Meme with caution

Social media is now part of the fabric of our daily reality, which on the whole, is a positive thing (I wouldn't have much of a social life without it). However, as with all technological advancements, there exists the potential for misuse.

Take the image above; at face value, it sounds good but if we examine the statement critically, it's easy to see that it's simply not true. The human memory, particularly in people who've suffered physical or emotional trauma, is extremely fallible. There's a reason why police and prosecutors build cases on objective evidence instead of relying solely on witness testimony.

This example is rather innocuous and probably won't do much harm, but other memes exists which stand to do real and lasting damage.

This one was no doubt created by some well-intentioned individual who feels that modern society relies too heavily on pharmaceutical medication and wishes to encourage people to find balance in a more natural way.

Here's the problem though, mental illness is very real. For many people, it results from a medically provable chemical imbalance in the brain and in those cases, no amount of frolicking in a forest will restore balance or peace of mind better than responsibly prescribed meds. The proliferation of this meme might very well alienate people from seeking much-needed treatment, and that's no help to anyone.

So, the next time you're about to hit "Share" or "Retweet", take a moment to consider the potential impact of doing so.

A premonition in post-apocalyptic prose (short story)

I have seen a vision of things to come and hold onto your pigtails folks, 'cause we ain't in Kansas no more. (Oops, I mean we won't be.) My temporal exactometer has gone on the blink, so I'm afraid I can't give you a precise date - damn Chinese imports! - but at some point hence, the global zombie apocalypse does indeed hit and it is everything you might have imagined.

Society as we know it breaks down, buildings turn to ruins and the streets become arteries of anarchy and destruction as the rule of law falls by the wayside. The old, the fat and the disabled are first to be devoured. (That was a bitter pill to swallow, let me tell you.)

The survivors flee urban areas, which have become epicentres of death and misery, to seek refuge in what little undeveloped wilderness remains.

For a time, the remnants of humanity live on in relative peace, but then something rather odd begins to happen. A small, but vocal minority rises up, espousing some deeply unsettling views. They brand those who guard village borders against marauding zombie hordes as brutal thugs whose only purpose is to defend and uphold the "humantriarchy" They assert that certain villagers should willingly sacrifice their brains for consumption, in atonement for a transgression called "grey matter privilege", which, inexplicably, some do.

Most astoundingly, the Zombie Justice Warriors, as they've become known, claim that after intensive scientific study, they've discovered that zombies have evolved a gender spectrum and in an effort to respect their individuality, the awestruck researchers coin the pronouns "Zee", "Zim" and "Zer". Now rather zealous in their beliefs, the ZJW's label anyone who refuses to respect these pronouns bigots and zomsogynists. At this stage of my odyssey through time,I began to feel my sanity crack and splinter, so I returned swiftly to the here-and-now, praying all the while that my earthly demise would occur before the arrival of this event horizon.

You should not fear the warlords (poem)

You should not fear the warlords,

Those armed with bombs and guns,

For they at least are honest.

Not the truly scary ones.

The people on your screens,

Those who read the news,

It's them you should beware,

Who seek to shape your views.

Activism's wonderful,

Please do participate.

As long as you don't tell me,

Everything you don't condone should now be considered "hate".

No, you should not fear the warlords,

They'll just shoot you dead,

It's the folks on TV you should doubt,

They'll rewire your head.

The stoic observer (poem)

For the most part, he labours in solitude,

Even when others approach, they seldom pay him notice.

He isn't much to look at, in faded jeans and a worn cotton shirt.

He doesn't mind though, for they don't come to see him, they never have.

And why would they? Most are wholly shrouded in a fog of memory and grief,

Scarcely aware of the world before their eyes.

It has always been thus, whether in Rome, Mesopotamia or London-town.

In each time and place, he assumed inconspicuous form,

Blending in, going peaceably about his task.

Throughout his timeless watch, he has laid countless souls to rest,  

No matter the hue of their skin,

Emperor or serf, chieftain or slave,

All come to equality in motionless silence.