Futures made of virtual insanity, nowJamiroquai
Always seem to be governed by this love we have
For these useless, twisting, of our new technology
Oh, now there is no sound, for we all live underground
We all have uniforms. I was out feeling very uncomfortable in my own. A clash of whatever I could get out the wardrobe and match what I thought would be my day. I couldn’t find anything, started my day late, and felt all of place.
As I stood handing out leaflets I noticed everyone in their uniforms. This is how I want to show myself today. Suits, hippie, vintage, sporty, standard, builder, delivery, trader.
And we take this to a new level. Our virtual identity. And I really don’t like having one. Mine would be something like; I’m anxious, I want to cry, I’ve felt sick, I’m tired, I wanna complain, everything is fake. I don’t want your sympathy.
But virtually I’m all smiles and travel and all the good stuff. I haven’t posted for a while. And I tend to obsess over my own posts. And I don’t really like it. And because I’m so poor at being “virtual” to most people I don’t exist anymore.
As I stared out people were obsessed with their phones. And screens. And everywhere there are screens. And everyone is too busy looking at their screens. Talking to their screens. Reading their screens. Shopping on their screens.
Virtual, virtual, virtual. I run my life around my phone. Everything is fine through screens. And I am sick of screens. Staring at them. Sitting at them. Touching them. Handling them. Charging them. Being told I’m headed in the wrong direction, I’m late, I’ve missed an appointment, there are 192 missed notifications.
I can’t be outside and I cannot be virtual. I am not here or there. And I am virtually and physically invisible. The only thing that seems to matter is ticking off all the boxes and completing all the admin tasks. Then the noise disappears. I am nothing less and nothing more than the paperwork that I show people.
I am what everyone else wants. I am what everyone else has ever told me. I don’t have my own wants, or dreams, or whatever. And why should I? After all it only really matters is that I appear as I could be, rather than really be.
And that’svirtual insanity.