How many friends do you have?

Really?

That many…?

Alright, permit me to rephrase; how many people are there in your life, of whom you know the name, age, address and phone number; of whom you know the birthdate without being reminded, of whom you know the favourite food, favourite pastimes, and with whom you frequently acquaint?

Fewer?

Right, far fewer.

 

2013 I opened a Facebook page. This page didn’t allow me to see who else was ‘online’, nor did it allow me to ‘find’ other ‘friends’ and certainly, it did not allow me to creep onto the profiles of people I’d never met and who, let’s be fair, I had no intention of meeting.

2019 I opened a Facebook profile. I promptly ‘invited’ the few ‘friends’ from my Facebook ‘page’ to become ‘friends’ of my new Facebook ‘profile’, including one particular Vietnamese woman who I had met in 2017 and with whom I had grown close.

It was at this stage, still relatively ignorant/naïve to the pervasive ability and indeed the power of Facebook, that my otherwise simple world with no more friends than I could count on my own two hands, was figuratively blown apart.

It turned out, like most younger Vietnamese folk, this 27-year-old woman had literally ten thousand ‘Facebook friends’ and, the thing is about Vietnamese folk, any chance they come upon to befriend Western folk, they will keenly seize.

Presumably (bear in mind this presumption is only formed once my comprehension of ‘what-the-hell-is-happening-to-my-new-Facebook-profile’ has been forcibly adjusted), a portion of my Vietnamese friend’s Facebook friends had seen that she had befriended a White folk and, as earlier pointed out is their way, had quickly seized the opportunity to also befriend a White folk.

Literally only hours after alerting my legitimate Vietnamese friend to my new Facebook profile, my new Facebook profile was figuratively inundated with ‘friend requests’.

Initially shocked, I soon realised what was happening: these Viet folk didn’t know me and likely had no desire to know me, thus it was purely an attempt at – I was being used for the purpose of – status-building; seemingly positioning a White face among their many thousands of Asian-faced ‘friends’ would afford the aforementioned Facebook user a sense of perceived eminence.

Being the prudent (ignorant) Facebook user that I always aspire to be, at the start, I was discerningly going through each of these applicants’ profiles to see if I in fact wanted to be their friend; of course, I now realise they were not asking to be my friend at all, they were simply asking to be my ‘Facebook friend’, which is rather less meaningful and, as endearments go, borders on pointless (yet, for the record, as I found no reason to disallow any of these applicants – though young many of them did appear to be – and although I intend to keep in contact with none of them, they are all now ‘friends’ of mine).

The truly devastating thing about Facebook friendship though, is that to some people, it does mean something.

The reality is, ‘Facebook friendship’ does not indicate how popular you are – not even a little bit – all it probably indicates is how many ‘friend requests’ you are capable of sending out to people who you don’t know but who then think that your profile picture (which, as I now understand, does not have to pose even a modicum of resemblance to you) looks nice.

Therefore, while it does have its benefits in that it has increased the ease with which people communicate thereby in a sense making life easier, in my belated opinion (‘belated’ in that it has taken me a number of years to be bothered to involve myself with Sociopathic Media), the insatiable beast they call ‘Facebook’ is not such a friendly place for youngsters; this compelling desire to pointlessly accumulate Facebook friends, likely for no other reason than to increase their perceived status, is placing massive amounts of pressure on young people to compete with their actual friends and, in the process, is likely breeding resentment thus destroying actual friendships.

Despite its downsides though, unquestionably perpetuated by the advent of Smartphones, Facebook is just about the most popular thing in the world; it effortlessly creates trends, sets fashions in clothing, food, speech, manner, also just about every other facet of life and, as time goes on with technology’s hold on the world growing evermore tenacious, Facebook’s position is set to only become more dominating.

Predictably Facebook’s reign will continue to be responsible for the betterment, also the ruination, of people’s lives.

Gosh, well done, Mr Zuckerberg; how proud your mother must be.

 

 

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Sue Mene Friend

Photography by Niva C Friend

Not since the days of Sega Master System II, with unforgettable characters such as Sonic and Shinobi, have I truly enjoyed playing a video game; similarly, nor do I advocate the games of today, as perpetuated by women towards their male suitors so that they may, what, render the aspiring man so befuddled with exasperation that at the height of his confusion he reveals himself to have a less than stoic grasp on his emotions leading him to say or to do something regrettable thus now revealing himself to be something less than the disinterested paragon of manhood that she was ever so hopeful he would turn out to be?

That is correct, in line with Facebook’s philosophy of telling everyone everything about everybody ‘Tim Walker is/has been playing Mafia City on Facebook’ which, I suppose, as pointed out above, is technically correct.

Thing is about that, confront most women with this truth, put it to them that their adopted habit of, for example, although the phone is in their hand when it beeped, the reply isn’t sent until several hours later; alternatively the response is not sent at all which leads us back to the opening paragraph along with a ghastly follow-on sentence that just seemed to keep going and going.

