, I don’t think you could ever purely be your true inner self. Maybe if you live in a shack up a mountain in Farawayistan. I try to keep myself in check by really trying to listen to my belly-feeling (inner-universe 🙂 ) to feel if choices I’m making feel right for me and feel right for my moral-compass, and if my moral-compass is still moral enough, so I can keep going without self-doubt or regret.”

How do you go about defining yourself? And where do you plant your flag in saying, “This is ‘I’; this is what ‘I’ am and what ‘I’ believe”?

So many, if not all, of our own ideas and beliefs are ideas have been circulating throughout cultures and societies across history—evolving or adapting with each new age or era and growing into new ideas or spawning new fields of knowledge. So much of what we call our own mind are collections of ideas passed on to us through our parents, through school, through our friends, or through televisions, computers and phones. So much of our behavior is either instinctually or chemically influenced, or they are behaviors we’ve picked up from those around us, people we see on TV, characters in books, comics, movies or shows.

How much of “you” can actually be found amidst this carnival of “not you”? And how much of the “not you” has influenced and altered “you”?

Beyond this, “who we are” can be such a fleeting reality. We’re one person at one moment, then we’re angry or sad or scared the next moment, and suddenly we’re practically a completely different person. We may even change how we act depending on what we wear, who we talk to, where we talk to them. How different of a person are you if you’re having drinks at a bar compared to drinks at a friend’s house, or how different are you when you wear denim jeans and sneakers compared to shorts and flip flops, or when you’re at work compared to when you’re at home?

How different of a person might you be just based on the colors of the walls around you, the smell of the room you’re in, the expressions and body language of the people nearby?

Maury further explores the influences that others have on us and our sense of self, particularly the painful and at times frightening aspects of it, in the piece, “Kings”.

Kings
Summer 2019
A5 paper. Pen, ink, gel pen.

“’Kings’ kind of represents all the people around us that we feel are judging us (often with no good reason). It could be that guy in the train, or the woman in the store. They gang up, stare, judge. Them against us. There is a sense of power and arrogance in it, hence that they are self-proclaimed kings. I think it is also influenced by the growth of the importance of individualism, in which many are prone to believe they themselves are the most important, rather than the wellbeing of the community.

But obviously this judging only happens in my head, because 99% of the people you pass in the streets don’t even notice you, let alone care.”

An often overlooked or undervalued aspect of understanding someone’s creations is understanding where these ideas have grown from—the inspirations and influences of someone’s art, music, writing and so forth.

In addition to anime, Maury mentioned a number of other influences, including film and music.

“I have this peculiar habit of intensely loving only a few artists so much that their work is on repeat rather than exploring a quantitative amount of artists. My current repeat playlist (named “repeat”) consists of #2 by Nils Frahm and a handful of tracks from the Westworld soundtrack by Ramin Djawadi. I especially love films that are thought provoking, or take me on a journey and preferably have an amazing atmospheric original score. Watching the Lord of the Rings Trilogy kind of has become a yearly tradition, and I have become so familiar with the lines that I bought the Japanese dubbed version to use it for my language studies haha. Anime is also a huge influence, especially visual, since the Japanese seem to apply a lot of shots and poses that I find beautiful and my computer is full of screenshots that I use as reference.

“In the end I love the feeling these works give me, this feeling of inspiration, or they maybe even make me feel alive and that I’m allowed to live. That there’s more to life than only living. And that’s what I want to give back to the world. If the inspired-me can inspire someone else again, who then can inspire another and so forth… That would be enough.”

In discussing her favorite anime, Maury said:

“One of my favorite anime films is Ghost in the Shell, because it’s full of layers. As humans we are watching a drawn representation of human-like cyborgs, so there is this double sense of artificiality. The director Oshii Mamoru also uses a lot of visual symbolisms and mechanisms that confuse the spectator. This is even more noticeable in his other animation film Angel’s Egg in collaboration with illustrator Amano Yoshitaka, who also worked on the Final Fantasy series (which I love 🙂 also the soundtrack!). The themes in Angel’s Egg are about loneliness and purpose and faith, and it’s set in a very dark world where this girl wanders through a deserted town with an egg, until she meets a man of whom we never truly know if he is friend of foe. It’s on YouTube with subtitles if anyone’s interested.

The original Fullmetal Alchemist has been hugely influential, which I prefer over Brotherhood because I think the original is more dramatic. Although, both soundtracks are wonderful. The hands that are represent in my work definitely find their origin in this series. The parallel universe/time travel theory of Steins;Gate also had a very big impact on my own way of theorizing an approach to life choices. They have a timeline that breaks up in several timelines, and made it really visible. Nowadays, when I look back at choices I have made and how they lead me to where I am now, I imagine the choices being forked roads and every path is another Maury leading a different life.”

Welcome to My Mirrored World
Winter 2018
A3 paper. Pen, ink, gel pen.

The influence of both Ghost in the Shell and Fullmetal Alchemist can be seen in Maury’s works, “Welcome to My Mirrored World” and “Let Us Catch You”.

Maury mentioned that a shot from the 1995 Ghost in the Shell anime film inspired “Welcome to My Mirrored World”, and though I don’t know specifically which shot this was, the scene I immediately thought of was one where the protagonist is rising to the surface of a body of water, and her reflection creates a sort of mirrored, parallel reality before she breaks the surface of the water. With “Let Us Catch You” and several other pieces, we see the inspiration of the long, tendril-like arms related to Truth and various scenes where certain types of Alchemy are performed in Fullmetal Alchemist.

