The Birth and Effect of Profound Moments

Emotionally profound moments: are they few and far between? Or in every breath, every touching word or action spoken by certain other? Do they have to be life changing or soul transforming? Or just something that makes you change the way you look at life for a while?

There are profound moments that are everlasting events that affect us: death, birth, relationships and the usual events that make up the lives we lead. But every day, we swerve in and out of moments that make us think; moments that make us catch our breath and loose sleep. Pictures run through our minds, scenes on repeat and conversations caught in a phonological loop. We close our eyes- blink; a second and we see it. It flips and plays, echoes its tones and we feel it.

The consequence lies with us. It’s changed us. Deep down, somewhere beneath the skin and the social construction, its driven its nails, grown iron roots and strangled anything that could stand possibly stand against it.

When days run past like a lost time portal on repeat, profound moments take on different levels. There are the moments that I like to hold for a short time to give me a smile or laugh, to feel how lucky I am in life, inspired by the people I work with or the one I live with. The thankfully humble moments, which change my perspective….for a while, at least.  They can be a cheeky comment that reminds me that I can’t control others reactions to me or an emotional outburst that makes me realise that I’m not always emotionally equipped to deal with other peoples pessimism.

They are recalled when I’m feeling sorry for myself and I wonder where my sense of humour has gone or when I’m feeling bigger than others to remind me that I’m not always prepared for what life throws at me. They are profound, because they stay with me- they break down an ego defence or remind me not to take life too seriously.

But profound moments can not be scripted and can not be forced. We can see an event as important, bearing significance in our lives and a change in our thoughts. But is it profound? Does it shake the bones? Boil the skin?
An every day moment with the knock-on effect of inspiring insight, but rarely do they shake me to the core and blister my skin with a melancholy that makes it hard to breath. Rarely do they stay in my mind for more than a while after the moment and then only appear when they obey a recall when it’s necessary to call them. Even more rarely do they make me watch in slow motion, as life beats around me.

Never have they been inspired by television.

Twenty-six hours ago, I watched an episode of a drama serial. A drama written by Russell T Davis called Cucumber. Briefly, it follows the lives of the gay community in Manchester and in the episode I watched, a middle-aged gay guy called Lance got murdered by a closet homo/straight man called Daniel, who he’d been flirting with. The episode bought the viewer through Lance’s life from the 1960’s to his murder: his childhood, his heterosexual experience and homosexual realisation, the breakdown of his family relationships and his romantic relationships, and eventually how he came to be murdered. Wrapped up and cleverly edited in around 45 minutes.

It wasn’t a tale of twisted tragedy, but one of dealing with the loss of his mother in childhood, a dominant sister and repressed teenage desires. The times and his Afro-Caribbean background gave rise to a homophobic environment and despite a heterosexual relationship in university; Lance was eventually open with his sexuality and had contact with his family throughout the years, albeit briefly on the doorstep and only at Christmas.

Yet he was successful, sociable, rich and enjoying the scene of booming acceptance on a wider scale. He was clubbing and renting expensive apartments, with rich, handsome boyfriends occupying his time. And a sadder chain of events- the death of a long term boyfriend from AIDS and a period of loneliness.

Ice softened and attitudes changed with his family and despite his frosty sister, his father accepted him and invited him in. His father died soon after Lance had found a stable relationship.

Life was rosy for Lance; he’d found peace with his family and a stable relationship with his best friend, Vincent, even buying a home together. Then it changed. They argued, split up and separated. They argued over the nitty-gritty of who was doing what when they had sex and during all of that- a villain appeared.

Every story has a villain. Every life has a few. In this drama, Daniel was a homophobic hotty with issues. A declared heterosexual, who ridiculed and verbally humiliated homosexuals with supposed ‘banter’, yet aggressively flirted with the shows victim. They worked together, so Lance, being led by his bollocks, hung out with him and showed him the night life. Laughing off Daniel’s crass, sometimes insulting comments and lapping up his compliments and innuendos. Lance’s rebellion against being tied to a relationship got the better of him- he declared that he didn’t care and despite a ghost telling him to “Go home”, he went back to Daniel’s flat.