Thing is about Mafia City on Facebook, and the reason the above statement is ‘technically’ rather than ‘wholeheartedly’ correct, you don’t play it so much as you click or, I guess, tap your way through it; you build a city, you attack other cities, you win, you lose, you become stronger, you become weaker, and although the ‘game’ tells you what you’re doing and keeps you updated on your overall ‘game’ progress, although it gives you the outcome of whatever war/fight/challenge/heist you inflict upon (whoever is) the opposition, you don’t actually do anything, I mean other than click or tap myriad pictures and pop-ups.

I understand the modern-day Western-woman’s compulsion to feel as though she is in control of the courting process; I understand the modern-day Western-woman’s desire to seek the empowerment that is best sourced through the emasculation of otherwise strong men – or the ruination of already weak ones – but in fairness, while I do understand it, I don’t care for and have no time for it.

The advertisement on Facebook for Mafia City is compelling, with engaging graphics and scenes that, although these sights will never actually appear within the game, are designed, I guess specifically, to bring the tech-naïve, the easily compelled, like me, to the game.

The bringing down of others for one’s own gain, as most will accept, is a childish game to play which smacks of undeniable personal weakness; nobody comfortable with their own inner strength would ever make another question their own validity.

Ultimately, Mafia City on Facebook is just barely engaging enough to keep me just barely engaged. The developers of the game, psychotically clever dirt-bags they must be, have done a fine job of pandering towards our main two 21^st century desires – having our minds perpetually occupied and mindlessly clicking/tapping away at nothing of significance.

The question, therefore, why do they/we do it? Why do they/we insist on making everything a power-struggle? Why can they/we not just act upon our genuine emotions rather than making a special effort to develop, then putting forward, a fabricated demeanour?

Whether it’s a building, an area, an item, or just an informative pop-up, needing to be clicked/tapped, in Mafia City on Facebook, it’s all designed to keep your mind busy because, as our time-thief tech-genius game-creators have clearly established, as long as your mind’s busy, you’re not going anywhere. Pandering to our brains’ latent propensities, furthermore, fuelling our inherent yearning for progression, is the way that everything in the game is on as timer, creating an environment of busyness, of necessity, of pressure, of haste and of course, finally, of accomplishment.

Why do they/we feel we need to be constantly in control and why are they/we so unwilling to relinquish that element of pseudo power?

So, Mafia City on Facebook, is it a good game? Hell no, it’s downright tedious, but does it keep the ‘gamer’ engaged? Most certainly, it does; once you start, the ‘game’ ensures there is always something else that needs to be done – something more to keep a gamer’s brain occupied.

Personal insecurity. Need for validation. Inferiority complex. Inner weakness. Mental instability. Basic immaturity.

The answer to the aforementioned query, unequivocally, can be found among the aforementioned traits.

Say no more.

 

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Kerri Yuss

Photography by Si Collie-Gee

We push, we shuffle, we stress, we bustle, and all for what?

All to be at the front of the queue, that’s for what.

So, is that the queue of establishment, or is it the queue of fabrication; the queue of reality or the queue of perception – queue of life or of delusion?

As though fighting to be in the lead is so much more rewarding than simply taking a seat down the back, as though the salient position is somehow more favourable than the one at the tail end, as though struggling to be seen somehow holds more merit than simply relaxing and accepting that you might not be noticed, or worse, might not get there in front of others…?

There it is: we all want to be at the front so we can be the first to make it to the finish.

Huh. Sounds pointlessly convoluted; dangerously counterproductive.

It’s a fact though: hurrying gives people a sense of purpose, makes us feel busy; of course, the busier our brains feel, the more productive, the more successful we feel.

Therefore, we strive. We all want to be first, want to be at the front.

The way we drive is a fine example; positioned contentedly in the middle of a line of cars, as soon as the opportunity arises – perhaps a passing lane – suddenly everybody wants to be at the front. Even when time is of no concern to them, even when they really have nowhere to go, nowhere they especially need to be; even though the passing vehicle will then often sit just in front of, go no faster than, the car they’ve just passed, reaching the front affords the driver’s brain a sense of validation that makes it feel as though it is achieving, makes it feel it’s being productive and, as we all should know, a productive brain is a happy brain.

Ironically, try as we might, while most of us certainly aspire to lead the way and to be in front for as much of the journey as possible, seems like nobody actually wants to finish first. Despite efforts to be the first to make it there, the majority don’t want to finish at all; we always do what we can to push forward so we can be at the front, to lead the race for as long as we can, but when it comes time to cross that fabled finish-line, time to receive the glory of finally making it to the last post, pretty sure most of us would happily turn back.

We probably wish we could go back, start over, and take more time this time around; wish we hadn’t gone so fast when our pace wasn’t all that important.

We probably wish we hadn’t succumbed to the pressures of life, wish we hadn’t allowed ourselves, our lives, to become driven, become so firmly dictated, by the oppressive force of obligation.

We likely wish we had realised that all we needed to do, the only thing we ever really needed to achieve, was to take a moment, time to ourselves, to reflect, to understand, to appreciate that, although modern life might imply otherwise, it is not necessary to always be at the front.

