Friday, 14 June 2013

"There's a hole in my soul" - the World's biggest conspiracy theory

Who's up for a game? I'm going to throw some song lyrics at you, and your challenge is to spot the theme. Ready? Let's go.
  • Hey, show some love / You ain't so tough / Come fill my little world right up / Right up - Fill My Little World, The Feeling
  • There's a hole in my soul / I can't fill it, I can't fill it / There's a hole in my soul / Can you fill it, can you fill it? - Flaws, Bastille
  • Well that is it, guys, that is all, five minutes in and I'm bored again - Some Nights, Fun.
  • I am lost, I am vain / I will never be the same / Without you - Without You, David Guetta
  • The scars of your love remind me of us / They keep me thinking that we almost had it all - Rolling in the Deep, Adele
  • I know that I've got issues / But you're pretty messed up too / Either way I found out I'm nothing without you - My Life Would Suck Without You, Kelly Clarkson
What's the verdict? You might have noticed a couple of strands emerging - dissatisfaction with life, and the idea that finding somebody to love will complete you. 

I want you to venture through the looking-glass with me and imagine you're Sir Algernon Buskthwaite, an eccentric Victorian amateur scientist who conducts experiments in time travel. The year is 1894, and you can feel the thrill of anticipation building in your fingertips. The formula, sitting atop a Bunsen flame, is close to completion. Once it begins to bubble, time travel will be achievable, according to your hypothesis. You restlessly pace the room, finally settling on the rosewood dining chair, the legs of which are adorned with coils of copper wiring. By your left foot, two unattached wire ends are visible. You fix the beaker of hallowed liquid with a determined stare, as if you can cause the solution to boil with the power of concentration. Eventually, a large bubble becomes apparent. And another. Another. A profusion of bubbles. It is ready.

Trembling, you inspect the purplish liquid with your polished monocle. Perfect. You place the beaker by the left leg of the chair. Sitting down upon the cushioned seat, you dangle the wires into the solution. The room spins violently for a few seconds and judders to a halt, but this is certainly not the dining room at Blottley Hall that you are familiar with. Before you begin to mentally acknowledge the visual differences in the room, a musical excerpt wafts across the room. The singer laments:
"There's a hole in my soul,
I can't fill it, I can't fill it,
There's a hole in my soul,
Can you fill it, can you fill it?"

This is your first encounter with the twenty-first century. Damned odd thing to sing about, you muse. 

It's true, it is kind of an odd thing to sing about, the desire to make another person fit into your incomplete jigsaw soul. And yet, this kind of sentiment is liberally splashed over nearly everything in popular culture today: songs, movies, TV shows. Once you start noticing it, you can't stop. Society is crying out for completeness, and there's a World conspiracy going on that would have the masses believe that there is a way to feel whole again: fall in love.

But here's the thing - no matter how much you love your partner, or have the 'perfect' life that the magazines tell you to dream of, you will never, ever be satisfied. Think about it. Imagine it. Imagine you have everything you ever wanted. Do you really think that you'll just stop wanting things now? 

C. S. Lewis once said:
"If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world."

Think about it.

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