The Tech Doom*
The autopilot switch in my brain had, yet again, managed to turn itself on. No matter-- this could usually be reversed by taking a step back from le scroll and all things app-related. Usually, I kept my phone sewn underneath my left tit for safe keeping. You never know when you'll need to look busy on Instagram.
I wasn't taking any chances.
In the days leading up to my voluntary purge, I would have rather walked the plank before handing in my trusty iPhone.
But given the circumstances, hell froze over and they all said Amen, because it fucking happened.
For the first time in 7 days, I admired the beauty of my surroundings -- something my phone wouldn't allow me to do before.
"It really is a habit more than a tool now, don't you think?'
An old voice behind me inquired.
"Why, yes!" I exclaimed, whipping my head around to see who the archaic voice belonged to.
He was an older, black man, sporting tattered clothing, and a Dora the Explorer backpack-- He must be homeless.
Funny how certain clothing pieces create universal labels for an entire class of people.
Who was this man?
"Wait, what do you mean," I smiled awkwardly-- I hadn't actually heard what he'd mumbled before. "What's your name?"
He took a deep breath, and closed his tired eyes as he spoke,"You can call me Elf Man."
Atlanta was full of characters. By now, I'd experienced more con artists than I could count-- Elf Man was fine.
I didn't care to ask any further.
Before continuing, he spat out a fatass loogie onto the pavement. He went on as if nothing had happened,
"Every day, we are faced with a wide range of distractions projected by our 'wants', into the universe. Technology is designed to distract the masses from what really matters."
He paused as I looked, waiting for him to complete his statement, "Well, what is that?"
"Time," he let out an alarming round of coughs before clearing his airway, and hacking another phlegm ball onto the sidewalk.
"Time is the most valuable thing known to man. You can make all the money in the world, but you can never barter the number of days you have on this earth. The funny thing is, we spend our whole lives preparing for what's to come, only to look up and find out that we've missed it."
I felt my attention drift towards the rush of traffic whipping passed me.
"You see those things?" the elf man pointed in the same direction, "Look how they drag mindlessly along, like Zombies beckoned to their prey. They move swiftly with an innate since of purpose."
It was as if he was introducing the concept of transportation for the first time. Crazy old man.
"These machines-- they're called cars, and basically everyone has one for transportation. But you know, they're tricky-- one wrong move, and the consequences could be fatal," he chuckled grimly.
"Like an accident!" I chimed
"Yes, yes. You would think that would be enough for humans to treat each trek like the last ride of their life; Steadfast and consistent."
My eyes softened as a flicker of humanity echoed from his words.
"But of course, we cannot have one thing without destroying it. Because of life's daily distractions, people cannot focus on the present. Which, as you know, is when self's sense of clarity is at it's peak."
Damn--
We can't have nothin' nice.
The elf man motioned me to a bench near the crosswalk, a few feet away.
Up until that point, I never really thought of things that way. I pondered the thought of corruption via everyday manufacturers.
"Each device serves as a vessel for it's consumer-- presenting them a distorted, digital depiction of reality. Or at least, the overall idea of what reality should look like-- whatever that means. But alas, this is the best part," he leaned closer to me, lowering his voice, as if others were eavesdropping nearby,
"The self's ability to decipher what is theory, and what is fact, deadens the more it's exposed to such radio waves.
Distractions, distractions, distractions", the Elf man continued, "And don't get me started on the music boxes they have installed inside of each contraption-- Radios. As if maneuvering these deadly contraptions aren't dangerous enough, let's add a soundtrack!"
A stampede of cars roared by us, causing him to shout out the last part .
"That causes even more of a distraction, I presume," I was finally grasping the concept. Each and every device serves as some sort of diversion from clarity and overall self realization.
We sat on the bench in silence, hypnotized by the aimless, blurred clumps of vehicles, skating by. It was strange to think that inside those hundreds of cars, sat actual pulses. Every day, people rush to their destinations, only to be distracted from the present,by plugging into technology, and tuning out the horizon as the sun sets serenely in the distance.
How could we be so ungrateful? How do such waves cause humankind to be so detached from what's actually happening?
Really-- how is a handheld piece of plastic capable of stealing our attention so greedily, that we are censored from such natural beauty?
Distractions.
After a few minutes, I turned toward the elf man as he sighed at the demolition of consciousness through the rise of technology. With each car that passed, we could make out an illuminated rectangle that drivers kept visible at all times-- cellular devices.
Distractions.
I scrunched my face, and shook my head in disapproval,
"Where do you think they're all headed?" I taunted in rhetoric.
I looked at Elf Man, who seemed to be in dismay with his hands over his face. He sighed , peeling his wrinkled, stem-like fingers away, revealing a grave expression.
"My dear, " He rested his hand on my shoulder,"They don't even know."