Though we didn’t discuss her art process in as much depth as we discussed other topics, Maury did explain how she comes up with many of her ideas, as well as part of her process of using recurring motifs in her art:

“There are two ways. Way 1: I live life. Life gives emotional friction. This emotional friction finds a visual representation that I doodle in my book of ideas. Way 2: I watch film. Film merges with random thoughts and memories of other things and I doodle it in my book of ideas. When I feel creative or a necessity to deal with my thoughts and emotions, I open my book of ideas, pick a pre-sketch and start drawing the composition. A lot of times inspiration and this feeling of necessity happen in the same moment.

“Often, I already know what kind of textures I want to use, or I decide to use several, for example I make one with a universe background, while the other will get a tree growing out of somewhere. For this reason, I create a template for most of my designs so I can easily make several versions with the help of a light box. I kind of see it as a puzzle. I have several reoccurring textures and motifs which I keep switching around in new compositions. Sometimes new ones are added or old ones become obsolete.”

Along with discussing her art, Maury and I talked a bit about her music, film projects she’s been involved with and a story of hers she’s been working with off and on for a few years.

“I would love to compose a score for a Japanese animation. That’s definitely in the top three of my bucket list.

“During my music degree at Plymouth University I worked on the feature film Jannertown with director Guy Brasher, which was such an amazing experience. His film is presented in several chapters that all have their own genre, but everything is connected. So musically this meant working with several themes that could return in various ways ranging from elevator music to futuristic synth music and orchestral superhero music.

“More recently I have worked with Pim Kromhout on a performance theater act inspired by the painting “Golconde” by René Magritte. The act consists of four very tall men with umbrella’s and there is music coming out of the umbrellas. Although the four men look the same and the music sounds as one whole, every man has his own tune that symbolizes his individuality. Unfortunately, it’s on hold because of Covid-19.

“[…]

Chaos
2016
A4 paper. Pen, ink, coloured pencils.

“My art and my music come from the same inner-location, which I at some point started to see as a fictional world. In my art there are returning characters which were initially just personifications of emotions, but at some point, influenced by the endless amounts of binge-watched/read-stories, I thought I could try to make my own story. And I got as far as plotting the whole first part of a trilogy, including strange dimensional travel laws, gods and prophecies, geographical maps. It was supposed to get a soundtrack too, with themes for different locations and characters. There was a lot of longing and tragedy.

“Unfortunately, I’m not a very good reader, so I failed to read back what I had written and then I lost track of all the complexities and now we’re three years later. But with all the free time Covid-19 has given me I’m actually taking a different approach in telling the story in a visual novel style. (trying to.) (also giving me a temporary meaning in this meaningless existence.)

“The story is set in an unchanging world. Characters that do administration of administration of administration. They look like barcodes and every minute of every day of every day is planned out for them. The world has long ago reached a form of perfection and so they are in a state of preservation, because if there would be any change, Being would change to Becoming and he would carry the world back to Chaos. (this works better in Dutch). While this barcode-species called ‘Others’ are supposed to be like robots, the main character has this inside-universe that makes her set out into the world and then things happen and she meets all kinds of people and discovers all sorts of secrets.”

The fortunate and the unfortunate aspect of Maury and I’s discussion is that we had a huge overlap in interests and so much to discuss. There was a lot Maury had to say that I could not fit into the article, as well a lot I wanted to say about Maury’s artwork and a number of topics related to her artwork that I could not fit in. Nonetheless, it has been a pleasure going through her artwork and hearing her thoughts on many things.

Whaleoplane
March 2020
A3 paper. Pen, ink, gel pen.

Maury’s artwork spans across philosophical and psychological themes and subjects, but her artwork stands on its own even without these underlying themes. The stark contrasts of black and white captures your attention, pulling your mind into a reeling labyrinth of shifting identities, crashing emotions, and the enveloping hands and faces of a comforting, conforming throng of people. With every day being another trek through a maze of faces, words, beliefs, motivations, personalities, relationships—and all the twisting, knotted, overlapping, intersecting crossroads between them—how long can we avoid the minotaur we’ve kept imprisoned inside our minds?

How long until the walls come down? And all the thoughts, emotions and beliefs we keep bottled inside come surging out?

Maury’s art is able to show both the tension between ourselves and others, and the tension between ourselves and our own minds: the mazes and the mirrors we navigate every day.

If you would like to see more of Maury’s work, you can find her on Instagram at www.instagram.com/fallsomnia or @fallsomnia and @fall.in.progress. Her primary website is www.fallsomnia.com and her music can be found on www.soundcloud.com/fallsomnia. Please give her art as well as her music a look/listen, and if you enjoy it, be sure to follow her.

Wonderland

Written by Alexander Greco

May 24, 2019

I was new to this. It was my cousin who got me started. I told her I needed money, and couldn’t find a job. Instead of giving me any of her money, she taught me how to “fish”. She taught me how to pick up clients—how to present myself, how to tell which guys were likely to be clean, and which guys wouldn’t beat on me. She let me borrow her, um, toys and, well, practice—which is good, because I wasn’t very… practiced.

I was afraid of all the men at first—afraid of what they might do to me, of how this could go wrong, afraid of who they might all be—but none of them were ever mean, or abusive, or malicious in any way. I suppose I was still always afraid of the men, but they were mostly blue-collar workers who couldn’t find a girl who wanted them back, or white-collar men who had wives and children they didn’t want to think about for a night. They were almost all balding and quiet, and unsure and fidgety, and nervous and quick. I was only so afraid of them for so long.

Well, anyway, after almost a year of doing this, I met this Man at a bar. I dropped a few hints, just how my cousin taught me, and I had him hooked quick. I was surprised. He was handsome, and looked well-to-do—not the kind of guy I’d expect to, you know, be with girls like me.

