My husband is reading a book, The Image: A Guide to Pseudo-Events in America. It was first published in 1962.
Do yourself a favor and read the first two pages of it (page three and four of the Introduction). See if you can figure out someone could know these things fifty years ago!
The first time I was aware of my own voracious appetite for news, in 1997. Andrew Cunanan had murdered Gianni Versace. The police were closing in and I was sitting in front of an AOL screen, refreshing the window and watching it update at least once per minute.
Today, when I picture myself staring at the screen, refreshing it a if I were a machine, looking for, Andrew, I’m appalled! Recently, I snapped. Elsa has jumped the shark! I no longer click on the news.
This change has been coming about for some years. I’ve finally been pushed it too far. I click to read something and they want a dollar or my email or for me to login with Facebook or with Twitter. I don’t want to do it. Whatever it is I’m going to read, it’s not important in my actual life. I am sick of being sent my “talking points” of the day. I’ve chosen to go off the rails.
This is probably due to Uranus in Taurus. I don’t care what, Melania, wore. I want my own life back.
We demand this constant stream of crap and what about the demands we put on others? Are they not outrageous? How did we get so deluded as to think that Prince Charming lives?