How.Long Is The Movie Bring The Soul.Going To Be.In The.Theaters.Comfor Cellphoney

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Cellphoney

With a smile I have to admit I’m starting to turn into the old fart I wasted my life. You know who I’m talking about; The guy/person who says things like, “I just don’t understand the things people do these days.”

Well, I don’t.

A few days ago I was shooting and in the middle of a particularly spectacular sunset (as if they weren’t all!), in one of the most remote places in the world, some people entered the frame. No problems. i love people They tend to add to my images, like little specks of energy dancing on the body of this great mother.

Then, as they sit together side by side in a picture-perfect framing position of the sun sizzling the ocean just above their heads, they each shake a cell phone out of their pocket and dial a few moments elsewhere.

One of my life journeys was to learn to be here more, more present in every moment. As if to insult a lifetime of searching, everywhere I go people are there now! On the street, in their cars, in your driveway, next to you in a restaurant, leaving the bathroom, even in the middle of a conversation! Wherever you go, whatever you do, you are surrounded by people whose bodies are in front of you, but whose presence is elsewhere.

It’s not that it was new to me. But somehow, it just felt like a whole new insult. Just where you give up your cares for the riches of the moment—one of the few places where you can truly share your loneliness with another human being—lives the intruder.

When this cell phone thing started to leave the cities and become more rural, I was living in an intentional community in Oregon. It was (a surprisingly eclectic group of) about 30 adults and 8 children living on 87 acres and running conference and permaculture centers along with hosting a personal growth workshop and publishing a magazine. We were known as a community that truly seeks to work the interpersonal connection angle into the daily (and terrifying!) tasks of life as examples of sustainability.

As you might guess, while not on the radical side of the “tree sitter,” even the ex-Navy intelligence officers in the community among us were clearly oriented toward a value system of relationship over action, presence over distance.

But then, in my fifth year there, more and more “guests” (people who come to the conference and spend the weekend with us) shook out their cell phones and wandered (of course within the confines of “living” places or whatever they’re called) the property — trails, streams, Meadows — chatting with the sites.

Every week we had a business meeting. In one such meeting, where we decide on policies and such, hardly thinking twice about it, I put forward a proposal for consensus to dedicate a specific area for people to use their cell phones.

Hell, there was a precedent. Years ago the community did the same with cigarette smokers. There was one small place on the property, near the convention center classrooms where you could go to smoke. The truth is, it was a dingy shed with one crappy chair and an ugly, open coffee can for bottoms sitting on the concrete walk. If I had come to that community as a smoker, I would have quit out of embarrassment. As the area was in full view of the paths leading to the centre, it always seemed quite a zoo, the only thing missing being less than 1% white dance hats.

It was my fervent hope that the community would feel that such a disposal would help people deal with themselves much more directly. Hopefully, what seems to have been true for smokers, eventually enough people will feel uncomfortable enough to get the word out that of course we’re tolerant, but if you smoke or use a cell phone on this part of nature, you’re going to feel like an idiot.

I figured it would be fine to pass it along but boy was I wrong! As soon as the words “I’m tired of seeing those ugly little glowing bastards everywhere I turn” were out of my mouth, I noticed three or four hands out of a table of about 18 people reflexively going to some part of theirs. clothes or anatomy to make sure their cell phones are with them.

It reminded me of when I was a paramedic and I’d go into a rough bar on the other side of the track when we – my partner and I are the only white guys around – would catch little flashes of knives and guns. Ready from the corner of our eyes.

And these were my community friends. It was then that I knew life as I knew it was over.

Back to the beach. My first thought was, “What the hell am I going to do with this shot?” But then I realized, “Shit, everyone is like that!!”

I’ve taken so many primo shots of touching nature with people and cell phones in them that I might as well turn my entire portfolio to spinning Marlboro Man photos for advertisers, cell phone promotional folds and brochures, and at least. Some money on the damn photos I end up throwing away because this unnatural thing is happening.

And now, it’s getting exponentially worse because cell phones take pictures.

On beach photography projects, even as recently as May (2005) I could work with a sunset and photograph people celebrating it and not once worry about the outcome. Today (September) and in every shot with five or more people, one of them points their phone to their ear or to someone else. Some of my photos look like a multi-gun fight in one of Quentin Tarantino’s movies (actually, many of them!).

But how arrogant I am!

For being all the balanced person I pretend to be, here I am denying the experience of other human beings no more than my absolute need to die in the world I know.

Probably in ten years, it will be as common to see pictures of people loaded with cell phones as it is to see handkerchiefs in the pockets (suit pockets, no less!) of men on the street in pictures taken in the 1950s.

Why does this sound scary to me?

Besides, if I had spent a little more time observing and less time harassing while I was on the bluff, I might have discovered that indeed, each of these people was broadcasting images of this auspicious sunset to their target callers. How sweet – sharing this glorious moment with friends in Louisiana under feet of water!

It’s hard enough being in a rotten mood and listening to this bubbly idiot on the other end of every phone. But to be able to get the whole picture of that joy is excruciating. The moment turns into a series of sore thumb screws, “See how happy I am? What’s wrong with your miserable existence?”

You are so busy fretting over the happiness of the callers that you can’t even appreciate the beauty around you, that’s the soul that cell phones drain from you.

What will happen to our anonymity and privacy? “Come on my dear, I know you’re miserable but turn on the camera so I can really see!”

No, I won’t get a cell phone. I don’t have to. The last time my motorcycle and I broke down on the road, for example, I just jumped in the middle of the highway, spread my fingers with my pinky pointing to my mouth and my thumb to my ear and within four cars and near the side part, some guy stopped and let me use his cell phone to call for help.

Like any red-blooded American, of course I reserve the right to be a hypocrite. But still, because I’m an American, I don’t have to give up my inalienable right to hide. Hiding places are getting further and further apart, and this, in the end, is my dog ​​with cell phones and their spawn.

Now, the SUVs are allowed to drive with the same systems that put you in touch with Central Command immediately in case of an emergency. Like if one of the kids in the back seat says, “I have to pee,” the next thing you know, a voice comes out of the sky to say, “Just take the next left, go two blocks, and head to McDonald’s… Oh, and while you’re there, don’t forget to Supersize the fries, the extra salt will help the kids hold their bladders longer, and Mr. Mandel, please don’t run a red light like you did three blocks ago.”

Although I have nothing against him personally, when Gary Coleman tells me (in commercials on TV, on the Internet, and in movies!) that “someone needs” to know where I am every minute of my life, I can’t help but cringe and prepare for Armageddon.

I know it starts with people like Gary showing up to me to prepare me for what life will be like. I know that the same technology that will allow you to see and talk to me will allow “them” to see and listen to me, and frankly, I want no part of that.

Unless, of course, I get stuck.

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