So, we went to his hotel room. I sat down on this Man’s bed. He gave me a glass of water to drink, and said he needed to use the bathroom. I nodded and thanked him for the water. While he was gone sipped at it pretty conservatively. I was a bit nervous, and really only drank it to be polite. However, after ten or twenty minutes of him being gone, I’d finished the glass

I looked around the hotel room looking for anything to distract my nerves while I waited for the Man. My eyes fell on two bottles sitting on a table next to the bed. One had a red label, the other had a blue label. I picked the red one up, but couldn’t recognize the name—or even pronounce it. The other one, the blue one, was some sort of Benzo—I had known guys who liked them, and a few who had tried to give me some.

I set the blue bottle down just as the Man came out of the bathroom. He walked toward me, and gestured to the bed. I sat down. He sat down next to me and pulled a small, plastic bag from his pocket. I recognized it—Cocaine.

The man pushed the two bottles aside, and laid the bag on the table. “Come here,” he said, excitedly.

“No, thank you,” I replied.

“Come on,” he said, opening the bag, “you ever done it before? You’ll love it.”

I hadn’t done it before, and I didn’t really want to try it. His tone was still cheerful, and I hoped he would stay agreeable with me if I refused. “Please,” I said, “I’d really rather—“

The Man whipped around to look at me. “I said, come here.” The cheerfulness was gone. His eyes were cold. He didn’t care about me at all. He was just here for fun. So, that’s what I’d have to give him.

For a moment, I hesitated, not knowing what to do. Then, I got up and knelt down beside the table. The Man had poured some of the powder onto the table, then pulled a dollar bill from his pocket, and rolled it into a small tube. With his finger, the Man made a small line of powder. He leaned forward, put the tube into one of his nostrils, put a finger over the other, then inhaled the powder into his nose with the dollar bill.

“Ooh, damn,” he said, leaning back, “oh, shit. Here, try some.”

The Man handed me the dollar bill, which I took. Then the Man sectioned off another line of powder for me. As he did this, I noticed my body feeling strange. Something felt… changed. But then the Man was done. “Come on,” he said.

I figured the strange feeling was just my nerves, so I leaned forward, put the end of the dollar tube up to the powder, just as the Man had done, and inhaled. I sniffed only a small amount of the powder, but the sensation took me so off guard that I pulled away instantly. I sneezed, blinked, and shook my head. The Man laughed. I didn’t like his laugh.

“Come on, girly, finish it up,” he said.

I complied, hesitantly. I leaned forward, and inhaled the powder as quickly as I could. Same as last time, I pulled away as soon as I was finished. I felt buzzed almost immediately. Everything was a little lighter. I was happier, my nervousness was gone. I felt wide awake, happy to be here, and energetic, like I had just drank a few cups of coffee. The Man was laughing again. This time, I did like the sound of his laugh.

“There you go, good girl,” he said.

I smiled when he said that. I don’t know why, but I liked it.

“A little more,” he said, dividing some more with his finger, “before we get the show started.”

While he was sectioning off his little portion, I noticed the strange sensation again. It wasn’t nerves, I knew that now, I didn’t feel nervous at all. I liked the feeling—though, I liked everything at that point. It was just that… Well, something was different. I don’t know—I don’t know how else to describe it. Something was different about everything, but there was only a slight change 

The man finished his line, and had already divided one for me. He handed me the bill, and I was far less hesitant this time. “There you go,” the Man said, “chase the rabbit.”

I did what he said. I reacted almost the same—it was disorienting inhaling the powder, and it didn’t feel right going in my nose—but now I was growing far more energetic. Hyper, I was hyper. And happy. I don’t know if I had ever felt happier. I felt almost like a child.

At this point, the strange feeling I had noticed before seemed to lurch forward from the corners of my perception, and began filling my body. First, it was some sort of euphoria—like the feeling you get when you’re outside, on a hill or in the woods, and a cool breeze blows by. You forget for a moment where you are, what your worries were, and something about this breeze is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever known.

I turned and looked at the Man, and he seemed to far away. I knew he was looking at me, and I could feel his hands on my body. They were herds of sensations, like herds of antelope or bison, running across my body—if my body was a field, or a savannah in Africa. He smiled at me, and my thoughts laid down in a field—I could feel grass, bushes and flowers at the back of my thoughts. I smiled back at the Man, and something indescribable flowed through me.

When I smiled, it was like the moon had been melted into a cup of glowing fluid, and poured into my veins. I thought the sun started setting in the room, or at least that it was twilight. I don’t know why. It might have been the light, or the colors. But it also felt like summer. It was warm in here, I could feel everything in my body without thinking of it, it was just there. But that’s not why it felt like summer. It was out of school and down the road. It was somewhere we were laughing.

The Man was kissing me, I realized. I thought our mouths felt like whales swimming in the deepest oceans, except it was Summertime still, even in out oceans. But I had never felt whales before, how would I know? I was moving—a sky full of stars proceeding across a hundred years of nights. Then I think my dress came off my body.

The breeze passed and calmed down. The flowers went away for a moment. The warmth was uncomfortable now, clammy and humid. I looked down, and the man’s hands were beneath my bra, groping my chest. He was on his back, I was straddling him. What was I doing? I looked down at his hands, and it all looked wrong.

Something soured, and whatever music I had been listening to before went cold and sharp. The air clouded with violent fluids, racing through my thoughts. I looked at the man’s half-undressed body. He was some sort of animal, I thought. And I didn’t know him. I didn’t know this person at all. Why was he doing this to me? There was nothing human in how he touched me, nothing but an animal in his eyes.

