Welcome To Your Own Digital Universe


Gone are the golden days of enjoying a calming Sunday afternoon, sipping on a Mint Julep, an Old Fitz, a Rusty Nail… grilling-up charred, blood-sponge-like shanks of beef, seasoned with a virtuous grit that naturally exudes from your fingertips, surrounded by a group of soused chums who happen to be your closest of confidants…
lying underneath the Dead Spring Heat, as you soak up the spoils of indulgent life while discussing a variety of things – such as the upcoming baseball season, the ineffectiveness of the current political regime, or your last intense psychedelic drug experience, where you dodged the constant attacks from a colony of over-sized ape-frogs, who tried to capture you by smothering your arms and legs with a snotty, goopy sludge that smelled of asparagus piss, while you attempted to reach the Astroplane Café to get a goddamned drink to break through the thickened cobwebs that sheath your mouth and weave throughout your Chi.

What’s arrived in our oh-so-important-existences is a plethora of tools that allow us to maintain a constant digital connection with whomever we desire. The Internet, which is an amazing, wonderful tool (one that I have to admit I’m a junkie for), is the center piece of the Brave New Digital World, and has been abused to a point of disgust by self-involved, self-important drones who succumb to their compulsive need to constantly vent all of their insignificant and numbing personal woes on the rest of the digital universe. Blogs, IMs, text messages, cell phones, camera phones, Bluetooth headsets, on-line personals… finally we all have the opportunity to continually whine to everyone else about how hard life is through these digital networking devices – devices which will never stop both accepting new, annoying opinions, complaints, epiphanies, and cries-for-help, and forcing these frivolous whine-fests on whoever happens to be listening. I think this must be how emo music caught on – all of a sudden it became cool to be a whiney, self-loathing, narcissistic pussy-boy – and these shiny-haired, uber-disturbed girly-boys were just singing exactly what everyone wanted to hear.

Our society has encouraged us to leap into this digital realm without a shred of reluctance, to dive in head first, without opening our eyes, and not wondering what side effects might actually be waiting for us once we realize how much of a diffused human being we’ve become.

People used to physically hang out with each other – but today, what’s the point? Now I can simply send you a picture of me taking a picture of myself with my phone, which I took with my digital camera, which I can send to my laptop wirelessly, where I’ll then send the picture in an email to your email inbox (so you can stay updated with all the important things I’m doing), meanwhile I’ll send a second IM to your AIM username, which you have forwarded to your phone, so I know you’ll get the message and the photo instantly. I’ll obviously do all this while I’m speaking to you on my wireless Bluetooth headset for my cell phone (so I know for sure you got the instant message), while I’m grooving to a badass jam session on my iPod. Since I’ve been maintaining this rigorous lifestyle, which is difficult to do, I’ve been so busy I haven’t been able to find the time to go to the library in months.

Next week I’m going downtown to a building where I’ve volunteered to become a test subject in a new type of really intriguing technology that involves the insertion of a microchip device into my cerebrum that allows me to do all of this stuff by just thinking it. The only downside is this company, which is a tax-funded subsidiary of the U.S. government, keeps a record of everything I think about. Not a big deal, I suppose.

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