Black (\/\/)Holes

Though I probably learned how to read in a formal, normal, situation, i.e. the institution, I don't recall being cognizant of reading except when I was on the move.

I don't remember why, but it was in a tan station wagon.

We were going somewhere, I don't know where, and I sat in the back of the station wagon. I remember my parents talking to each other (once upon a time) when I started recognizing patterns and symbols, such as a backwards “L” and “G” at a 76 gas station, or the yellow golden arches that made me wonder where the rest of the colors went and that resembled a pair of pointy cat ears that I would draw, at least when I wrote an “M.”

It was a time of freeplay. ah. ah. I. I say. I say sun. muh..muh...Muckdonald Duck. El Chicken Loco. Tony the Tiger, they'rrre grrr..iiime a break gimme a break. Daffy Duck: once you pop, you can't stop. Taz. Devil. Evil. Speedy. Transformers. Retransforms. Reformats. Formers. Form. From. rom. Robots in disguise. Can you hear me now?

I hate to admit it, but I'd have to say that I partially learned reading through the (m)advertisement industry (Alas! now you know why my writing is so great), but I guess on that same note this highlights the ideology of institutionalization: being waist deep in the big muddy; however in this theatre of operations, you don't need a “big fool” telling you to “push on”, nor, if effectively implemented, are you aware that there is a theatre, and indeed, you might even reason that there probably isn't one at all.

In fact, the “normal” situation would require that you go with the flow, as though there is really nothing going on other than the conspiracy you are constructing in your own mind.

Reading about Happy Meals came in similar familiarity as in repeating Mama.

I continue to read on the move; I read at bus stops or while riding the bus. Sometimes I read while walking. You may call this “distracted living” or “distracted reading” (perhaps still “strategic” or even “managed” reading?). There exists a number of issues with reading in this manner. The quality of comprehension and analysis may become poorer. One must learn to extract the essentials and never mind the rest. What is the claim? I don't need the details. Et cetera etc.

The current techno-digital age makes the idea of distraction and short-attention span something rooted in the information overflow which starts after that slip out of the maternal womb: Separation anxiety. Disconnect. Disco. Disc. Net. What is the claim? I don't need the details. Et cetera etc. (Here I've opened another can of worms: the longing for a black hole because of a personal black hole, a void, overfilled with noise. sexual innuendo intended (do we want to get properly /de/fucked?). I miss the olden golden times. Nostalgia fallacy. What is the claim? I don't need the details. Et cetera etc).

But it's the little things that count, supposedly.
The details.
The description of a landscape in a text that correlates to the mood of the character.
The quote you can utilize to support your claims.
Closely reading an ad, detecting the subtleties, and di di, di di, that's all folks!
(this is the proper noise. this is noise-wisdumb. this will help you de-fuck).

This “new” phenomenon of surge of information calling our attention and competition for our eyes, for me, started in that tan station wagon.

At times I feel I'm in that metal machine: a metal womb. It feels more lonely. I wonder what else I might have picked up that I'm yet cognizant of, or what kinds of things I might've soaken into the background, perhaps it's nothing but a black hole. Ads are black holes. Hyperlinks are black holes. Reading is a black hole.

My thought is a black hole.

I'll tell you more about this some other time, I've got to go (@).


References:
Looney Tunes

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Pete Seeger, “Waist Deep in the Big Muddy”