He shifted his body, and I realized he was already inside of me. I hadn’t felt him enter me. I didn’t know. But there he was, to the hilt.

The Man smiled again. It was all wrong. His smile was too wide. His teeth weren’t human. His eyes opened up like sinkholes at the same time they shrunk into black pebbles. He laughed, and the air cracked like splintering wood as a house fell around us. “Having fun?” he asked.

Fun. He wanted me to have fun. He wanted me to enjoy this.

The Man has his way with me. He gives me money, and he leaves. I buy my food—or else I starve—and then I come back to the Man for more. He has the money: he has me. And I’m supposed to enjoy it. I’m supposed to love it. I’m supposed to let him smile at me and let his stranger’s hands crawl across me like herds of cattle and swine, and I’m supposed to smile back.

Was that what he wanted?

His smile grew wider, and his face distorted. His eyes sunk into dark pits, and his grin threatened to consume me. His smile wanted to eat me, eat my skin, eat my thoughts, eat my name.

I pushed myself off of him, and jumped off the bed.

He sat up in bed and stared at me. He said something frustrated, but the words danced into shapes I couldn’t read.

I backed away from the bed, and looked around for my clothes, but nothing was familiar anymore. It was all the same—it was all right there—but it was all something different too.

The Man was trying to calm me down, but I doubt he really cared. Two other men stepped out from the bathroom and started walking towards me. It didn’t understand it—had they come from Nowhere? I saw one of them step next to the bed and grab the blue bottle. Some gear far inside my mind clicked into sense. I didn’t hesitate. I turned around, opened the door of our room, and burst out onto the walkway outside.

I was only wearing a bra, but that didn’t matter. I heard footsteps coming after me. We were on the second floor of the motel. In front of me there was a metal rail, then a wooden fence down below. Beyond that, trees and bushes. There was only one way forward that I could see.

The men were coming to the door, I had a couple seconds at most. I leaned onto the rail, put my feet on top of it, and kicked forward with my legs.

The men were yelling somewhere behind me, but I didn’t understand or care. My torso cleared the top of the fence, but my legs didn’t. My shins slammed on the top of the wooden boards, I tumbled forward into the branches, and crashed through a bush to the ground. My body hurt all over, but it wasn’t a normal hurt. It was a storm of sensation—lightning crashed all over my body, and a dull thundering throbbed through my body.

I got up off the ground, and something told me to run, so I began tearing blindly through the trees and the brush. My body was wracked with pain­—my shins screamed at me with each footfall—but I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t even be bothered to care that it hurt.

An animal—a dog maybe, or bear, or an ape; something big and heavy and warm—was sitting in the back of my thoughts. It was making some sort of noise at me. It was barking, grunting, or roaring at me, but it was silent at the same time. From its mouth came branches of a tree, covered in vines and lichen and moss, and from each branch, small twigs like arms with searching hands.

It was the thing in my head telling me to run. I trusted it, so I ran. As I ran, I could hear it whispering things to me. I trusted it, so I listened. As I listened, I could feel its warmth spreading through my body, soothing me. I trusted it, so I embraced a rushing sort of calm.

These trees I ran through were no more than a small patch of woods—maybe a half mile deep—that emptied out behind a few square miles of suburban maze. I could hear the men far behind me as I approached the other side of these trees. In the corner of my eye I could see the rapid bobbing and swaying of their flashlights through the trees.

Though it was night, I thought I could see everything clear as day. No, seeing wasn’t the right word. I just sort of knew, like my eyes were telling my arms and legs secrets, even if I couldn’t see what the secrets were. I knew where everything was, or maybe everything put itself where I knew it should be, and I didn’t trip on anything or run into a single tree or bush.

Once I made it to the edge of the trees, the men’s flashlights had closed half the distance to me. There was an open field that stretched two or three blocks to my left and right, and across the field were homes. I turned left, and ran across the edge of the field, just along the tree line. I kept looking behind me in my peripherals, and as soon as I saw the flashlights emerging near the edge of the trees, I came to a stop, and stepped back into the darkness of the trees.

Two men emerged from the tree line, with two flashlights. Together, they formed some sort of monster with wild, disembodied eyes that illuminated the ground around them. They split apart, and the one monster became two. They each turned their own direction down the field and began walking—one down the right side, and one toward the left side, toward me.

I watched the man coming in my direction. As I did, the whole air seemed to hum—quiet at first, then louder and louder. The night sky above all the houses seemed to shimmer, like the air was made of indigo spider’s silk that a million painters brushed over the suburbs. From my peripherals, I saw movement all around me. Green trails of trembling sensation—sensation I could see in front of me—snaked through the air and through the trees, and small marbles of red and yellow thought rolled through the air and down the trees. However, I didn’t turn to look at these. I kept my eyes fixed on the Man.

The air around him shimmered with a blue color. Then it got darker, and turned into a violet. The violet closed in on the Man. The violet charred and congealed onto the man’s body like a new skin. This violet light turned into an oily black suit, encompassing the Man’s body. A new body grew from his back, with hind legs so he could pad along on all fours.

The Man was something new now, an oily, black creature with a single, shining white eye, which beamed light from the end of a bent and craning neck. Its skin bubbled and churned like boiling tar. Its limbs swung like frantic cat’s legs across a roaming pocket of void.

Where it walked, the ground moved to avoid being trodden on by the one-eyed creature. The brushstroke skies seemed to lift themselves up where the thing passed, and the grass and dirt disappeared around its feet. In this way, the creature walked across Nothing, and its pitch body could only be seen against the suburban houses, because Heaven and Earth refused to touch it.

