For us human beings, born primate, bred storyteller, we are terribly mismatched with our technological future. Philosophy and narrative become our poetry and metaphor; socio-economics define the play in which we all have our parts; but reality, the fundamental nuts and bolts, truth and fact, to which science aspires to understand in a way that carries objective meaning across generations: this must be sold in iambic pentameter soliloquy when in practice it must be communicated in relentlessly practical lingua franca prose.
Reality is an objective aspiration to see the world as it is, subjectivity held to account by science. It is the distillation through the scientific method of the observed, experienced environment – from the proximately tangible all the way to universal conditions – separating the erroneous white noise of bias, habit, ephemera and error from those persistent peer-reviewed conclusions that most accurately codify the diverse crucible of existence.
Social media is a quixotic chain gang, prisoners shackled together by some antithesis of merit – failed wannabe artists, lazy scavengers of other people’s renown – craving the recognition talent might have brought them, to fill the void of unfulfilled sociopath self-regard.
Social media populates a ‘court’ of public opinion towards which the tireless chain gang flushes out targets beaten out from the soft cover of the media landscape. The spotlight soon fixes its coruscating glare on the accused and the occasions act as hate amplifiers, weaponizing self-important virtue-signalling into an emotional gluten, coagulating facts, context, scale, nuance and individual human empathy into the vicious viscous bile of mob outrage.
The court verdict – guilty – is inevitable but the chain gang has become addicted to the authoritarian power of the moral high-ground, focusing the ‘court’ on its duty to democratize a death sentence by apportioning the outrage bile, given a little salt by repetitions of word violence (outing, predator, victim, criminal, exile, power, abuse) so the chain gang can finally come into its own: preparing the public gallery for the next iconoclasm, self-congratulating as the spoonfeed the open-mouthed mob on warm unforgiving diarrhoea.