Russell T Davis has a way of depicting life as if he were a fly on the wall. It’s as if there were no cameras in the room when Daniel made a pass at Lance and Lance nervously reacted. It was natural, clumsy and embarrassing. There were no clues obvious in the room that a reaction could be fatal. Yet you could feel it. The actors did their money’s worth and acted as if they were living the script.

As a fly on the wall you could see it in Daniel’s eyes, in his jerky, sexually aggressive movements and you can feel every fibre in Lance’s body scream “It’s time to get out”.

He refused Daniel’s offer to fuck him. Starts to pull his trousers on, tries to calm the situation with a smile, a calm attitude and humour, and yet it’s fruitless. Daniel’s simmering angry repression against his true sexuality has been awakened and it’s ready to rage.

After an aggressive tussle, Lance sits up and Daniel swings a golf club at his head.

He sits frozen, blood gushing from the wound, watching scenes of his life flash before his eyes, intercepted by the vision of Daniel curled up in the corner of the dingy flat, watching him die.  He cries and smiles at the same time. Every profound moment that he’d ever felt hit his heart; every phonological loop he’d ever heard flowed through the blood gushing in to his ears and every touching moment he’d seen broke through the mucus forming a film in his eyes. He sat, rigid, unable to move and only blinking once or twice, as he watched- unable to save himself, unable to say everything he’d ever wanted to say to the people he loved, unable to hold them just one last time- unable to wipe the slate clean and forget silly dramas.

The scene blanks out. Death has arrived. With tears streaming and a head caved in with golf club, Lance is dead.

I sat, glued. Frozen, in awe of the way the story had been told and full of kudos to Russell T Davis, but I had been bolted to the back of my sofa by something else- the moment of dying.

The flashing of one’s life before their eyes is typical and not new. It has its roots in too many religious judgment day tales and spiritual reflection techniques, and I’m not new to any of them- but it was the speed of the demise and the escalation of aggression- that flip moment from risky to fatally dangerous in someone’s personality.

And the waiting to die. Lance was able to watch, blink and cry- he knew that it was the end. No more making up or breaking up; no more drama or ‘Fucking’ issues, no more smiles under the sheets or family Christmas dinners.

He felt them echo from the past and he knew none of them would be possible again.

His story was later updated in a sister show called Banana. Daniel phoned the police and confessed to the murder. The police found him in the corner of the room and Lance’s corpse in the place where he’d died.

No matter the argument, no matter the fret, no matter the twisted issue from the past- right here, right now, I want to see my loved ones again. They are few and far between, and I may not always like them all the time, but I love them and to think that I would never see them again, without them knowing I love them, would make dying a more painful process.

We can’t predict the end. That’s something I share with every human out there. None of us know what those end moments will contain. We live and breathe each day not knowing whether it’s our last or not. An enjoyable moment, a relief from our monotonous lives, a break from the drama…and we’re saying goodbye to everyone and everything we’ve ever known, possibly forever.

I went to bed, disturbed- scenes running through my head and my ears hearing a script.

The day went on, frequently disturbed by the concept of a sudden death. The aggression of the show swam like a shark through my consciousness, but never stayed. It was the snap, bang decision of the scythe and that helpless moment that bothered me. Not being able to say “I’m sorry” or “It’s okay” or “I love you”.

That.

Not how, why or who. Just the helplessness and the regret of leaving.

I got on with the day. I bought my son in to town- life goes on and we had an optician’s appointment and shopping to do. Mental occupation of abstract and philosophical ideals and emotional complications are denied in the routine of every day life. Yet everything seemed different. I watched with careful eyes, taking in the different lives weaving in and out of mine. Different dresses, colours, emotions, personalities, experiences, with one thing in common- none of us knew what that moment held and no matter what we controlled in life, we could not control that. Even the suicide victims, those with a plan and a meticulously controlled agenda to end their lives, will have a surprise, for they will not be able to control what they feel or what their body and mind will choose to show them as they die.

