I ask you to look around?

Look at the modern world we walk through: everywhere, there are names and signs, instructions meant to "advise" us on how to be, where to stand, how to wash our hands, and which areas to avoid. These signs are omnipresent. Do we truly have the freedom of our own firsthand inquiry? Are we allowed to make rational decisions based on our own observations and findings?

Can we not engage with the world, learn from it, and draw conclusions without being incessantly instructed? Must we be moulded into the sheep they require us to be, shaped by the directives of those who assume we cannot think for ourselves?

It seems to me that these signs, though partially necessary, are designed to stop us from thinking for ourselves. Fundamentally, do we need to be told how to wash our hands? Where to find things? Are they not insulting to our nature as adults? These instructions on behavior—because that is what they are—are demands for certain styles of conduct. In essence, they exist for the 'dumb' or the 'stupid,' but by their mere presence in our environments, we all find ourselves subject to this accusation.

These signs suggest that we are animals in need of guidance. Utilized exclusively for adults, they imply that we are incapable of thinking on our own. Metaphysically, these signs are akin to a shepherd with his cane, guiding the herd with their supposed supreme intellect. They are laid out for us to follow, to think on our behalf before we even have the chance to form our own judgments—not that such trivialities of modern spaces should even require our thought. These environments, and how we conduct ourselves within them, should not need such intrusive direction.

It is an attack on our intellect—an insult, a mockery of our minds—based on the presumption that, for the sake of so-called "safety" regulations, we must rely on these measures to maintain order in society. I ask, as adults: do we need instructions beyond how to live? We find our own instructions through philosophies, religions, theology, concepts, and our working lives. Yet these signs cut through all these conscious approaches collectively, undermining them.

We reach the realization that the modern world is essentially the exertion of control by a collection of minds who believe the rest of humanity requires their guidance. There is some truth to this: the average IQ of humanity ranges from 85 to 115, and for those within this range, such instructions may serve a purpose. But that is not the point. We all live in the same reality, and whether smart or not, we are equally attacked and insulted by these signs of "guidance." These signs motivate and inspire the architects of modern environments to think on our behalf.

Therefore, this is not about intelligence; it is a dangerous matter of influence. It forces us to confront the modern directors of our minds. Do we not already know how to take care of ourselves? Must we rely on authority to tell us not to walk near a construction site when we can clearly see the potential dangers ourselves? Do we need to be told, in bathrooms, how and when to wash our hands in workplace environments?

We are gifted with reason—reason that is instinctual. Our cognition is already prepared for dangers, with natural inclinations to protect ourselves. Our psyche, shaped over time, has developed these skills and abilities. By this, I mean we instinctively secure our spatial awareness. The builders of these modern worlds mock the ancestral development our minds have achieved over millennia. We learned fire was dangerous by being burned; this is something we know as children. We understand that washing our hands and caring for our health keeps our bodies—and us as animals—alive.

We do not need guided signs. We are not sheep; we are supreme, conscious, sentient beings. We know how to adapt to and mold any environment because we are the environment. Yet these signs infiltrate our spaces, forcing us to question our own rationality and judgment. Through their observable pictorial features and deliberate use of colors designed to trigger specific parts of our perception, we fall under their spell. They suggest: yes, this is the right way to stand, or this is the right way to wash our hands, or no, we cannot go there; it is dangerous.

They provide a potential opportunity for laziness, encouraging us to spend more of our time in entirely insufficient styles of approaching the world.

Let us bare in mind we are a psyche, we are in a mind that is spontaneously influenced by information.

It is an insult beyond measure, and we cannot escape this infiltration of programming—it is scattered across all major institutions of matter: hospitals, GP surgeries, work environments, and the like.

In this regard, these signs are vital. I can agree on their utility, specifically in practices involving the general public's welfare, and I even advocate for their necessity. My point, however, is that even when considering their utility in these welfare conditions, their mere existence is rather irritating to the self—for obvious reasons. It is this type of adult soul, rejecting interference and yearning for its own quest in its own way, that keeps the clock turning.

With these signs surrounding us, it becomes a nuisance to be constantly informed, directed, and subliminally forced into participating in a game involving many minds—all subliminally registered to be blinded. It is the guise of a game of order within society, as they like to call it—or rather, as we like to name it, shall we say.

I ask simply: why are these signs not in our homes?

Is it because our homes are vessels for our own freedom of thought?

Are we expected to be knowledgeable in our homes, but once we leave and enter the larger system of collective beings, these signs suddenly become necessary?

The answer is yes. We need order in this vast, impossible expanse of society. But the absence of such signs in our homes is a strange anomaly. It reveals an implicit acknowledgment that the home is not the same as society. Within our homes, we are informed—free to determine what we do. Yet, stop paying the bills, and this house of ours will be stripped away like a thief in the night.

In our homes, we treat ourselves with greater attentiveness, respect, self-preservation, and care for health and wellbeing. The presence of these signs and directions elsewhere implies that we are incapable of understanding these complementary factors of adult life. Once we leave our homes, we are guided by various signs and signals.

Our home is a microcosm of the greater society. Have we not, by living on our own and taking care of ourselves, already learned how to protect and sustain ourselves? Yet at the construction signal, the supermarket handwashing station, the queue markings, and the structured lines we are funneled into, we are reminded otherwise. These systems suggest that our thoughts are not of our own origin; they were structured long before we began to structure them ourselves.

Just think: without these directive guides, what truly lay beneath the now commonly adapted mind of ours? Over the many years of living under these signals, what was there, waiting to surface? Perhaps it was the ability to see around corners, to perceive the future more rapidly.

What skills and cognitive capabilities were lying dormant, waiting to be used?
Covered and suppressed by the need for influence and the drive to make our lives easier, imagine if we could have developed these abilities ourselves, prior to them being forced upon us.

Navigation tactics, cognitive perceptive skills, deeper understandings—what might we have unlocked if we had been left to learn and adapt on our own?