philosophy of curiosity
Curiosity does not exist anymore in the average person. The average person is consumed with his or her cell phone, or another screen nearly 100% of their waking hours.
It’s the first thing they see in the morning after hearing the alarm, and the last thing they see before falling asleep.
This is pure poison.
Life existing prior to back-lit screens is merely a ghost of a memory, something unimaginable and unattainable for the masses. Pick five people nearest to you and chances are, they are all are using their phones or clutching desperately to them. The screen has mined our attention span; we can’t focus on books, on conversations, on social entertainment — or on anything that might require some brain power and eye contact. We are drugged by the devices we so happily advertise as a key to freedom. What freedom is there in something that gives you anxiety if you forget it? Or if it’s stolen, or the battery dies?
In efforts to connect globally we have sacrificed the most important connection: the primal connection to ourselves.
Phone chargers dangle from the ceiling like an umbilical cord, slowly nourishing the living with sustenance until they are ready to be weaned. However, this phenomenon is perverse; the person holding the phone, plugged into the socket, more than likely will not be separated from this umbilicus. It somehow became an addendum to the body, like an external organ, an identity. Our habits have been reconstructed in a digital way; our faces are light-washed with that faint blue glow of the screen, perpetuating a superficial aura bathing us in hollowness; our minds are over-stimulated and suffocated with noise and chatter from a screen. And yet every day we come back to it, addicted, starved, begging, salivating … like a dog for a treat.