Recovery from the Worst Kind of Illness

I have returned to this record after months of silence. My problem since my last post has been a crushing kind of illness, a specifically modern malady; that of the somnabulistic city drone. I have been spending my time commuting to the city centre, sitting inside offices, my face irradiated by the VDU. There is nothing like this to dull the keen eye of the observer, to pickle the brain of the creative soul. Nevertheless, I have recovered enough to, once again, approach the keyboard. My new life, outside of the airport or a retail situation, yet still inside of an invisible set of bars, is concerning me greatly. During my time at the airport, I began to feel that the majority of humanity were bastards, utterly selfish consumers intent on devouring everything and everybody in their path. This feeling has mutated into something different. During my commutes into town, and within the office, I am nestled deep within humanity, not serving them or fulfilling their every whim. I am an equal. It's an odd feeling for me and one that I'm not altogether comfortable with. Back when is was "us and them" my role fulfilled that terribly (and inexplicably) teenage-like lust for rebellion. It hasn't gone away in me, even now. Now I'm just another commuter, trying not to think too hard on the train, as that may lead to some kind of psychic crisis, or a dark realisation of mortality. Now it's eyes down, headphones in like the rest of them. It's a worrying situation, because if everybody is like this, then that means that the average human being thinks about nothing all day. It's worse than that. The average human being wants to think about nothing all day. Christ, say it isn't so...

In light of my new existence, I have changed the name of this blog. I felt like a fraud writing under the Airport Diaries banner, since I left the airport over a year ago now (nb: I still hear reports from my good friend Stockton about the state of things out there. It's not good, and I gather a fitting soundtrack to the drive to work is Maggie's Farm by Bob Dylan...)

The new title is from Marshall McLuhan's Understanding Media. He says we live to allow our technology to propagate, the same way bees live to be the sex organs of plants. Apt in so many ways.

I shall continue to post about everything that I deem fit. You can watch The Genitals of Technology engorge here...