Soon, it came by me. It was never closer than thirty feet, even when it was right in front of me. A ringing noise came from the thing’s body, and at the same time I felt invisible hands clawing at my thoughts. They all came from the thing, I knew that, as if I knew it in a dream, and they were the ringing noise—though it didn’t make sense, I knew it to be true.

As if in defiance, I felt the branches of all the trees around me crowd into the back of my head. I heard them whispering things—though they were not whispers in a language as we knew it. They spoke in words made of shapes—edges, bodies, and curves—intonated with shifting angles, and articulated with spiraling geometries. These branches were crowding my thoughts—a whole tree, perhaps, was inside of my head.

The branches pushed away all of the creature’s hands, and cleared my head from all its ringing. The creature kept walking, never noticing me, and went further and further down the field. For a moment, it was just the tree and I. It was still speaking to me, and now I thought it was speaking in colors, colors that vibrated and climbed through your head like ladybugs and crickets climbed through leaves and twigs.

For a moment, something much larger than both I or the tree seemed to fill my body. It sort of came from the tree, but it was more than the tree at the same time. They were hundreds and thousands of glowing worms, or snakes, or roots—it was an entire forest of them, an entire glowing forest—but they all formed one cohesive feeling, one cohesive body.

Then, the tree retreated from my thoughts. It slowly climbed out through the back of my head, back into some wilderness, and I was left alone at the edge of the trees. I looked to my left and to my right, but I didn’t see either of the men. I looked around at all of the houses. A few had clotheslines in their back yards. I thought I could see a white dress in one of the nearer ones. I looked around once more, to make sure I didn’t see the men anywhere, then I sprinted across the field to the backyard of this house.

The men didn’t come out of hiding from anywhere, and I don’t think anyone saw me. I stepped up to the clothesline, and saw that there was indeed a white dress hanging outside. I grabbed it, and pulled it over my head and down my body.

When I’d finished, I looked around the yard to make sure I was alone. Then I walked carefully between the house I had stolen the dress from, and the house right next to it. On the other side of the two houses, I checked to see if the streets were clear. They seemed to be. I stepped carefully out between the two houses, through their yard, onto a sidewalk, and across the street.

I knew there were some more woods on the other side of this suburban area—much larger than the small strip I had passed through. I could take a shortcut through those woods that would take me only a few blocks from my house (I knew my way around, having been invited to several of these houses on nights when mothers and children had gone out of town).

After I crossed the street, and stepped onto the sidewalk of the next block, an odd sort of calm came over me. Everything in my head was quiet, except for this cool stream of—I don’t know—existence? Being? A small, clear pool of living, and that was all I could hear. Around me, the incandescence of the streetlamps and the colors of the night sky seemed to form this landscape of light around me.

Black and white contrasted in dancing tableaus. Reds and yellows blended in rivers running across the road, up the trees, and across lawns. Then, like a lord of these colors, the indigo sky descended upon them with rich blues, violets, grays, and blacks. From the windows of some houses, I saw lamps inside their windows, and these lamps were like small angels beaming out white-gold, electric ecstasy in every direction through the night.

It was like this for quite some time—though I couldn’t tell you how long quite some time lasted. A few blocks down, I could hear a small storm of chirping. Then, further down, I saw a tree that had grown up alongside a streetlamp, so that the light of the street lamp cascaded through the branches of the tree. In this tree, and a smaller one next to it, there had to have been at least a couple hundred small birds, if not more. I was close to the woods now, and, though I didn’t know where the two men were, I felt safe here, so I decided to stop.

They were all chirping together. There was no real rhythm to it, no pattern I could extract, but something about it fascinated me. I walked up to the tree, and stared at them. It was beautiful­—the light piercing through the branches, and the birds flapping energetically in the dark—but it was the sound that entranced me. The bird’s chirping consumed me—it was all I could think. It was all I could feel, and all I knew. The sounds churned in my head, and something rose out of it.

On the edge of my thoughts, I swore I could understand what they were saying. There was something meaningful about the noises they made. They were all talking to each other. Maybe not how humans talk to each other, but talking to each other nonetheless. Some melody, some song, some harmony they were forming in unison that spoke back to them all—the voice of the flock speaking back to each bird, as each bird joined in articulating the voice of the flock. What were they saying?

Something broke my train of thought. Out of some instinct rather than logical thought, I turned and looked down the street to my right. There, I saw not two but three men. My lover had reunited with them.

As we saw that we saw each other, they broke into a run after me. I turned and began running as well. I was only a couple blocks from the woods, and the men were still almost an entire block behind me—if I could just make it to the forest and to my apartment, I would be safe.

Tonight, I felt as though I could run faster than I had ever run before. My body didn’t get tired, or maybe it didn’t care. I was scared, I suppose, but I felt this fire inside of me as well—something brave and fearless, naked and free. I soared across one block, and the men had hardly made any ground on me. I soared across the next one, and then ran through someone’s yard, past the other side of their house and out into the woods.

How beautiful it was—like a wall of living truth and growth. The darkness between the trees reached out to greet me, and I fell into its grasp. I couldn’t tell you if I ran or not—I seemed to soar more than anything. My body and my thoughts fell into a kaleidoscope of branches and leaves, of colors reaching out from the night, and music playing in the darkness.

The cool breeze I had felt came back, and it lifted me like air beneath a bird’s wings. The whispering of the tree came back, except now it exploded like a symphony of music from my chest. I leapt over roots and rocks, and felt the ground carry me like a parent carrying a child.

