The Smell

There is a seen in that “inception” movie where Dicaprio turns to that wrinkly little Moroccan guy in that seedy underground injection room. Leo asks “They come here every day to sleep?”, to which the little gremlin replies, “No, they come here to be woken up. The dream has become their reality. Who are you to say otherwise, son?”

Inception. There it is.

I hear people saying that they feel disconnected in modern society. Usually right after they look up from their Ipad to take a sip of their non-fat soy latte with herbal infusion (this probably exists, someone is sipping this in San Francisco).

Not claiming that technology is creating the problem, this is nonsense, and is usually spouted by the elderly ladies who worked at the science department at their high school  (God love and bless them). It’s a lot simpler than ‘technology’. The issue is ‘privacy’. Really. Train conversation is talking to someone on a train with that smile people do where they don’t show their teeth. That smile isn’t a thing, someone saw that on TV then they started smiling like that around the people outside of their house. That condascending smile is the problem, constructed performance for safety. Scared to talk to people.

They also feel disconnected from the organic, physical world. Living in their houses with all of their trinkets, where if they move too quickly or ever surprise their surroundings those dozens of little statues and porcelain birds people have would break and crack. Where the chicken thigh they eat exists inside a plastic seal, the chicken herself- unseen. The soft yet supple world of screens. Harmless and pleasing. Pornographic in the sensuous, tantalising sense, some sitcom here, some sandwich there. Less tough then catered.

A world where little people move and talk and sing. Touching people is less than expected in this context. Where upon walking through the door, people exit the breezes and changing sunlight and trees of reality, and enter a type of perpetual fluorescence, hard surfaces, soft couches, eyes twitching at constant screen exposure.

Yet, he is sitting next to you. His name is Dave. He is on this flight. Cheap as the ticket was, crappy as the sitcoms on the in-flight entertainment, boring and dissapointing as this seems.

It’s tantamount to reading, “what is a human like?” when he is sitting beside you. It’s cowardly  thinking about this issue, when you could talk to him. Look straight into his eyes. Say “this train smells”. It’ll  shove the realness off the chain. Shove it (?) Save connection for a therapists couch. Talk and see.

Trains smell though, this sucks.

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