If there are two words in the English language that I absolutely loathe seeing paired together, they are: I’m. And bored. What does this statement even mean?
I’m bored! Argh-Gah-Bajahhhh.
Excuse me for a moment …
Okay, so, there are a lot of self-help books out there, and general gypsy wizard, Messiah’s who walk around (yes, sometimes books walk) talking about how only boring people ever get bored. Now, although I like the idea behind this sentiment, it’s not one I’m sure I necessarily agree with.
Usually, from my experience at least, the people most likely to talk about how bored they are are the one’s most likely to be offered a gig on a reality television show. The enthusiastically, extroverted party types whom you’ll find sprawled out in some gutter every Sunday morning after a long weekend. One that involved the ingestion of obscene quantities of alien chemicals.
I’m not trying to poo-poo on the party animals out there. All I’ma saying is that typically, the bored ones are usually also the … wild ones? And no, I’m not asserting that the vice versa is also true, cause it’s not. But, hey, just wanted to point out that, well, depending on your definition of boring, bored people aren’t always boring.
However, they – the famously bored one’s – are extraordinarily frustrating.
We’re a species that’s part of a world that imagines as a means to survival. (How cool’s that?) And this imagination is so far reaching that it’s literally taken us to the moon and back. It’s opened doors to instantaneous, global communication. It’s created works of art just as beautiful as nature herself. It’s learnt to manipulate sound waves in ways that move us, shape us, transform us and outright hypnotise us. It’s developed conduits through which we can teleport our physical forms from one side of the earth to the other within fifteen hours.
All wrapped in all, despite the malevolent chaos and dis-ease we’ve caused here on this planet that is what we are, we’ve done some cool ass shit.
So how the fuck do some of us get bored in the face of this heavenly abode we’ve learnt to call home?
It’s funny that, I reckon.
What’s funny, Rob? Please, tell me. I’m dying to learn about what’s happening in your brain, you’re so dreamy.
Thanks, my self.
Okay. Well, what’s funny is that we have spent the last five hundred years making life easier, more accessible and immediate. Where we no longer have to hunt or gather our food, but simply go to the store. Where, instead of walking outside to gauge the weather, we ask Siri, our trusty but not rusty, cyber friend. As it stands, we live in a society that is so heavily automated, we humans are no longer really needed to keep it afloat. So, the question then becomes: where are we now?
The answer …
In boredoms deathly, rape cave.
The human form, at least for my conscious time here on planet Albatron, lives almost absolutely on auto pilot. We fly through life, doing this and doing that. Not questioning what we’re doing or why we’re doing it, but rather, blindly fulfilling a fate that’s been determined by a – if I’m to be completely frank, sick society – that desires no more than to subvert the raw, human form and replace it with robots: perfectly uniform beings that do not think. Feel. Or have a unique voice.
Think about it, dear reader. We are, ultimately, as dictated by the ubiquitous, abstractions that comprise our invisible social structures, trying to make our selves redundant. The level of automation that we’re aspiring for will ultimately mean that we – the people – will no longer be required to keep our system afloat. Our purpose will serve little more than to fill a mould that’s been dug out for us by malign sycophants who are merely acting out an unconscious desire to dominate, control and take the reigns of an earth that we’ve come to see as separate from us – the humanoids.
And the most ironic slash hilarious aspect to this puzzle? Fundamentally, we have set up these automated systems to make life easier. So we will then, in subsequent, have more free time at our disposal to do with what we please. But what happens when most people have a little more spare time up their sleeves?
They go bananas!
I’m so bored! There’s nothing to do!
And so the circle begins again: rush, build, automate, complain … become bored. Repeat.
I, for one, will endeavour to live my life free from the faceless yokes yanking at our collective’s unconscious strings. Because it’s totally insane.
And, life would be too boring otherwise.
Humans-are-becoming-unnecessary-in-the-society-we’ve-built. We’re a weird bunch, indeed.