Oversaturation Quotes

The fragmentation of our awareness may trigger dizzying vertigo in the chaos of our living. As such, an overwhelming flurry of connectivity and images generate thereby an oversaturation in our brain and the overabundance makes us anxious, fractured and insecure. This might, in turn, actuate us to cut the wire with the world and stumble into an estranging and contentious cocoon of self-absorption, while off-loading the lush supply of social interaction. Life becomes, then, an intricate maneuvering ground for walking a fine line between sound connectedness and crumbling consciousness, between unflinching cohesion and atomizing fragmentation. ("Give me more images")

Fukuyama’s thesis that history has climaxed with liberal capitalism may have been widely derided, but it is accepted, even assumed, at the level of the cultural unconscious. It should be remembered, though, that even when Fukuyama advanced it, the idea that history had reached a ‘terminal beach’ was not merely triumphalist. Fukuyama warned that his radiant city would be haunted, but he thought its specters would be Nietzschean rather than Marxian. Some of Nietzsche’s most prescient pages are those in which he describes the ‘oversaturation of an age with history’. ‘It leads an age into a dangerous mood of irony in regard to itself’, he wrote in Untimely Meditations, ‘and subsequently into the even more dangerous mood of cynicism’, in which ‘cosmopolitan fingering’, a detached spectatorialism, replaces engagement and involvement. This is the condition of Nietzsche’s Last Man, who has seen everything, but is decadently enfeebled precisely by this excess of (self) awareness.

They first find a need, a void to fill, something people really need and/or want. Then they validate and make sure it is really needed and also not oversaturated.

More! It was Jamie’s first word. It’s the call of children everywhere. And it’s how I feel about my time with them now. About parenting in general, maybe, now that the days of oversaturation are long behind us.

they arise from over-saturation with the "Iliad.

If you don’t find your tribe in high school, relax; some of the best people don’t. We’re merely meant to make it out alive despite an oversaturated environment of both the best and worst examples of human existence, and then go on to assemble our tribes from the people we meet throwing up in bathrooms on our birthday, quoting Caddyshack in line at the DMV, and digging through piles of jeans at the Gap looking for the one size 18. Until

Puffed pastry. That's what the newspaper reporters called it. Department of Transportation inspectors called it disintegration. Deterioration; the over-saturation of iron bridgework by water and air that caused it to puff up and crust over like cheese over a steaming crock of French onion soup. If you touched it, it would flake away like a bad case of psoriasis.

In a world where the faucet of every commodity — food, entertainment, shopping, media, sex — runs 24/7 on full blast, and one can be constantly satiated, if not completely oversaturated, on every possible pleasure, the mature individual intentionally chooses to abstain from certain things, at certain times; he deliberately cultivates a hunger (physical, psychological, or both), a sense of anticipation, that will ultimately heighten, and in some cases even sacralize, the satisfaction and delights of their consummation. He intentionally creates contrast between empty and full, having and having not, so that his life is not one undeviating, unbroken, benumbing stream of stuffed-full sameness, but rather has texture, seasons, expectancy.

Mobile phone apps – 2012 Before building a QuickBooks app, I decided to try iPhone and Android apps. This my first experience entering an app store. Unfortunately, the apps failed for many reasons: User base too small: There are millions of mobile phone users, but that does not translate to millions of users for your software. There is a subsection of a user base that matters most. Too many competitors: The app stores were oversaturated. There were over a million apps, literally. There was no way to stand out from the rest. My apps became me-too apps. The Intuit app stores were just getting started at the time and there were far fewer apps. Difficult to gain entry: I tried game development, and good games are expensive to produce. You need a soundtrack and graphic designers. The cost of making an exceptional game is outrageous. There was no way I could afford it. Failed to show value: Since most apps were free, users refused to pay me. I tried in-app purchases, but most users were uninterested. I learned that businesses were a better target because I could show them how to save time. Failed to solve a problem: In my eyes, app stores were the only way to advertise my game. I failed to tap into my potential user base. Businesses have a clear data entry problem that I can fix, but consumers were too difficult to sell to. Technical issues: I submitted one app to the Windows Marketplace, and it failed 15 times. I had to wait for Apple to publish updates to my app weekly. I learned that my next plugin must receive updates in a few hours, instead of a few days. Users simply cannot wait this long for an issue to get fixed. This was the most important lesson that I learned, and it inspired me to make a cloud-based system. Different devices:

I have no coherent thoughts, just a rush of feeling, like oversaturated, garish bursts of color.

The microbes broke it down about as rapidly as it fell, but when there was so much of it that it oversaturated the soil, it became more difficult for plants to survive. In the end, the entire system fell apart. Ash fell so steadily that it smothered and killed, and the world’s plant life died off.

About parenting in general, maybe, now that the days of oversaturation are long behind us. More, more, more!

Remember, most parents and leaders are … oversaturated with information. overwhelmed with responsibility. overcommitted with activity. If

By developing symbols of value, groups can strengthen participation and commitment. People eagerly work to acquire and show off emblems. So it only makes sense that companies should develop emblems of value. Prestigious groups monitor access to remain sought-after, rare, and valuable. Insider brands usually control how many people get access to the brand; otherwise, oversaturation cheapens status and destroys value.

