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Industrial Society Destroys Mind and Environment

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The link between Mind and Social / Environmental-Issues.

The fast-paced, consumerist lifestyle of Industrial Society is causing exponential rise in psychological problems besides destroying the environment. All issues are interlinked. Our Minds cannot be peaceful when attention-spans are down to nanoseconds, microseconds and milliseconds. Our Minds cannot be peaceful if we destroy Nature.

Industrial Society Destroys Mind and Environment.

Subject : In a fast society slow emotions become extinct.
Subject : A thinking mind cannot feel.
Subject : Scientific/ Industrial/ Financial thinking destroys the planet.
Subject : Environment can never be saved as long as cities exist.


Emotion is what we experience during gaps in our thinking.

If there are no gaps there is no emotion.

Today people are thinking all the time and are mistaking thought (words/ language) for emotion.


When society switches-over from physical work (agriculture) to mental work (scientific/ industrial/ financial/ fast visuals/ fast words ) the speed of thinking keeps on accelerating and the gaps between thinking go on decreasing.

There comes a time when there are almost no gaps.

People become incapable of experiencing/ tolerating gaps.

Emotion ends.

Man becomes machine.


A society that speeds up mentally experiences every mental slowing-down as Depression / Anxiety.

A ( travelling )society that speeds up physically experiences every physical slowing-down as Depression / Anxiety.

A society that entertains itself daily experiences every non-entertaining moment as Depression / Anxiety.


Fast visuals/ words make slow emotions extinct.

Scientific/ Industrial/ Financial thinking destroys emotional circuits.

A fast (large) society cannot feel pain / remorse / empathy.

A fast (large) society will always be cruel to Animals/ Trees/ Air/ Water/ Land and to Itself.




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Harmonix's picture

Mark's Knee by Isnod

2:01 minutes (2.43 MB)Isnod Tag Take the last century of music, put it into a blender and serve under some moody lighting, with chilli and cocktail umbrellas. Out pours ISNOD, a moody, molasses-smooth mélange of many a genre - the soundtrack of the fall of the current roman empire. Expect small moments of beauty and chaos through sound and digital windows of various resolution.

REWILDING > by Kevin Arnold

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REWILDING

“The wilderness that has come to us from the eternity of the past we have the boldness to project into the eternity of the future.”
—Howard Zahniser,
author of the 1964 Wilderness Act.

When veteran environmental activist and founder of Earth First! Dave Foreman looks into the future, he sees a wild and green North America. A continent where grizzly bears, wolves and mountain lions roam free, where native plants and insects flourish.

Indymedia Essay


verb's picture

RESOLUTIONARY TV: REDUX ~ An Indymedia Video Essay

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WORLD CUP FEVER by Tom Doig

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FIFA image FIFA 006: LICENSE TO YOB

A Kiwi theatre-goer gets caught up in World Cup FEVER!

by Tom Doig


I'm not a big soccer fan; hell, I'm not even an Australian citizen. So when I found myself at a friend's house waiting for the Australia-Japan game to start, I was barracking for Japan ­ after all, they had much better haircuts. But sport does strange things to people. By the end of the second half I was cheering the mighty Cahill, booing the Egyptian ref (bloody pyramid-builders!), spilling my beer - and when we won, I was ecstatic. Go Aussie! I mean,­ you Australians must be very pleased with yourselves.

They were. Biking home down Sydney Road, every driver was leaning on his car-horn, while blokes leaned out of car windows, waving Aussie flags and Aussie scarves and yelling "Go Aussie!" and "Aussie Aussie Aussie!" and sometimes "Aaauuussssiiiieeee!" Captivated, I biked past my house, following the jubilant traffic towards the city. In between the green-and-gold people hooting and hooraying across the road, there were dejected little clumps of Japanese fans waiting for taxis, immobile, face-paint looking incongruous and sad. When I finally headed home, nearly two hours after the game had finished, I was hooked ­ not on the soccer, but on the fans.

There's a derogatory term for people like me: "theatre-goer". It refers to people who go to big sporting events for the atmosphere, rather than the game itself. When I told some of my hippy friends I was going to Fed Square for the Croatia game, they were aghast.
"What kind of drunken idiot goes to Fed Square to watch sports?" they asked, horrified.
That's what I wanted to know.

To make it to Fed Square for the 5am kick-off, I stayed up all night drinking. When I got there at 4.30am, Fed Square was already full to capacity, closed off by policemen and security guards in bright yellow vests. I trudged excitedly through the mud down to the second screen at Birrung Marr. I got up close to the action, so close that each pixel was the size of someone's head, and when nothing was happening it was like a banal
acid flashback. Strangers hugged each other, and took endless pictures on their mobile phones.
The game - we didn't lose. The fans lost it. There was an impromptu victory parade on Swanston Street. A taxi had its back windscreen smashed in; a tram's glass door panel was shattered, and a few of the pizza cafes' glass facades had been fractured.

As the sun rose over Spring Street, a young guy scrambled up the windscreen of a delivery truck onto the roof, where he hollered and jumped up and down. Two more guys joined him, and the three of them jumped  and rocked the truck - fans on the ground rocked the truck - the cops charged in on horseback, hitting people out of the way.

By the time the celebrations made it back to Fed Square, the 8am spandex set were weaving through the staggering fans on their $4000 bicycles at full speed, dinging their little bike bells, nearly flattening the cops trying to direct traffic.  But the emblem of the anarchy was a rogue packet of crumpets lying in the gutter by Bourke Street Mall. A waste of good breakfast product ­ has everyone lost their minds?!