Then, as we were leaving, we were going down on the escalator to go down to the ground floor and out through the back doors of the shopping centre; a man collapsed and smashed his head on the escalator going up.

There was a bang- a sound as if someone had fallen heavily on metal. I looked around; other shoppers looked around and as we got to the bottom of the moving staircase, we saw the source of the sound- a man’s head looking out from the staircase going up. Two men were flanking him- a man’s heavy boots on the step in front and a man’s shoes and trousers on the step behind, all going up so no upper bodies were seen. Phones were pulled from pockets and we watched as the unconscious body was pulled from the top.

We all balance precariously between a life we claim to know and one we have no ability to predict. That’s scary, even when we don’t think we give a shit.

But what’s scarier is the moment before the ending, because we always assume whether consciously or unconsciously that we will be able to tie up our ends. There’s always tomorrow. But one time- the last time- there isn’t.

My step-father, grandparents, an ex-boyfriend, a childhood friend, an uncle and a couple of uncles by marriage- them dying suddenly didn’t incite the same kind of profound realisation of life and death as watching that moment last night- maybe, because I’d never really seen it before in such explicit detail. I’d imagined it, hypothesised the functioning of the brain and what it would probably inflict on the mind before the relief of dying, but there was always something missing-I’d never imagined that someone would regret their death situation.

I’d never seen that. In my mind’s eyes, I’d never seen someone’s expression of regret over where they were dying and had never felt it.

In those last few moments, we still feel see, hear and feel. A message to the brain, a thought takes milliseconds, but dying takes minutes or more, and we have to endure those thoughts helplessly. No more second, third, forth or more chances; no earthly sacrifices in exchange for a few more years; no medical wonder enjoying a quality of life after a tragedy.

Nothing but the unknown. Or nothing,

That moment is one that every man will be caught up in.

It lives with me…..after a TV drama. And how has it changed the way I perceive the world?

It makes me feel closer to everyone, no matter who they are. Tears will stream, words will echo, scenes will replay and pain will be felt in that moment for all of us, and we can’t escape that moment….no matter who we are.

The Preference of Singlehood

Every long-term single woman has been through it: the pitiful “Ahh’s” from smugly tangled couples and downplayed exclusion from their evenly numbered social events. Friends, whose lives revolve around their significant others, dig for psychological reasons for your choice of aloneness or they shower droplet sympathy that you “haven’t found the right one”. The social expectation of being paired up and in a monogamous relationship by the age of 30 becomes a curse to those singletons whose love lives don’t meet the obligated time bomb of a structure of normality imposed on us from an early age.

As someone who has never had a long term relationship for a variety of reasons, I have become accustomed to the sympathy and ostracising from coupled friends. The sympathy comes from a good place, yet it can be annoying that it is a factor that encourages sympathy. The exclusion of a single person at a couples events happens for a few reasons and differs between types of friends; I have known the Paranoid Friend, who doesn’t want single women around hers or her other friend’s partner’s, and the Even-Stevens Friend, who doesn’t want to upset the balance of couples and socially connected people at a social event. Nevertheless, despite the reason for exclusion, the single status poses a threat and difficulty.

The psychological digging is another display of social brainwashing- if someone is still single or has not had a long-term relationship resulting in cohabitation, engagement/ marriage by the time they’re 30, they are deemed ‘abnormal’. There must be something wrong with them for them to be that way; they are incapable of a healthy human relationship and therefore, have psychological issues.

But perhaps the reasons in long-term singlehood are simpler than that. Perhaps they just lie in the overindulgence of freedom. So here, as an answer many smug couples who don’t understand their long term single friends; I give you my top 5 reasons why singlehood is a preference, not an illness.

