Archive
01/26/10
Connectivity
These wired and wireless days, He spends every second of his waking and sleeping hours E-mailing, texting, friending, and tweeting himself to the world.
Without scruples looking over his shoulder, He posts the most, as well as the least, minute details of his life, Everything from the frequency of his sneezes and cheese cuttings,
The length, girth, and weight of his stool movements, The number of hairs that parachute when he combs, To the voices in his head that keep saying, "Reboot. Reboot."
As for what he stuffs in his mouth — when, where, why — Things he misplaces (keys, name, password, code), Dreams he doesn't dream, deeds he does and doesn't get done,
He communicates it all, via the various electronic talismans That disseminate the bits and bytes of his spirit's naked soul, His all-the-news-that's-fit-to-download existence.
That he's more self-aware than ever before, there is no doubt. He very much likes the new IT-being he's evolving toward. He can't remember ever feeling so potentially consequential.
Lately, he's noticed that his skin's been flaking, slowly molting, Gradually revealing a molded-plastic epidermis, With traces of alphanumeric keyboards and touchpads beneath it.
Moreover, he's begun seeing his mirrored reflection As a reflection, broken into nearly invisible fractals and pixels, Reflecting from the twin monitors in its eye sockets.
What he's finally realizing, after spending years troubled, Trying to make sense of Marshall McLuhan's kitsch-scholarship, Is that he's the message that's becoming the medium.
01/26/10
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