These people aren't mentally ill, not in the typical sense. They've been the subject (victim) of a nefarious government experiment. Media lies have rewired (gaslit) their brains to believe a false version of reality. What we're seeing now are the consequences of over-exposure. The ability to analyse has diminished. Self-reflection has wasted away. Independent thinking has been driven out and doesn't exist at all. What's left behind is a sort of vacuum, a state of logical paralysis. The subject has transformed into a being without centre, or focus; a being governed by base instinct, by the lower chakras: on the one hand the whining moralist, the self-righteous prig, the eternal hypocrite with planet-engulfing ego; on the other, the emotionally incontinent wretch wallowing in hatred, outrage and despair.
Read Nineteen Eighty-Four. Seriously, read it if you haven't already. It's all in there. Take special note of The Two Minutes Hate:
[...is the daily period during which members of the Outer and Inner Party of Oceania must watch a film depicting Emmanuel Goldstein, the principal enemy of the state, and his followers, the Brotherhood, and loudly voice their hatred for the enemy and then their love for Big Brother.Quote:
The political purpose of the Two Minutes Hate is to allow the citizens of Oceania to vent their existential anguish and personal hatred toward politically expedient enemies....] From wikipedia
For the last four years (and longer) the TV networks have spearheaded their own version of the Two Minutes Hate, against Donald Trump - not his policies, just the individual. It's been the same in this country, and all across the West. Lie, spin, distortion. The witless multitudes have been lapping it up, over and over and over again. Well...Emmanuel Goldstein just took a crap on beloved Big Brother's desk. Hence nervous breakdowns all across social media.The horrible thing about the Two Minutes Hate was not that one was obliged to act a part, but, on the contrary, that it was impossible to avoid joining in. Within thirty seconds any pretence was always unnecessary. A hideous ecstasy of fear and vindictiveness, a desire to kill, to torture, to smash faces in with a sledge-hammer, seemed to flow through the whole group of people like an electric current, turning one even against one's will into a grimacing, screaming lunatic. And yet the rage that one felt was an abstract, undirected emotion which could be switched from one object to another like the flame of a blowlamp.





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