anon_j_anon (anon_j_anon) wrote,

Panopticon, 40-

Title: Panopticon
Author: jAnon
Disclaimer: This is mine.
Wordcount: 10 by 100



When you break out, your life’s a different show.
They speak give freely, breathe from another sphere.
You’ll learn by doing, so learn to take things slow.

This fight is normal, you lived in long shadows.
It will take time transforming all the years.
You’ll wake to day and see a new tableau.

Perhaps the past will mark you, perhaps you’ll grow
Beyond the eye and voice to new frontiers.
Remember to be happy, enjoy the gifts bestowed.

“This shaking keeps me steady.  I should know.
What falls away is always.  And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.”


Make the words count.  Make the words count.  There’s only 100 so make the words count.

Don’t think of it in the context of 100.  Each one must stand alone.  Each one must mean something.

“Where are you taking us?”

The inherent problem of history, society, individual, technology.  One must build on what comes before, dependent on it.  The thoughts and creations.

But one strives to differentiate.  Get away from the deluge.  Contribute to human achievement, transform, break away from what came before.  There’s no escaping the continuum, the dependency.

Sometimes I think I’m a pointillist.

Answer: I don’t know.


Sometimes I dream of building a database of all the information people give away.

I’d write algorithms to consolidate social networking info, browsing history, bank accounts, emails, consumer profile, Google analytics, DOB, citizenship, IP addresses, medical records, phone apps, throw in some GPS data too.

Maybe a name.  As an afterthought.

Identity theft—is it theft when they’re giving it all away?

Someone’s already built it, building it.  The tricky part is sifting through the shit tons of data and learning how to use it effectively.  Finding meaningful patterns.

No, I don’t want to rule the world.  Just track it.


Addiction to being heard, being read, even if all I’m offering are riddles.

It’s a powerful drug.  The thought that one matters.  That one can change people’s lives.  I no longer wonder about rulers.  I only wonder that they didn’t, don’t, do more harm than they do, did, have done.

Power comes in many forms.  Absolute tyrants know this, and know how to wield it.

Can you imagine the mind of conquerors?  The breadth and depth of their vision, their audacious belief that they can shape the land and its peoples?  To want such a kingdom, and to make it!


I read this:

“You can chain me, you can torture me, you can even destroy this body, but you will never imprison my mind.” – Gandhi.

This idea of the untouchable free mind?

A myth, like the idea that we have core personalities.  After brain damage, you can change drastically, to the point where others don’t recognize you.  Disrupted continuity.  At the center, who are we?

There are ten thousand ways to imprison a mind.  Unlike physical torture, there is no evidence except in memory.  Nothing but crippled thoughts.

Unlike prisons made of walls, you can layer prisons in a mind.


Insanity is effective.

Effective as a prison, effective as an escape.  There’s a reason why fools can speak the truth and get away with it.

Classic literary device.  Classic judicial device.  Classic scientific argument.

New ideas, revolutions, visions have all, at one point or another, been considered some form of insanity until they’re absorbed as time passes.

What is society’s prison is an individual’s freedom.  What is society’s power is an individual’s failing.

Labels.  Because insane implies normal implies norm implies mean median mode.  Some sense of standard, society’s measuring stick.

Despite the immateriality of words, they have real power. 


People don’t want children with defects.  Prenatal testing allows parents to abort undesirables.  Like babies with Down Syndrome.

It’s difficult raising a child with a disability.  Plays emotional hell.  On some level, an argument might be—why bring a child into a world where they’ll always live on the periphery?

Existence.  Deprive a being of a chance to live and find their happiness because of your assumptions?  Or your excuse for selfishness?

I don’t know.  Can’t judge.  It really plays emotional hell.

We’ve gotten better.  They used to be locked up in prisons.

But our mindset.

It’s not good enough.


At the center of it all, I fundamentally don’t understand.  I don’t understand how people can treat each other the way they do.  How people can write so thoughtlessly.

It’s not a matter of loving each other.  It’s a matter of vision.

If people could just look.  If they could look at others and respect them.  Reach into themselves and face their own ugliness and strive.  Fight to be a better person.

Do you see?  I am constantly introspecting, thinking, questioning myself and this world we live in.  It’s difficult.  Nothing comes easy.

But if you won’t see, why live?


In the history of mathematics, certain numbers have been worshipped for their numerological significance.

I haven’t given the numbers much thought here.

Analyzing a Bach cantata and the 27th measure was significant.  27 symbolizes the Christian Holy Trinity (3×3×3).

Someone asked “Couldn’t that just be coincidence?  I mean, did Bach really write that in on purpose?”

You think that Bach, a universally acknowledged musical genius who wrote pieces of incredible complexity, didn’t consider this aspect to highlight the meaning of the phrases.

“I just don’t think we should read too much into things.”

Fine.  Clearly you are not a creator.


It’s possible that the Panopticon has become you.

Power comes in many forms.  The greatest power is not force, but cooption.  Insinuate your way of thinking into another, leave a mark that’s invisible, possibly permanent.

In being watched, I have become a watcher.

I claim a difference.

The Panopticon, benevolent or malevolent, objectifies with its all encompassing gaze.

I am forced to watch, but I am trained in objectivity.  Those who look to objectivity know it’s impossible.  They feel the subjectivity that permeates the very stitches of their eyeballs.

Objectification ignores that.

Is this transcendence?  Did I beat the game?


Tags: writing

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