Interiority

"The Persistence of Memory" by Salvador Dali (1931)

Interiority has never been popular—despite Proust. Belly button gazers was the accusation by those who  attended the Communist Internationals. You could put The Interpretation of Dreams in your backpack if you joined the Lincoln Brigade but Lenin’s What Is To Be Done? would go over better with your comrades. The mind resembles a toilet which works on the principle of the siphon. Vacuity is the aim. Think of it. Most people complain of emptiness in the aftermath of the stimulations of food or sex. You're always going against the grain when you risk solitude. But in today’s virtual reality universe where bytes of data comprise the lingua franca, the dendrites and axons which guard the synapses where neurotransmitters flow are chemically challenged. It’s akin to what green gases are doing to the environment. Stimulation is addictive; it’s no surprise that the turbulence of this moment of history is a juggernaut. It’s hard to get one’s breath back when one's always having to duck the next oncoming wave.