1-Bedroom Fun Time
When I slip in to bed, I get to slither naked over the WHOLE of the bed; I can spend a few moments doing body shapes, feeling the cool, crisp bottom cotton sheet brush over by body and then selfishly spread out, knowing that I don’t have to share an inch. The bed and every part it is mine- completely, utterly and totally mine. After a few nights of sleeping in the same bed as someone, I feel as if I’m being caged at night time and denied my mattress yoga.

2-Going Back To My Roots
With age, I have the excuse of laziness and ignorance to social conventions requiring me to wax, shave or pluck and luckily, I’m quite fair-haired anyway. Nevertheless, I can nurture a caterpillar above my eyes that branches legs towards my forehead and cheekbones, and I have randomly sprouting hairs on my neck, chin and chest. The randomly sprouting ones usually get plucked because they’re annoying, thick little buggers that breathe a life of their own. But they do take some time to come through and I tend to walk around, looking like a distant, ginger relation of King Kong, until I do a sweep. If I was in a full-time, impress his majesty relationship- I’d miss my regular regression to the wild side.

3-Pussy Power
As an animal lover, I’ve had a fair few in nearly four decades. It started off with family pets of dogs and cats and progressed towards rodents and a reptile. Now, I have five cats- one through wanting a pet, one as a gift from a friend and three, rescued and unable to re-home. I am a Cat Lady (with ‘Crazy’ as an option) and I like my position. Where these animals once terrified and repelled me, I’ve grown to find them interesting, faithful, affectionate and lovable. With them, I see that domestic animals can retain their wild characteristics; they hunt, howl, prowl and show me a side to the wonders of this world that has been corrupted and repressed in humans. I still like dogs and other animals, but cats are relatively easy to keep compared to most animals and keep me enthralled with their wild antics.
If I was in a relationship, ‘issues’ are inevitable with my cats and as I have made a commitment to them first, I couldn’t commit to someone who didn’t understand that. While I’m not a fluffy, walking advertisement for a cat’s home and my house doesn’t stink of cat’s piss; I still get a lukewarm handshake from potential suitors- especially dog lovers- upon knowledge of my pussy power.

4-Getting the Decorators In
As my bedroom rarely gets eyed by anyone but me, the decoration can be a productive of my creativity. In fact, the whole house can be and I don’t have to compromise. I don’t have to remember that red is the opposite teams signature or that yellow reminds him of an old brothel he used to visit. I can hang fairy lights in every room; cover the bed and sofas in cushions, stick pictures of Christopher Eccleston and Zachary Quinto on my fridge- all without criticism or mirth. And I can alter and change it as much as I like, without the imposition of someone crying out that it’s their space too.
I have never lived with someone, but my space and how I decorate it would be a big compromise in a relationship. I’m old fashioned and my home is very shabby-chic and effeminate. Despite my son’s room being masculinity, to include that in the rest of the house would be difficult. In my last relationship with long-term potential, this was severely compromised when my ex-partner stayed over at weekends. He was slowly enforcing his desire for more commitment and would introduce furniture or try and do DIY, which I found akin to pulling teeth.

5-Unexplained Hibernation/Absences
Whether it’s PMS, stomach bloating and mood swings; dramas that won’t/can’t benefit from being talked about and explained or just simply, because I want to- I can hibernate in to a room or a few and not come out until the world looks rosy again. I don’t have to explain to anyone why I’m going in there and might not come out for a few days, I can simply enter. No feelings of rejection have to be accounted for or engagements met- I can simply make my excuses to the rest of world and go (within reason). I can sit up all night, writing blog posts for the internet, with no explanation for why I didn’t go up to bed. I can pick up my keys and take a walk, with no notification and excuses as to why the urge strikes me.
I enjoy the freedom of not having to offer an explanation for my movements or desire to alone at times. My immediate family have their own lives and people to occupy their time, so I never find myself having to explain to them. A life without explanation and the freedom to act like a temperamental, moody, insomniac, anti-social dinosaur is a luxury I have become accustomed to and would feel loathsome to sacrifice it.

