The Human Addiction | Eminem

Out of the Way

A.N. So long and intense bruh-

We remain still, staring blankly at the canvas in front of us.
Tyler tells me that no one's mind is really their own.
You can't think properly, especially not now.
There's always something distracting you.
A stupid piece of contemporary art or a sitcom you put on to avoid your inevitable mental crash.
You listen to the sounds of prerecorded laughs or gasps.
They fill your head and help you block out everything else.
Singers shouting lyrics that almost always have sexual innuendo.
News broadcasters reminding you that the world will burst into flames or be perfectly fine.

Tyler's biggest frustration seems to be with everyone.
She's tired of the collective decision that we shouldn't think too hard about shit.

She goes, "any time I've had a conversation with a past 'conspiracy theorist' they almost always say that there's no point going down the rabbit hole."
Sitting on the metal bench likely constructed by some eccentric kombucha drinker, I suddenly feel slightly uncomfortable.
It's not the bench.
Although it's not accommodating my needs at all.
I just know where this will go.
She says, "You're never happy anymore, everything in this world sickens you and everything that doesn't is already in the works of being used up or driven extinct... and then that sickens you even more"
I reach out and grab her hand, interlacing our fingers.
If everything in this world makes Tyler sick then I at least hope that she can find something beautiful in another person.
"Your clothes were made by sweatshop workers. Your phone is made utilizing outsourced child labor. Your food was delivered by someone making five dollars an hour, living in some apartment the size of a shoebox. Your animal products come from chickens locked up in tiny wire cages lining the wall of a pitch black shed, cows impregnated and milked so often that they live half their life expectancy and begin producing milk contaminated with blood and puss."

She stands up slowly, taking out the small notebook from her little black clutch.
She scribbled something down before she's finishing up her monologue
"Naturally that feels really disgusting to think about. You become miserable and you wonder what even is the point of learning the truth? Not like you can change anything. So we've created the perfect world where it's so much more fun not to think. It's so much more fun to just distract yourself with the next celebrity trending on MTV- no offence- or the next Oscar nomination."
I'm standing up and shoving my hands inside my sweat pockets.
I watch her slip the notebook back in her purse before she's putting her hands on her lips and letting out a long sigh.

She says we can move on to the upstairs exhibit, she's got a piece she wants me to see.
I assume it's hers.

As we walk up the industrial looking floating metal stairs, she's asking me, "You know how in George Orwell's 1984 there's Big Brother watching everyone?"
I've only ever read LL Cool J's 'I Make My Own Rules'.
I got half walk through 'How to Win Friends and Influence People' by Dale Carnegie.
I don't know who big brother is.

I only nod along, hoping that what she says doesn't require that I've read the book to understand.

"Well, I don't think that's how totalitarianism would work now... you don't need to watch everyone to assure they wouldn't think or say anything contradictory to your cause. You just have to fill them up with mindless entertainment. Convince them that they should watch reality tv at the end of the night as a way to 'numb out'. Convince them they should care about what celebrity has issues with what celebrity. Chalk their heads full of so much that they can't even recognize an original thought, because they won't be able to have any." She explains, leading me over to a canvas in the middle of the far back wall.

It's bordered in black and contains the depiction of what looks like a religious woman.
Her head is draped in a veil and a gold headpiece.
Hands covered in white gloves and brought together in prayer, she looks through her noticeably blue lashes, giving the viewer the impression that they're being silently judged.