The vociferous atmosphere is silenced common sense. The journalists we barely have time to comb and groom a News arrival at the newsroom. I can’t see if this is due to the existence of social networks, but the truth is that it gives the feeling that on every corner there is a factory for making news, a traveling kiosk for making news-popcorn.
It may be this or it may be that we have become voracious consumers, junkies of today and a headline or a breaking news is not enough for us, we want the foam, the salt, we want the Thorn of each event, the roar, the shriek … the rumor, the confusion, the tumult of overwhelmed opinions that are falling into the basket of sacred freedom of expression with the aim of attacking, promoting disagreement, which, being lawful, does not seem to be contributing to harmony or at least to clear the horizon.
The atmosphere it is so loaded that we can hardly breathe and read calmly; the news They are not worth us because they end too soon, we need more, a story, a thread of comments on Twitter, a brawl that elevates the matter to the category of a viral brawl, a dialectical lynching. More more. A crucified politician. More. An essay that abounds in dystopias. More more. A book for this insatiable bonfire. More. A poem that… Quiet there! Poetry is not touched.
Let’s save poetry. But we want more, more. And so we go, hooked on the dose of harsh reality knowing that every minute can offer us a more phantasmagorical, more surreal journey, simply because we lack lucidity and a serene state of mind, far from the revanchism of argumentation that does so much damage to the happy exercise of communication.
We all feel pain, each one for their causes, love or heartbreak; Living involves a pinch every day, so we should take more care of the words we choose to convey our ideas.
When I confinement In my room to write, something similar to an alarm goes on in my head and shows me the path of prudence, that of helping to lower the decibels that bother us. It is responsibility of each, the stop twitch spirits, which are already quite inflamed; we should take care and respect each other more.
We all feel at some point fury or rage at the decisions that politicians make, then it rains inside us as if a fog curtain or disappointment covered our spirits, but from there to take the ax, sharpen the word and spit it against everything living that moves from the official line of thought, there is a world, by the way, getting smaller and smaller.
And that rain interior that looks like the wind hitting a Cliff, provokes the desire for a retreat, to go to a refuge to give the words the meaning they had again, to remake them after seeing how the system has torn them to pieces.
If we want to build, we urgently need to review our use of words and venture out to find the garden within. For example, I found it beautiful, so to start build a better state of mind, discover that the word sadness In Latin, it actually meant a rainy day and tristis it was the sky when it gets dark; but at the same time it is a fruit plucked from the tree before its time, that is, it is “bitter” and “acid”.
Indeed, this is how harsh it is some days to find the word appropriate when you are sad and that is why it rains inside because the gray cloud has fancy of your heart and it won’t go away until it downloads.
And be careful with this, because like the news made in the mobile kiosk from the corner, sometimes sadness also comes in a gigantic container like that of the Popcorn.
And without talking instead of talking?
Eddie is an Australian news reporter with over 9 years in the industry and has published on Forbes and tech crunch.