It doesn’t matter if we are out of focus or even if we are never seen; regardless how far forward we are positioned, irrespective of how quickly, how impetuously, how insanely forcefully we launch ourselves into it, life will always just continue to meander along its inexorable path.

Makes no difference how fast you go, life will only ever maintain a steady pace.

 

 

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Speed E Boyce

Photography by Finny S First

 

 

 

 

Why are Kiwis so hard on our public toilets?

As though these conveniently located, Government funded ablution blocks have somehow wronged us, in New Zealand we seem to have a vendetta against public restrooms.

It seems no sooner than the Council has established a new block of these emergency waste stations, someone, some pathetic cretin of a human, attempts to destroy them.

Additionally, as though the act of walking into a public toilet block causes people to mysteriously lose the ability to cleanly relieve themselves, in New Zealand these public facilities are frequently left with lengths of toilet paper strewn about, or sometimes even with urine/faeces/vomit littering, the floor.

Our Government, our Councils hence us, the people, taxpayers, the intended recipients of the benefits of public toilets, employ further people – marvellous people – to maintain and to clean these stations, and oh my, maintain and clean them we, the payers of the tax, the wreckers of the Godsent, ensure they must.

After the aforementioned caretakers/childminders have done their bit though, even they cannot rectify some of the damage inflicted upon New Zealand’s public toilets by the people; as a long-haul cyclist who often relies upon the operation of rural restrooms to make it around my circuit with dignity intact (alas, gorse hedges and verdant countryside foliage notwithstanding, public urination is a decidedly frowned-upon practice), I have seen cubicle doors torn off hinges, I have seen holes kicked, seen urinals ripped off walls, I have seen plumbing beneath sinks mutilated to the point of fracture…

Granted, that’s mindless vandalism and we all know the brainless dick-wads who partake in that kind of desecration yet, funnily enough, it’s not even so much this variety of misconduct that gets me; it’s the fact that when someone crosses that threshold into a public toilet block, generally (I can only speak for what I’ve seen) I am referring to male users, as mentioned above, upon entering a public restroom, it’s as though we forget how to go potty.

…Continuing, in the course of my cross-countryside excursions, I often encounter public toilets unflushed but with a good amount of waste in the bowl; honestly, would someone do that in their home? Or through improper butt placement excrement smudges are left on the upper ridge at the back of the bowl; again, who would do this at home, and if someone would, who would just walk away, I mean without cleaning it? (It is your poop, after all; it’s not someone else’s, meaning that it only really becomes disgusting once you’ve left it there for somebody else to find.) Finally, toilet paper, used or unused, I don’t suppose it really makes a difference, seriously, if at home, is there anyone who would just drop it on the floor?

Therefore why, when using a Government funded, public facility (for which, of course, we the people are funding), do so many of us insist on relinquishing a lifetime’s worth of domestication and ultimately, become cave-dwelling dung-smearing faeces-throwing oafish imbeciles?

Honestly, how do we let ourselves get away with that kind of shit?

 

 

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Missy Pauper

Photography by Van Dell Lost

It is a phrase that’s being spoken with increasing frequency yet, funny thing, it is a phrase which is rarely followed up with anything intelligent.

It’s My Right.

I was checking up on some facts regarding US gun laws, also the way firearm-enthusiasts fear those laws may be changed preventing them from exerting their ‘Second Amendment Right, as legal US citizens’.

It’s not just these idiots playing their Trump-card, either, this ambitious sense of entitlement is everywhere across our modern world; few years’ back, if you’ll recall, it was ‘every Kiwi’s right to own their own home’, and right, how is that working out for ‘every Kiwi’?

Here’s a little-known fact, brought to light by a high-profile US court-case at the time: as at November 1^st, 2015 (bear in mind Trump didn’t come into power until January 2017), there are just five states of the US which prohibit licensed gun-owners from carrying their handguns in public places (Concealed Carry); more insane still, there are thirty–one states in which the carrying of a handgun is legal, without a firearms licence or permit (CCW), although in some cases said gun must be unloaded.

Back home now: thank you, Jacinda, yes, you’re right, it is everybody’s right to worship whatever religion they choose; it is furthermore their right to dress in whatever attire they feel is gender-appropriate and all while speaking freely on a topic of their choosing (realistically though transgender males are always going to face discrimination, just as Devil-worship will always be vilified and let’s not forget, in New Zealand, hate-speech is a crime so, you know, be careful what you say, and do).

Seems that across most places in the USA a citizen has the right to legally Carry a Concealed Weapon; seemingly this would be for protection, presumably from like-minded US citizens big on exerting their Second Amendment Right.

‘Every child in New Zealand has the right to grow up safe and free from abuse, has the right to live in a warm dry home, has the right to adequate nourishment, with free healthcare and the right to free education’; gosh, so many projected rights yet no admission of wrong.

Too right.

 

 

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Shelby Wright

Photography by Kinduno Wong