Something went wrong, however. I couldn’t quite understand what had gone wrong until I crashed into the ground. I must have tripped over something, I suppose, but nonetheless I had fallen, and fallen hard. I couldn’t breathe—the wind must have been knocked out of me. I crawled up to a nearby tree, and leaned against it. There, I waited for my breath to come back. My right ankle hurt horribly, I don’t know what happened to it.

After a short while of panic and pain, I could breath again. At first, I gasped in air, but then it slowed, then slowed, and slowed some more until I was calm again. My ankle was wracked with pain, and it felt wrong.

I sat up, and tried putting my weight on my feet, but my ankle hurt too badly. I collapsed to the ground, panting and terrified at first, but then I calmed down. Something in me accepted it all. Something in me understood it all. Something in me saw it all.

When the men finally found me, the song in my chest had started playing again. I looked at the men, and the song told me who they were. It told me about the lights they held in their hand. It told me about the guns at their sides. It told me who I was, and it told me why that was okay. I could only halfway hear the men, because I only halfway cared about them. “…we don’t have to… …right away, do we?”

“No, no. I… …she’s contained… …won’t be mad if we take our time.”

I was a deer in the jaws of Man. I was a doe being masticated by a crop thresher. I was a prey animal in the salivating mouth of a machine.

I heard a belt buckles clatter, and a new reality descended upon me like a pack of wolves.

And I didn’t care.

I don’t know what they had done to me, I don’t know what they are doing to me, I don’t know what they have yet to do to me, but my song was playing in the wind in the trees in my head. Whatever has happened, whatever is happening, whatever will happen, I became what is becoming what will become fearless. I am that has, I am that is, I am that will, and I am another tooth in the mouth that eats me.

The War of Information

By Alexander Greco

April 15, 2019

Humanity has entered a new era, the Age of Information. With this new age, many believe we are facing new kind of war. Some say we’ve entered a Culture War, or a War of Ideologies. Others say we’ve entered a War of Information. I’m inclined to believe we’ve entered both wars, and that these wars are actually interwoven with each other.

 “Us vs. Them” mentality of war is becoming less and less about regional or national sets of individuals—the French vs. the Spanish, or British vs. Americans—and more about conflicts between Ideologies throughout the world. Instead of our “tribes” being determined by region or nationality, they are determined by shared personal beliefs, moral foundations, and social norms.

The current culture “battles” are being fought over what a person should think, how a person should think, and how we should behave. Orwell and Huxley may not have gotten the precise details of our present struggles right (though some details are alarmingly pre-cognizant), but the core conflict of 1984 and Brave New World are almost spot-on:

Psycho-Social Conflict, and Control of Ideas and Behaviors.

These battles are being waged all over the place, in a variety of social, institutional and industrial sectors. However, the frontlines of these wars appear to form on the Internet.

The Internet is where the majority of people receive most of their news, entertainment, and other media. The Internet also acts as a cultural and political hub for millions of people on social media platforms such as YouTube, Facebook, Google and Twitter. Online, we are exposed to more information, more personal beliefs, and more cultures than any human ever has been before.

Many thought that with this sort of cultural diffusion, we would see less global tribalism. This has been true in some ways. Musicians from Japan can connect with musicians from France. Sports fans in Brazil can talk shit with sports fans from Spain. Bloggers from America can converse with artists from Serbia. In many ways, the Internet has brought people together.

However, the Internet has also fractionated into innumerable echo chambers. Democrats typically socialize with other Democrats online, and Republicans with other Republicans—both camps are usually disparaging the other. Anarcho-Communists and Neo-Marxists join the same chat groups, where they discuss how terrible Capitalism is. Open-border and closed-border supporters only interact with each other when they’re looking to trade blows.

While this has remained relatively innocuous for quite some time, there have been growing tensions between these Internet tribes (yes, I think “tribes” is the best word for this).  These ideological tensions have been growing in the time leading up to the 2016 presidential elections, and has been growing ever since.

While much of the conflict has been right vs. left, there’s also been conflicts between:

  • Religion vs. Atheism/Agnosticism
  • Western Values vs. Radical/Fundamentalist Islamic Values
  • Classical Liberals and Progressives vs. Neo-Liberals and Neo-Progressives

In addition, over the last couple decades we’ve seen the emergence or re-emergence of politico-cultural groups such as:

  • Antifa
  • ISIS
  • The Alt-Right (strictly referring to groups such as Neo-Nazis and White Nationalists)
  • LGBT Rights Movements
  • The New Atheists
  • The Skeptics
  • Black Lives Matter
  • Anonymous
  • Neo or Lite Conservatism
  • The Muslim Brotherhood
  • Fourth-Wave Feminism
  • Proud Boys
  • The “Red-Pillers”
  • The “Woke”
  • The Intellectual Dark Web
  • Intersectional Postmodernists
  • Neo-Marxism

Some of these groups have pretty reputable motivations and members. Some of these groups are a mixed or neutral batch. Some of these groups flirt with dangerous Ideologies and motivations.

And many of these groups, including the traditional political and cultural groups, are at odds with each other. Some of them have already physically harassed people, committed acts of vandalism, or have committed violent assaults on others. Some politico-cultural groups across the world, such as ISIS, have committed horrific acts of violence against fellow humans.

And, to further complicate the matter, this has all also become wrapped up in government regulations and Social Media policies. To further complicate the matter, this has all become wrapped up in a conversation about Freedom of Speech, Public Goods vs. Private Companies, and government intervention or the lack thereof. To further complicate this, we have to deal with bad actors, fake accounts, bots, and biased (left and right) news outlets.

This is what forms the War of Information—the censorship, demonetization and regulation of speech, expression, and personal belief.

The War of Ideologies, or the Culture War, and the War of Information are two sides of the same coin. One is the tension between various political or cultural factions, and the other is the censorship or promotion of different political or cultural beliefs.

