Bone crushing as a hobby

Sometimes, it’s just impossible to keep up, even with blogs being “so last year” and the tweet “so last month” it’s time for the bytesight, where a single vowel free phrase or even word expresses what passes for thought today, making a haiku seem like a sonnet. Night time is tranquilizer time, soma-fied or ambienced into a lulled state, where the synapses settle and the overworked brain cells stop bouncing in a roiling boil. The anxiety of missing some hot bit of info that keeps us awake is mollified, and deep rest permeates, if only for six hours.


Then, it’s up again and out the door. Bluetooth ready, gps set, xm blasting, outer world ignored.
Until it comes crashing in as in a Tom Wolfe novel, an inescapable circumstance, immediately regretted and resented for taking one out of one’s embryonic shelter, as a deep sea diver in hot and salty sea. 
To write the novel, or novella, or short story, or blurb, old school style, a missive that will never be mainstreamed or scholarly, never read by the few who practice the dying art of staring at non-pc display mediums. Kindle 4 will read to you, anything in the world, in a non-robotic voice, possibly the digitized utterings of a loved one or admired one. Headphones or planted chips keep the chatter active on a loop, constant words a la Fantastic Planet learning headsets… this is the future, where we ship all our paper and ink archaic objects called books to third world countries. Where libraries are ghosttowns save for cyber stations, where our hand held devices rule supreme, where we barely look up from a mugging, even one including us. It’s our own version of a craven new word, not a brave new world. 

We might think we are informed, but so much is dust in the wind. News is immediate, and yesterday’s headlines destined for the junkpile of history. Nothing matters, nor should it. We have reverted to our primal state, and the basics, food, clothing, shelter, now must add online streaming and sexting to the equation.

Soon, all capability of human speech will be abandoned, and we will all become observers.
Only, at that point, one thing is more and more obvious: there will be nothing left to observe.

One Response to “Bone crushing as a hobby”


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