The pictures slipped past again and I kept looking at them. Some of the scans were sepia pictures, going back a hundred years; some were black-and-white; some were oversaturated, from the sixties and seventies. Many were recent, direct digital. Finally,

that the days of oversaturation are long behind us. More, more, more!

MORE! It was Jamie's first word. It's the call of children everywhere. And it's how I feel about my time with them now. About parenting in general, maybe, now that the days of over-saturation are long behind us. MORE, MORE, MORE!

This is not about only wanting 'respectable' trans people to be portrayed. This is about asking why these facts - that many trans people are sex workers, that many trans people turn to drugs and alcohol, that many trans people suffer violence both at the hands of those they know and at the hands of stranger, and that trans people who suffer from the effects of racism are more likely to suffer further from violence and abuse - are suitable fodder for light entertainment, but not for an urgent and sincere investigation into the oppression which are killing the most marginalized members of the trans community. Instead of reporting on the whys of all this - the scandals that are endemic racism, endemic transphobia, the particular hatred of trans femininity and womanhood that is transmisogyny, the daily ways in which it is decided that some people are not as worthy of protection, of life, as others - instead, the lives of marginalized trans women are used as fodder for schlocky drama series, the background hum of an oversaturated media machine.

It is not merely stored away as one more news item, one more piece of religious information, one more scenario—that would be especially unfruitful for modern man, who suffers massive oversaturation of theory, knowledge, and scenarios. Instead, the revelation takes a form that is a loud shout in a world growing deaf. The authority of its horrific imagery guarantees an absolute claim on the imagination. We are intrigued, puzzled, frustrated, alarmed, and ultimately encouraged. In short, we are aroused to a kind of attention before the mystery of human history as it unfolds, precisely because we do not know when or how the ultimate danger is to be incarnated. With prayerful reading, the book assists in the conversion of attention into holy vigilance, the spirit of the watchman.

Our eyes are so sensitive to these wavelengths that the cones can get oversaturated and the stimulus pours over onto the other cells. A print-maker I know showed me that if you stare for a long time at a block of yellow and then shift your gaze to a white sheet of paper, you will see it, for a moment, as violet. This phenomenon—the colored afterimage—occurs because there is energetic reciprocity between purple and yellow pigments, which goldenrod and asters knew well before we did.

It is not hard to guess why Pärt and several like-minded composers-notably Henryk Górecki and John Tavener — achieved a degree of mass appeal during the global economic booms of the eighties and nineties; they provided oases of repose in a technologically oversaturated culture. For some, Pärt's strange spiritual purity filled a more desperate need; a nurse in a hospital ward in New York regularly played Tabula Rasa for young men who were dying of AIDS, and in their last days they asked to hear it again and again.

It is a field as big as a football stadium carpeted every inch with bright-red poppies. The red is like the kind of color that you see only in oversaturated photos, the kind that doesn't seem to truly exist in real life. Thousands and thousands of poppies stretch out in front of us, one right after the other, as though if you squinted, it would look like a giant red blanket had been laid on top of thousands of gangly green weeds. Dense olive trees line the edges of the field, and behind them, sloping green hills take over the skyline against a cloudless blue sky. I bend down and pick up a poppy, its inky-black center surrounded by delicate red petals clustered and fanning out. It is all so dreamy.

Screw the story gods and their futile attempts at breathing life into an over-saturated genre.

By getting out of the oversaturated mindset of needing to market at every moment and using some of these social sites as social sites, this can creating an inviting and engaging way to connect to people and maintain that connection.

In the censored-city, our only access to the outside is through the cloud. Sometimes I feel safer here, with all the screeds of data smog and oversaturated pop culture references condensed to their basic minimum. I mean, the sheer amount of input to our system has long since exceeded our processing capacity. We all felt the same way. Spam and social media had taken over everything. I remember it, clear as day.

--the hyper-desperate checking off of all the must dos of an expiring vacation, of ending time--the doomed quest of obtaining meaning in oversaturated trivialities, in tautologies and endless adjectival and adverbial hendiadys, in seeking serenity or substance in verbs. When "pause" is a hapax legomenon.

And in front of this backdrop, there were all of us. Our stupid selves with our stupid frustrations, our lost baggage and our delayed trains. It seemed to me that the sense of punishing oversaturation would persist, no matter what was in the news. There was no limit to the amount of misfortune a person could take in via the internet, and there was no way to calibrate this information correctly. No guidebook for how to expand our hearts to accommodate these simultaneous scales of human experience, no way to teacher ourselves to separate the banal from the profound.

And in front of this backdrop, there were all of us. Our stupid selves with our stupid frustrations, our lost baggage and our delayed trains. It seemed to me that the sense of punishing oversaturation would persist, no matter what was in the news. There was no limit to the amount of misfortune a person could take in via the internet, and there was no way to calibrate this information correctly. No guidebook for how to expand our hearts to accommodate these simultaneous scales of human experience, no way to teach ourselves to separate the banal from the profound. The internet was dramatically increasing our ability to know about things while our ability to change things stayed the same, or possibly shrank right in front of us. I had started to feel that the internet would only ever induce this cycle of heartbreak and hardening-a hyper engagement that would make less sense every day.