To explain this all better, I want to explain these two “Wars”—these two social battlegrounds—separately.

The War of Ideologies

There are many types of Ideologies, many spectrums across each Ideology, and many intersections of Ideologies:

  • Political
    • Democratic
    • Republican
    • Libertarian
    • Progressive
    • Centrist
    • Classic Liberal
    • Traditional Conservative
    • Neo-Liberalism
    • Neo-Conservatism
    • Marxist
    • Identitarian
  • Cultural
    • Family Heritage
    • Regional
    • National
    • Global
    • Cosmopolitan
    • Traditional
    • Religious
    • Ethnic
    • Art/Media
    • Pop Culture
    • Counter Culture
  • Economic
    • Laissez-Faire
    • Libertarian
    • Conservative
    • Liberal
    • Social Free Market
    • Socialism
    • Communism

And then, everyone has their own, personal ideology, which is an intersection of various Ideologies, mixed with their own personal beliefs and morals.

Part of what has happened in the Age of Information is a Crisis of Identity. People are struggling to be an individual in this strange new world, and, at the same time, are struggling to feel as though they’re part of a group.

When people come in contact with each other, and they identify with different and conflicting Ideological groups—or different Ideological Tribes—they attack each other. This can be as innocuous as members of one Facebook group going after another, but it can escalate to protests and riots between two Ideological Tribes.

While I could write pages and pages about the debates and social wars happening online, the point is that there are large numbers of different Ideologies that are currently conflicting with each other online, in college campuses, and in mainstream media.

I’ve compiled a short list of various debates and commentaries on these social tensions here. So as not to be politically biased, I listed individuals with beliefs that range from hard left, to centrist, to hard right. The point is not to highlight any particular political views, but illustrate that a wide variety of political voices are concerned with censorship.

While most of these conflicts occur in debates, commentary and online discourse, the conflict extends outside online media into legislation. This is where the War of Ideologies connects back to the War of Information.

Why?

Because Ideologies are how we process and express information. Ideologies are a set of beliefs, morals and perspectives we use to get by in life and make decisions, and many fear that politically-based censorship can silence people with dissenting beliefs.

With platforms like Twitter, YouTube, Facebook, Patreon or Paypal having the ability to demonetize, suspend or ban accounts for expressing certain views, many people have begun to worry that political lobbying could result in people being censored from public discourse because of their personal beliefs.

This is only made worse by the sheer amount of content that is put out on the internet, the sheer amount of different opinions and beliefs on the internet, and the sheer amount of misinformation and bad actors.

At the same time that companies and political groups might be censoring and suppressing speech, it is becoming more and more difficult to trust information from media outlets—even large, mainstream outlets. The result is a frantic, chaotic marsh of clashing beliefs and muddied facts.

The foundation of this “War” comes down to:

  • Freedom of Speech vs. Censorship

And

  • The Deterioration of Society’s “Sense-Making Apparatus”

Freedom of Speech vs. Censorship

This debate comes down to a conversation about what can and cannot be said on Social Media and on Mass/Mainstream Media. It’s a conversation over political correctness and free, open discourse. It’s also a conversation over who is allowed to talk.

For example, who is allowed to have a voice on Twitter? Should someone be banned for life if they have a political opinion that isn’t PC? Should Neo-Nazi’s be allowed on Twitter? Should ISIS and other Muslim Fundamentalists be allowed on Twitter? How about this, should someone who questions the motivations of Muslim Fundamentalists be allowed on Twitter? Or, should someone who questions the actions and motivations of Black Lives Matters be allowed a Social Media platform?

A current controversy on Twitter revolves around people being banned for “dead-naming” and “mis-gendering” trans individuals.[1]

One example of this controversy is a woman named Megan Murphy, a lesbian and a Feminist activist, was banned for saying, “men aren’t women” on Twitter.[2] Personal beliefs aside, this shouldn’t be such a controversial statement that someone could be permanently banned from Twitter, a massively popular platform for public discourse.

Who is allowed to speak?

Who is allowed to voice their opinion?

And what opinions should be allowed on Social Media, versus what opinions should be censored on Social Media?

In addition, online mobs (left and right) have called for the de-platforming or de-monetization of individuals, and online mobs (left and right) have also harassed individuals through emails, through social media, or through published content.[3]

Many liberals and conservatives alike—from Progressive college professors[4], to Independent/Neutral investigative journalists[5], to Fox News Reporters[6]—have pushed back against this. Not only have they pushed back against the Social Media companies, but they‘ve pushed back against the media outlets who support this censorial action, as well as political figures and activist movements who call for censorship.

And this doesn’t even go into things like Russian Troll Farms[7], or Wiki-Leaks and the recent arrest of Julian Assange[8], or the fact that Facebook is selling its users’ meta-data to large corporations.[9]

While these things are all a part of the problem, the biggest problem is that it’s hard to know what the hell is going on right now. The biggest problem is that we can’t agree on our problems, we can’t agree on facts, and we can’t agree on where to even begin solving our problems.

Amidst all this online chaos—amidst this strange new world we’ve entered—we’re in a period of time where so much is happening across the world that it’s difficult to know what we should do about anything.

We’ve become a disassociated people, with widely varying personal narratives that help us get through our days, and we’ve entered one of the most chaotic points in human history.

No one can even seem to agree on basic facts regarding global and national events. We hardly trust our governments. We hardly agree on who is an enemy and who is not. We hardly agree on what our problems are, or how we can solve these problems.

If no one can agree on what is happening, then that means no one can agree on what we should do to fix our problems. This is the dissolution of our Sense-Making Apparatus.

