A while ago I wrote a post about how Instagram etc. is changing the way humans interact with the wilderness and sites of beauty and/or historic importance:

Wilderness-Lost--02

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Wilderness Ruined

Today, I read a bit more about Instagram and how it seemingly deeply interferes with a great many of our psyches:

“Infinite scroll: life under Instagram”
by Dayna Tortorici (31 January, 2020)
The Guardian
 
“Why the New Instagram It Girl Spends All Her Time Alone”
by Dayna Tortorici (16 October, 2019)
The Atlantic
 
Tavi Gevinson’s Life on Instagram
by Lauren Starke (16 September, 2019)
New York Magazine

Here’s an interesting thing…

psyche means the human soul, mind, or spirit.
 
psychology means the scientific study of the mind.
 
Psyche [Ψυχη] however, is a name too. Only now did I know.

Psyche Abandoned, by Jacques Louis David (1795)
“Psyche Abandoned”
by Jacques-Louis David (1795)

^ look at her eyes, I mean, gaze into them and wonder the reason for why — my man’s eyes are a gorgeous green / my woman’s eyes are a beautiful brown — once you’ve done your wondering, I’ll tell you the reason for Psyche’s tear weary eyes. It is this: the flight of Cupid. Unfortunately, his sudden departure was something that she unintentionally caused. You see, despite having been forbidden as a mortal to look upon the god, Psyche could not resist discovering who her nighttime lover was and what he looked like (she knew well his sublime amorous moves and sweet wettening whispered words). So as Cupid slept, she gazed upon him by the light of an olive oil fueled lamp (Moby Dick wouldn’t be for another two millennia…). Mesmerised by his beauty, she accidentally spilled a drop or two of that warm frankincense incensed Kalamata oiive oil upon his naked torso. As a consequence, Cupid — for that was his name — woke and was compelled by God’s command to retreat back to the heavenly abode from whence he cometh.

Good thing is — I guess, yes — our dear Psyche became a god and lived happily ever after:

“Psyche Receiving Cupid’s First Kiss”
by François Gérard (1798)

I love

& I hate

Some may wonder how…

“How can it be both, Anna?”

Alas, I know not the why nor the how.

Anglophile? Me? You’re dreaming Darlin’

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