~Single Forever?~
I’ve never been one for social conventions and norms, and while I got the child without a long-term relationship (which seems to be a developing norm); I don’t want to be single forever. But recently, for now and for periods in my past, it has been a choice and a preference. Aspects of singlehood hold their attractiveness, beyond the sexual factors and freedom from monogamy. In every semi-serious relationship, I’ve been monogamous and have a moral rule that if the relationship is sexual, it’s monogamous on my part.

And I do compromise, despite the selfish, self-centred attitude my post might portray. I’m not overly territorial in my home and have taken on pets and children of past relationships, and made spaces and stop gaps for the men themselves. But this can only ever last for so long, before the craving of being unneeded becomes obvious in my interaction with them. One day, I will be willing to sacrifice the small pleasures of being single for the joy of a deep connection, but not yet. I’ll get bored of my own company one day and those small pleasures will become friction burns, and I will want to plunge head first in to being part of a smug couple. But I’m taking my time getting there and social conventions can screw their idealised fiction. I’m glad to be taking my time and enjoying the pleasures of being single.

Plus, current divorce rates in the UK are 1 in 5. One in five smug couples will find themselves in my position, so I sit in my singlehood with the knowledge that at least, I have chosen this and it hasn’t been thrust upon me by the desires of another; that I enjoy this and I am not aching my heart out for what has been and decayed. The sympathy of the smug coupled friend is misplaced.

The Cyber Self: The Evolution of Personality

Perhaps the internet is where everyone can be themselves in the knowledge that they’re not really themselves. The multiple personalities, the depressive prose, the explosions of experiences and joys- maybe this is the evolution of personality in its entirety.
And the charade is offline.

This was a short observation I posted elsewhere, on the amount of self-disclosure occurring on the internet regarding depression and mental health issues, especially since the suicide of Robin Williams. Yet when I taped away at the keyboard, tired and not really in the mood to elaborate; a plethora of examples swam around my mind on how the internet encompasses a reality of personality that is denied offline. Or is it really denied? It could be an extension of personality and rather than it being denied offline, it is knowingly suppressed and evolves online. I only have to look around Thoughts or somewhere like Facebook to see a side to others that I wouldn’t see in an offline interaction. Increased self-disclosure, trolling, complimenting strangers and throwing insults (without the typical troll behaviour) are among a few examples.

I hear a lot about how this only the internet- why should it be taken seriously, after all; we can switch it off. I even say that myself, more so because I take in to account the anonymity of it all. I realise that not everyone is being honest about the fundamental facts of who they are. We don’t have to be our every day, offline personality and it’s easy not to be- we can invent a screen name, a ‘real’ name and borrow someone else’s photos. We can be whoever we want. Information is irrelevant- we can use words to construct an image of ourselves, we can say we look a certain way, have a certain job and document a way of life that we haven’t lived, but no matter the words, they’re ours. They are a part of our thoughts, our feelings and whatever we perceive as a reality. So doesn’t that mean that, ultimately- we ARE the words? There is no difference between the internet personality and offline one- they are one and the same, no matter the information, and instead the internet affords an extension and then an evolution of personality traits.

The first two examples I use take advantage of the anonymous nature of the internet and how it lets repressed or untamed characteristics breathe. The rest demonstrate how offline and online characteristics can be seen to interact without the anonymity, and how the offline personality evolves through an online avenue.