Our collective Sense-Making no longer works. We have too much going on, we have too many competing narratives, and we have too many competing sources of information.

There is a spectrum of people in the 9-11 conversation, ranging from people who outright dismiss the idea, to people convinced the government staged 9-11.

We can’t seem to decide what should be done about the violence and instability in the Middle-East, or what the true cause of the violence and instability even is.

Half the nation is split on the legitimacy of our current president. Some people absolutely love Trump (like, love the guy). Some people are neutral. Others hate Trump (really, really hate him).

And, to top it all off, there are people right now who think the Earth is flat.

People are going crazy. People cannot agree on a common narrative, on common problems, or on common goals. People can’t even agree on basic facts.

And it’s not just the United States. This is happening throughout the world. There’s social and national instability in North and South America, Europe, Africa, Asia, and the Middle-East. Practically everywhere, we’re destabilizing everywhere, and so much of it has to do with our Sense-Making Apparatus—our common agreement on facts, on problems and on goals.

And this failure of our collective Sense-Making Apparatus only makes the War of Ideologies, or the Culture War, worse, because it’s a war of competing ideas, competing goals and competing perceptions.

So, what is the result of this?

There is a huge divide now between the left and the right, but there are also divides within the left and the right, and there are fringe, radical groups who have begun to rise in power.

We see movements and organizations such as Antifa, or the Anti-Fascism group, which took violent action against Free-Speech activists at UC Berkley. Antifa, categorized as a far-left activism group, has also clashed with the Proud Boys, categorized as a far-right activism group.

In Charlottesville, we saw a clash between white-supremacy advocates and civil rights protestors, which escalated into a car being rammed into the protestors.

Identitarian-Leftist movements across school campuses have led to massive protests, campus violence, and the targeted harassment of professors and speakers.

Ben Shapiro, a moderate Conservative journalist, faced massive and relatively violent protests when he spoke at UC Berkley.[10] Despite being Jewish, Shapiro has been called a Nazi and White Supremacist by his left-wing adversaries.

Evergreen State professor, Bret Weinstein (pronounced like Einstein) was protested, harassed and forced to leave the University after questioning Identitarian policies on his campus.[11]

Jordan Peterson, a professor from the University of Toronto, has been widely criticized and harassed for protesting similar Identitarian policies at his campus, arguing that they infringed on Free Speech.[12] Jordan Peterson, despite being a highly knowledgeable and outspoken critic of fascism and communism in the 20th Century, has been labelled an “Alt-Right Fascist” by far-left radical groups.

And this is just the tip of the iceberg. There are fragmenting societies and governments throughout Europe, and certainly throughout the Middle-East. There are escalating political movements on the right and on the left throughout the world, much like the ones we’re seeing in America. There’s still corruption in our governments, dictatorships oppressing their people, and wars being fought. We still don’t know what to do about the Middle-East. We still don’t know what to do about North Korea. We still don’t know what to do about Russia, or China, or AI, or Global Warming, or poverty, or anything.

It’s all insanity right now, and I’m not sure where any of this is going.

There’s talk about Civil Wars in the US right now—and there’s actual Civil Wars going on in other parts of the world—and people have been talking about World War 3 since 9-11 happened. If things continue spiraling out of control, something will eventually snap.

If we want to avoid that, we have to come to some sort of understanding with each other, and we have to fix our Sense-Making Apparatus.

We have to shift into rational discussions about our problems.

We have to find common ground, isolate our most prevalent problems, and search for common goals.

And we have to end this War of Information. We have to create institutions we can trust. We have to find sources of news and information we can rely upon, and safeguard them from misinformation. We have to form a government that has the nation’s interests in mind.

But.

If we can’t trust our institutions, then we’ll have to start taking our own lives into our hands. If there aren’t any reliable media outlets, then we’ll have to start searching for the truth ourselves. If we can’t elect officials who have our best interests in mind, then we have to elect ourselves, as citizens of our cities, states and nations, to help bring changes we need to society.

We have to step out of this frenzy of opinions, information, and misinformation we’ve become accustomed to, and figure out what actually matters. We have to see eye-to-eye with people we might not agree with, so we can work to solve our biggest problems. And we have to put everything back into a more common, rational perspective, so we can work towards a better future.


[1] https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.theverge.com/platform/amp/2018/11/27/18113344/twitter-trans-user-hateful-content-misgendering-deadnaming-ban

[2] https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.wsj.com/amp/articles/writer-sues-twitter-over-ban-for-mocking-transgender-people-11549946725

[3] https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.nationalreview.com/2018/11/social-media-elitists-mobs-killed-dream-of-digital-egalitarianism/amp/

[4] https://www.campusreform.org/?ID-11020

[5] https://www.zerohedge.com/news/2019-03-5/twitter-baised-against-conservatives-thats-fact-tim-pool-destroys-twitter-ceo

[6] https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.foxnews.com/opinion/facebook-doesnt-really-believe-in-free-speech-what-they-believe-in-and-actively-practice-is-censorship.amp

[7] https://www.vox.com/2018/10/19/17990946/twitter-russian-bots-election-tampering

[8] https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.nytimes.com/2019/04/11/world/europe/julian-assange-wikileaks-ecuador-embassy.amp.html

[9] https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.techrepublic.com/google-amp/article/facebook-data-privacy-scandal-a-cheat-sheet/

[10] https://www.google.com/amp/s/amp.cnn.com/cnn/2017/09/14/us/berkely-ben-shapiro-speech/index.html

[11] https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bret_Weinstein

[12] https://www.chronicle.com/article/What-s-So-Dangerous-About/242256