Culture, I can’t even use a possessive, erodes around us. What my parents felt decent and wholesome in public when I was 6 no longer exists at 61. I didn’t send my 6 year old out to play as I was sent out when I was 6. Every fools face and name instantly appears in public places. I pay money for the privilege to watch 24/7. What was sensed then is overt now and in our face again and again.
We retreat behind locked doors, into locked homes, gated neighborhoods, and self-selecting content. We access via swipe cards, passwords, apps, scans, tag readers, secret signals, pills that makes us smaller or pills that makes us larger. We need inventories, analysis, and please some sort of recovery, while being overwhelmed and swept away in the tide. Our choices are stored and sorted to 6-sygma by quants and aggregators then sold. Market economy is dead. The market culture is alive. Human nurturing and culture is isolated, then swept aside. The streaming tide of distortion and disturbance seeps . . . into sacred spaces.
No, I can’t say I like any of this.