The Salesman of 10,000 Emotions
There is a torrential bombardment of stabbing neon need,
every corner a screen, an advertisement tugging at my attention.
The line of logic developed by the advertisers is that, perhaps if they get louder, my will will get quieter,
breaking me fully until all I have, wallet and all, is theirs.
Sadly, this same line of logic has been mostly adopted into the typical American conversation as well.
Loud is win. Speak over to dominate the competition.
In this view, listening is essentially a kind of lowly submission - a sign of defeat.
Active listening useful, perhaps, only in finding the Achille's Heel of the opponent's message.
I want no part of this.
I have no desire to raise my voice or rage through a match of volume.
What unnecessary product or hollow idea are you trying to sell me again?
How about I save you your vocal cords and simply not open the door,
my phone is now on silent, you may shout at my machine if you wish.
I will not hear it.
The most successful salesman will always be the one who comes to truly believe in the worth of his product. In this way, the most convincing of salesmen will be the one who learns to believe his own lies - his enthusiasm approaches that of true genuineness. Yet this is not true genuineness - he has not learned truth, but rather learned to ignore his own falsehood. If, by some great feat of self-deception, his ignorance can become completely opaque, than his falsehood will be hidden from his customers as fully as it is from himself.
I think of Maya as this same pattern of self-deception, coiled within this pattern of self-deception, coiled within this pattern of self-deception, coiled eternally as theater stage behind theater stage, back through mask upon mask to that first moment we saw that we are seen. There is something powerful that happened at that moment when we realized that, not only do we see mother, but are also seen by her. In that realization came the definition of our division from her, the distance that defined my point of consciousness from hers, my view of her body and her view of my body; separated. This sudden reflection of awareness back onto ourselves was the birth of ego, the birth of the social self and its self-consciousness, in all the multitudinous blooming of identity's memory, ranging from the grotesque to the transcendent, through the recorded history of man and culture.
So, Sell me no more?
Perhaps I was a bit rash.
Sure, come in, tell me what it does...
and I will do what I can.
every corner a screen, an advertisement tugging at my attention.
The line of logic developed by the advertisers is that, perhaps if they get louder, my will will get quieter,
breaking me fully until all I have, wallet and all, is theirs.
Sadly, this same line of logic has been mostly adopted into the typical American conversation as well.
Loud is win. Speak over to dominate the competition.
In this view, listening is essentially a kind of lowly submission - a sign of defeat.
Active listening useful, perhaps, only in finding the Achille's Heel of the opponent's message.
I want no part of this.
I have no desire to raise my voice or rage through a match of volume.
What unnecessary product or hollow idea are you trying to sell me again?
How about I save you your vocal cords and simply not open the door,
my phone is now on silent, you may shout at my machine if you wish.
I will not hear it.
The most successful salesman will always be the one who comes to truly believe in the worth of his product. In this way, the most convincing of salesmen will be the one who learns to believe his own lies - his enthusiasm approaches that of true genuineness. Yet this is not true genuineness - he has not learned truth, but rather learned to ignore his own falsehood. If, by some great feat of self-deception, his ignorance can become completely opaque, than his falsehood will be hidden from his customers as fully as it is from himself.
I think of Maya as this same pattern of self-deception, coiled within this pattern of self-deception, coiled within this pattern of self-deception, coiled eternally as theater stage behind theater stage, back through mask upon mask to that first moment we saw that we are seen. There is something powerful that happened at that moment when we realized that, not only do we see mother, but are also seen by her. In that realization came the definition of our division from her, the distance that defined my point of consciousness from hers, my view of her body and her view of my body; separated. This sudden reflection of awareness back onto ourselves was the birth of ego, the birth of the social self and its self-consciousness, in all the multitudinous blooming of identity's memory, ranging from the grotesque to the transcendent, through the recorded history of man and culture.
So, Sell me no more?
Perhaps I was a bit rash.
Sure, come in, tell me what it does...
and I will do what I can.