Trolls as Fiction Writers
An actor slips in to the part they’ve been scripted, but usually it’s not their words that they mirror. They lend themselves to the part, imitate and obey an already existing construction, yet they’re not the ones planting the seeds of the characters existence. That is the writer’s job alone and it’s him or her that flows in to the character; it is he or she that is the character. And just like the internet, we have writers of characters at every turn. The troll is the most vibrant of these sorts- a writer of a character that is a leak of who they empathise with; an avatar of who they can sink in to and exasperate their negative characteristics through. Much like how a writer uses anger and darkness to give life to a serial killer in a gruesome murder plot. The physical deed of taking a life goes against the writer’s socially constructed morals and defies their core of personhood, but in fiction where morals have no laws to abide by; they breathe. When bleeding on to the internet, a troll writer heckles and textually abuses, and consequently gains encouragement and satisfaction from the attention granted to their deeds. Hiding behind an anonymous pen name and watching as others react to their fiction, measuring the strength of reaction as an endorsement of sorts for their writing skills. Much like a script writer feeds off the reactions to the antagonists in their drama. Trolls are fiction writers and like fiction writers, they lend themselves to the character. The nasty, malicious words that would get them a broken nose or the harassment that could warrant a prison sentence offline can flow freely in an anonymous world, untamed and gratuitously grabbed at every opportunity. A trolls behaviour beyond the cyber boundaries would be socially unacceptable and not tolerated by more sympathetic, yet fearless personalities. Offline, this behaviour is akin to bullying and would lead to social exclusion.

Free Counselling
Nevertheless, not everyone evolves through a character like the trolls do. For some, the internet is where direct communication or confrontation is not a goal and anonymity is a not a cover for wild, anti-social characteristics. Instead the anonymity facilitates trust and the internet becomes an evolution of characteristics that are hidden behind an offline charade.

The internet as a counsellor is demonstrated through blog posts on quite a few blogging sites. Reaching out to others who experience depression or mental health issues can be cathartic and enforce a belief that one is not alone in their experiences. Yet it also facilitates a hypergraphia of their moods- an urge to write, reach out and thrust their emotions in to an electronic void at every turn. They hope that in some small way, their words will change how they feel or they can convince someone- anyone- that they need help for what they’re feeling. Most often, that cry for help is not a direct, declarative intention, but a silently simmering one, underneath the skin of their fingertips with only the desperate urge of emotional expulsion being let through in to the keyboard. In an offline life, these people are rarely listened to, feel they have no one to trust and/or can’t communicate effectively with those around them and in the internet they find a community that is always ready and available.
Often, this kind of blogger offers two genres of personality: a depressive, anti-social, pessimistic online and a strong, dismissive offline. They sit, pouring their hearts and souls in to a depressive account of their wrongs in life; their struggles, heartbreaks and victimisation set the scene for voices in their head and a black mist of suicide. And then, when the internal whirlpools fuelling the words on the screen have exhausted their physical selves, they go back to their charade of offline life. In the physical realm, they paint on a smile and let the cage fall over their emotions. They say they’re “fine” and don’t betray the shield that is only withdrawn safely in the anonymity of the internet. Yet they still seek that support, through the words of free cyber counsellors, open and ready to read and fulfil something in them selves.

Swimming with the Piranha’s
Still, without the shroud of anonymity, the internet continues to offer the personality a transformation and facilitation to develop in to something beyond what it would be, if the internet didn’t exist.

From age 8 to 80, the world of social networking captivates and pulls in the socially conscious and paranoid. It markets itself as a tool essential to communication in a modern world and holds its audiences with a chain of imaginary social obligations. Scores of people post their fleeting thoughts, pictures of their diet and activities and display every second of their lives, under the assumption that their acquaintances are enthralled. They wallow in a narcissistic falsity and the internet offers no immediate stab to their bubble. Instead, they can indulge themselves in a celebrity like status, with fans hooked on their every tweet or status.
But yet again, this extension of personality comes with an alternative, an offline ordinary with no star quality and only a burning desire to be the celebrity their online life grants to them. They swim with the fame piranhas, grabbing on to their essence and developing the online personality to assimilate with them.

