BITE ME

MANUFACTURED MADNESS

We are all insane. If we are not insane this instant, then we have been or we will be. All of us; irrespective of age, religion, sex, status or any other official qualifier.

This is because we are all different. We may call ourselves human and exist within the many sub-categories of this term, but we are not identical. We are not clones... yet.

I say our madness is manufactured, because they say we must all conform. Problem is their ideals of this conformity keep shifting, expanding. And this expanding shift is accelerating. As it accelerates, it gathers more and more of us.

We fear the word 'clone'. Every molecule screams against the idea of us being identical to every other us out there.We rage against the science and the scientists we think are mad; playing around with genes, creating copies we deem 'unnatural' or 'unreal'.

Let's shift our focus and our rage away from these mad scientists and their abominable experiments for a minute. Leave them be.

Let's look instead at the REAL cloning taking place every moment of every waking day, to everyone, everywhere on Earth.

The uniforms our children wear at school; the uniforms we wear at work and play. The name-tags, the titles, the labels, the identification documents, the gadgets, the toys, the media, the arts we consume and produce, the trends we follow... on and on and on.

Every time another identifier is created, be it a social trend, a scientific breakthrough, a cultural norm, a political ideal, a technological advance, we shift and re-arrange ourselves, in order to fit in. If we cannot manage to fit in, we seek help. Medical practitioners, specialists, experts, representatives, guides, critics and leaders, all are waiting to help us overcome our difference. They identify what our resistance is and offer pills, counselling, advice, propaganda, reason, proof...

What do we know? As individuals our knowledge is minute compared to the combined expertise of these experts. So many experts! Waiting to help us adjust to the ever-changing environment they create. We trust this immense knowledge base. We give ourselves over because the fear of not fitting in, not keeping up is far greater than any misgivings that might temporarily arise.

Are our children reaching the prescribed milestones? Are we coping with the stresses of living? Are we adequately prepared to face each new and often daunting challenge? Are we keeping up???

Once our children remove their school uniforms, they wear another uniform. Look around. Are they not wearing uniforms?

Once we remove our suits and ties, our heels and make-up, we wear another uniform. Look around!

Lift your head up from your phone or tablet or laptop at the café you sit in. What do you see? Is that you over there, wearing the same jeans and tee-shirt, sporting the same hair-style, drinking the same latte and staring down at the same phone, tablet or laptop? It feels good, it feels safe, right? Belonging is comfortable.

Look at the young girl further along. She has green hair, black lips and many piercings. She's wearing strange clothes, too. You hear the word 'fuck' a lot, her conversation peppered with profanities. How do you feel about her? She's odd,right? She makes you uncomfortable for a moment. But then your righteousness kicks in. She clearly has a problem. You on the other hand consider yourself well-adjusted, normal. Like everyone else around you.

You believe in democracy, and inherent human rights. You hold sacred the freedoms of liberty, of speech, of movement, of security, and of course, life.

At least you think you do. Sometimes you struggle. The green-haired girl for instance; she has every right to present as she pleases, to speak in the manner she chooses. But why is she not like you, like everyone else around you?  Hmm. It's a phase, you reason. Once she's a few years older and the husband comes and the mortgage and the children... she'll adjust. It's only a phase.

Hypothetically, if more and more of her started to appear, blue-haired, and orange-haired and purple-haired... if gradually men began sporting bright-coloured hair and odd clothes and piercings; spouting profanities... you'd begin to question if you had somehow slowed, if you were being left behind. Were you the odd one now? Were they staring at you and feeling self-righteous in their collective sameness?

The stress would eventually overwhelm you. You'd seek help. You'd be told "you are depressed, take this pill". Every type of media from magazines to music videos would pump the message out: "Different is cool!" So you'd dye your hair one day and pierce your eyebrow. Say "fuck" once or twice and notice it's not really that bad! Now you fitted in again, you could sit in that café and blend right in; the old sense of comfort and security resuming.

Until the day you spotted the guy with the bald head and tight-fitting, futuristic one-piece costume, complete with a big A in the middle of his chest. Wearing strange glasses and speaking to himself. "What the hell? What is the world coming to?" you'd think at first. Then your righteousness would kick in. He clearly had a problem. You on the other hand, were normal.

But then as the A's and B's and C's all the way down to G's started multiplying, more and more appearing in those tight-fitting futuristic costumes, bald heads on men and women alike; all wearing those odd glasses, all seemingly talking to themselves, for they held no devices... Suddenly your blue hair and your pierced eyebrow and lip looked odd. You felt out of place!

You noticed Media pumping the same message everywhere you went: "The future is now. Stop living in the past."  Were you living in the past? How had that happened?

The doctor explained it all to you of course, once your anxiety had become overwhelming and you'd sought help: "You need to get off the anti-depressants. Get chipped. You'll be amazed at how easy everything will seem again. Oh, by the way, you're a B. No biggie, but I've noted this in your file."

So you took his advice, because he was the expert after all. You got the chip, marvelling at how easy everything was now, just as the doctor had said. You purchased the costume with the big B in the centre of your chest. There were some restrictions to your living sure - being a B - but the benefits far outweighed the small inconveniences.

Every time you sat in the café, seemingly talking to yourself but really having conversations with the many other B's, you looked around. There were only ever letters in the middle of chests. A tiny, niggling thought surfaced from time to time: would there be another trend? Ever again? A tiny part of you missed that single green-haired girl.

Yeah. Don't be fearing those mad scientists.

You with your suit and tie, the gadget in your hand; you with the yoga pants and pony-tail; you with the odd hair and the piercings; you writing yet another zombie book or reading yet another fantasy novel, or watching yet another reality show; you swallowing the anti-depressant, or injecting the numbing drug, or giving your child the behaviour adjusting medication; you are all insane. They tell you often and they are the experts. Their manufactured madness has claimed you and is slowly morphing you into clones.

The future is now and I am as mad as the rest of you.