Proximity through pixels, we have transformative exchanges
where we craft, create, design, develop, evolve, imagine
who we want to be
without confinements of honesty or bias. Marvelous and terrible,
there is a discernible fracture—a rupture in the real.
An escape,
a fantasia,
a divide of self stitched together by RSS feeds.
This is how we spend out time.
No letters to lovers. No cards for occasions.
Slave to convenience, a shallow communication
where we slip into contrived comments and responses
without any confrontation.
There is distant hardness here, an artificial
sterility that has become sufficient, not satisfying.
“The personal touch” now an electronic pulse
of egomaniacal absorption. Conversations on
summertime porches slip to status updates,
self serving confessionals, nan0-second ephemera.
Strangers plugging in with millions without neighbors.
1/19
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