Walking, going out, even staying home we are always selling an image, or giving it for free. We don't have the permission to mean nothing. Nothing necessarily means something in our world that keeps itself as the, so mentioned by Plato, “world of appearances”.
We are symbols of many things, it depending on what we want to mean, what we mean and on our audience. Everyone has and is an audience and we are, most of the time, not just living but for sure, linking or not, or maybe role playing. Always! And since it is as good as it looks, we become what we show and what other people’s eyes say about us. Those are the real mirrors. We just survive for the reason that other people are thinking about our actions and it’s not just about gossiping stuff. It’s human to think about other people. Only around other people we are what we are. They are our limits, screaming every time we are not them; we are us, only us. Is the prettiest goal worthwhile without any audience? On these days, the answer is no. We just feel alive with a place in the world after having gone through other people’s judgment. “Hell is other people” Sartre said, but they are also our heaven, we say! We need them, we dress up for them, we tidy up our rooms for them, we paint our houses and we buy things to wear, to show, to be one of them, different, unique just like them, just like everybody is. So besides selling and giving our image, we buy it.
The tickets to a rock concert, for example, are the prices to be there, to have the chance to be seen there and what it leaves us is just the waiting for anyone who wants buy our images, otherwise we might go out for hunting. And whereas we are always in that kind of place, our outlook starts being known by the other visitors and if we miss it for one night our absences are felt. Even staying home, we are selling ourselves! On the streets we are recognized by the clothes we wear, by our hairdo. That’s the first, and a lot of times the main, impression. We are like dolls of ourselves. We are always making up our faces, our way, our speech.
It’s a hard work to be authentic in our world of appearances; it’s hard to say something new but we are just like this. And this is our worst or best, without the slightest doubt, the only hope to feel like a real thing, even with an everlasting gaze over us.
We are symbols of many things, it depending on what we want to mean, what we mean and on our audience. Everyone has and is an audience and we are, most of the time, not just living but for sure, linking or not, or maybe role playing. Always! And since it is as good as it looks, we become what we show and what other people’s eyes say about us. Those are the real mirrors. We just survive for the reason that other people are thinking about our actions and it’s not just about gossiping stuff. It’s human to think about other people. Only around other people we are what we are. They are our limits, screaming every time we are not them; we are us, only us. Is the prettiest goal worthwhile without any audience? On these days, the answer is no. We just feel alive with a place in the world after having gone through other people’s judgment. “Hell is other people” Sartre said, but they are also our heaven, we say! We need them, we dress up for them, we tidy up our rooms for them, we paint our houses and we buy things to wear, to show, to be one of them, different, unique just like them, just like everybody is. So besides selling and giving our image, we buy it.
The tickets to a rock concert, for example, are the prices to be there, to have the chance to be seen there and what it leaves us is just the waiting for anyone who wants buy our images, otherwise we might go out for hunting. And whereas we are always in that kind of place, our outlook starts being known by the other visitors and if we miss it for one night our absences are felt. Even staying home, we are selling ourselves! On the streets we are recognized by the clothes we wear, by our hairdo. That’s the first, and a lot of times the main, impression. We are like dolls of ourselves. We are always making up our faces, our way, our speech.
It’s a hard work to be authentic in our world of appearances; it’s hard to say something new but we are just like this. And this is our worst or best, without the slightest doubt, the only hope to feel like a real thing, even with an everlasting gaze over us.
This fantastic piece was written by the outstanding Adrian Lincoln, our Writing Club member and dear friend.
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