The Dirty Dog
What would the internet be, if the sexual self and the erotic personality couldn’t develop? Before porn was a simple click away, visual sexual gratification was restricted to flesh, paper porn and late night television or videos. A time and a place were dictated for that particular demonstration of self, yet now with a social playground of perversion at our fingertips, porn can be discretely accessed anywhere and at any time. And with the tools of electronic visual communication, such as webcams and video phones, we no longer have to rely on the static, solitary gratification of a magazine- we can ‘chat’ to a whole number of people, indulging and encouraging the sexual self to materialise and cum forth. We can be sexually stimulated by real-time strangers and let our usually inhibited voyeuristic characteristics, act out with the safety of distance.

Still, that sexuality and eroticism is still a part of the person. The internet is irrelevant to it existing, yet it allows it to flow and explore, develop and grow; sometimes to deviant measures. Nevertheless, the dirty dog is barking and the internet gives it attention and a doggy treat.

The Tumbling Professionals
There is a development of personality happening on the internet that we are all at risk of- the ‘Can’t take it back’ quote that risks job, reputation and/or relationships. Where we have zipped up and swallowed back in our offline lives, we’ve spewed bravely and unashamedly over the internet. The curses, admissions and two-faced criticisms that consequently get viewed and reviewed by the wrong people, and which end a tie that we only wished to moan about.

As I sit writing this, I hear on the radio news that around 15% of police officers have been reprimanded or asked to resign due to a disgraceful status or discriminative interaction on social networking sites. Most of them because of sexist or racist comments and yet again, we have a confliction of personality. A police officer, who in their professional life may act without behaviour pertaining towards racism or sexism, displays that characteristic over the internet- a charade of decency offline, but an evolution of true personality online.
And police officers are not the only ones. Disastrous accounts of how too much self-disclosure has affected an individual’s employment status are abundant- stories of dismissal from status admissions of fake sick days, affiliations or relationships proudly announced, but frowned upon by the bosses, comments taken out of context and resulting in difficulties with colleagues. With no shroud of the anonymity, naivety can cost a whole career and that shows through the increasing number of tumbling professionals.

Leaping Lovers
The paranoia of love is goaded by the internet and when the mask of confidence slips, leaping lovers find themselves sinking. An evolution of personality that can be a surprise to the person and an annoyance to those connected to them through a cyber world is the every minute confession of love and devotion, the overtly needy and possessive and desperate for their lover’s attention. They risk their relationship through their cyber smothering and stalking, and unknowing demonstrate an image that may not be familiar to offline characteristics. Some are more silent and the smothering takes place under a cover of stalking, with silence and cunningness, and small signs of territory markings on public profiles.
Yet without the electronic book of momentary life at their beck and call, how would that evolution of personality take place? The physicality of tracking their loved ones movements and interactions wouldn’t enable a functional existence alongside an every day life. Would the paranoia of love entice so many to leap in to a cesspit of suffocation, if it were not available to them?

~The Evolution of Personality~
The evolution of the internet has changed the way in which we develop our sense of self; which personality characteristics evolve in us and which ones we choose to develop or hide. We can not go back and theorise a comparison on the days before the internet, nor can we exterminate it for the sake of research. It has become a way of communication and anyone under the age of 20 can barely remember a time without it. We depend on cyber networking for climbing a stalk of social approval and understanding, and it has become the ultimate expression of who we are. Thus, it has become a tool for the development of our personality and allows that to evolve in ways that could not be possible without it.

A blogger I know claims he’s studying human ‘programming’ through the internet, as it’s the best place to see how they think. He’s right- it holds the realities of the human species. The dark, disturbed & depressed; the wannabes, friends-of-a-friends & desperate for attention; the hurt, crying for help and suicidal- it holds the core words of human nature and is the perfect observatory for the billions of stars of the modern age.

New Blog

Seeing as I’ve been shamefully blocked from Thoughts.com and I’m starting to suffer from blogging withdrawal symptoms, I’m back on here……
The Secrets of Mi is hardly a wonderful title for a blog though. That might change…..I need to learn my way around here again….