I resisted the urge to go to the Welcome Stranger, and pedalled shakily home to bed.

Before the Italy game, Elizabeth Street was a mess. Pissed kids bellowing what could only I've been ’Adavance Australia Fair'; teenage boys running up to any, every girl with Aussie face-paint, yelling ’Aussie!' and copping a feel; some dude with blood running down his painted cheek, strutting along the tramlines Å

I got to Fed Square nearly two hours before kick-off, but the cops had already closed it off. Walking down to Birrung Marr, I joined a mob who tried to rush Fed Square from the river side. We got past the first group of
security guards, ran up some stairs and hit the orange-and-white barricades.
"You're not going anywhere," the security guards said. "Get past us, and there's still two more barricades. Don¹t bother." I didn't bother. The atmosphere at Birrung Marr was electric. Whenever a shot of Guus Hiddink
came onscreen, screamed his name in unison.
Then we lost.

A tiny pocket of Italian fans bounced up and down, while everyone else went flat. Back on Elizabeth Street, a dozen hardcore Aussie fans chanted "Fuck the Italian bastards', before lining up for pizza. I headed to Lygon Street to watch it burn. Lygon Street didn¹t burn. There was just a few dozen Aussie fans chanting "get a fucking passport", a line of cops on horses, and a few Italian boys chanting "There¹s gonna be a riot".

A few of the Aussie fans mooned the Italians, and I was struck by something ­ not a bottle, but the fact that half the exposed arses weren't white! There were quite a few Aussie-born Viet and Chinese crew yelling angrily at the "wogs". These ABCs were angry, at something, and they had green-and-gold paint all over their faces. But it surely wouldn't have taken much for the rest of the mob to turn on them ­ video footage of an Australia-China table tennis final from the 80's would've done it.

As I was leaving, one of the mob¹s ringleaders came striding past me. He was about 17, wearing a long brown jacket and jeans ­ no green, no gold. He looked very pleased with himself.
"Have a good night?" I asked.
"Fucken awesome," he replied. "The cops can't pin anything on me. If they pick me up, I've only had two glasses of wine. I've done nothing. Now I've gotta get a taxi back to Eltham, to check in with my parole officer at 9am."

This guy was from a juvenile delinquents' correction centre, and proud of it; he is schizophrenic, but "fine as long as I take ma pills mate". I wanted to ask him what being an Aussie means to him; what he thinks of Italians; what he thought of Medina Cantalejo's decision - but it didn't seem relevant anymore.


Harmonix's picture

Universal Inna by Organic Intelekt

4:20 minutes (4.93 MB)Brainstems Organic Intelekt formed in 2004 after late night free-style sessions of 3 oclock Bogey and Rojo D over home-made sampled beats. Tracks came together from these sessions and the pair soon enlisted a bassist, pianist and DJ for some live gigs in Nth. Melbourne. Though now a well rehearsed live band, the format was always intended to replicate the sound of spacious loops in sample based music, as opposed to a busy funk-hiphop crossover.

Issue #6 - RANDOM MOLECULES

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Random flyer front Undergrowth #6 - RANDOM MOLECULES

From the quantum to the cosmic, chaos theory to chaos magick, political powerplays to psychedelic activism, free radicals and spiritual anarchism - beware a premature definition of reality.

 
Feature Writers: Rod Baker, John Pace, Rebecca Fitzgibbon, Tim Parish, Rak Razam, Claire Wren, Levin Daistchenko, Hakim Bey, Jonathan Arrow, Dan MacKinlay, Betwixt, Rumi + Hafez...


COMING OUT OF THE WOODWORK> by Rak Razam

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wall of doom
Twelve years after forest blockading began, conservation activists and loggers are still at odds amongst East-Gippsland's old growth forests, says Rak Razam. But the odds are changing.

"Last summer about 1:30 in the morning I was about 50 metres up [a sit in Ferntree forest] on a very big tree. A logger climbed up on top of the machine cabled to the sit and jumped on the cable. It flipped me over like a pinball machine, threw me into the tree and left bruises and stab wounds all up this leg - it was one massive bruise. And there I was hanging upside down with everything I had in the sit gone, and I'm screaming 'f--- offff... help, camera, camera!" Everyone else is 150 metres up the hill and I'm alone without a torch in the pitch dark, half way up a tree - and I'd just attached the safety, I mean, just, seconds..."


SIXTY DAYS at Camp Sovereignty > by Scott Foyster

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Sixty Days image

 

Sixty Days Reflections on Camp Sovereignty by Scott Foyster

"What you are a doing is a disgrace!"

The shrill voice of a lone dissenter breaks the somber mood of the early afternoon. One, two, three, four police surround the man and drag him off. Throughout the barage of abuse Aunty Beryl continues reading the list of Victorian Indigenous soidiers who fought to defend this country. There's over 200, all forgotten, all ignored in the ceremony which just happened down the road. In front of Aunty Beryl, three possum skins lie, two painted red, one yellow. They are covered in photocopied photos of the soliders and their families. There is also a massacre map of Victoria highlighting all the known places where Victorian Aborigines were killed between 1836-1851. The scariest fact is dot 33 which simply reads: 1842 Skull Creek, Gippsland- unknown number killed. Walking past the photocopies later I overhear Robbie Thorpe angrily musing on the numbers that could mean: tens, twenties, hundreds, a thousand. Annoyed, he walks off stopping at a photo of an Indigenous woman to aks about its origins.