April 20, 2013 § 2 Comments
When I think about technology in my life (and that is a very common thought) I am continuously amazed at how different I am because of my iPhone, Netflix, apps, YouTube, Facebook, and WiFi. Or in a single word–access, really.
I get excited with the possibilities. Curiosity is a decades long constant in my life. And technology allows for my insatiable interest with all things the world some space. Having an almost instant answer for any question that tumultuously mars my thoughts makes me feel invincible.
My flame of swaying slowly interaction with humanity consistently lit, I am alive. Technology, and the international network it provides, keeps me connected to humanity. Different than Dostoevsky, or Morrison, Cortázar, Wollstonecraft, Murakami, or Orwell. The names and ideas that pique are very often unheard of and live their fifteen minutes in a megabit while sponsored HALS thrive in terabits. The viral hits are rarely ever heard from again (unless you check my bookmarks).
There is rare power in a meme from someone who would most likely never be heard of if it wasn’t for the Internet, smartphones, Apple, or Vimeo. And one cannot forget the intranet. How closer-knit can one subgroup of another subgroup get. Information for information sake. Popular and esoteric, serendipitous and calculated information has its place. Whether I agree with what others feel or believe matters little. Anonymously beautiful. Remixed. Who has the right to tell us what to read, watch, upload and hack. The world is a smaller place (a better place, I’d say) for those of us lucky to have high-speed access.
This intimacy with technology has made me who I am today. And I am curious to continue my relationship. I imagine a world where the Digital Divide shrinks the economic one and I Command-Option-ESC a bit of my wagging head.
Like the still flame that moves in its real-life representation, providing light till the wick runs-out of fuel, or I blow it away, lifting a bit of smoke into the air, my technological flame turns off and on. Sometimes by the wind other times by my saliva tinged fingers pressing tight against the heat. But the melting wax furrowing below in the ceramic trough only cools and hardens by the next morning when, again, the candle, relit and dancing, like my curiosity–ignites.