“Electronic media created a new environment, rendering obsolete the patterns by which literate man codified reality. Suddenly, all information– freed from classifications which had long bound it– became raw data, available to everyone simultaneously via electronic media. Out of this vastly confusing wealth, each of us is forced to create his own environment— that is, program his own psychic & sensory life. To this end we turn to the arts, for only artists, and maybe criminals, create their own lives.”
— Edmund Carpenter
sometimes they wondered how the bang that was the end of 2011 morphed into the pause they endured now, rumors and hushed bills aside. they woke late, mortgages and children and careers late into something degrees couldn’t interpret. sometimes they dipped into the college fund, sometimes they smoked weed, sometimes they spent nights looking at the bedroom ceiling and feeling like twenty with a cloudy future. sometimes they worked hard and gave their kids three, no, four servings of vegetables a day and traded their trucks for hybrids and their sodas for vitamin water.
but sometimes they wondered if it wasn’t enough,
waiting for the train.
It’s like waking up to find a dream edging away from your consciousness, this remembering.
(What she thought, sitting there in light and listening to birds and distant traffic, the occasional plane and its atmospheric rush. Sometimes she wonders if she’s forgetting what it’s like to be human and alone, away from the whispers and vibrations of technology rampant.)
It’s like the day when adulthood jigsaws life into something foreign to the simple configurations of childhood. The addition of color to monochrome. Invasive species. Crossing oceans.
(She wonders why she wakes up every day to a world full of lost things, their ghosts preserved on screens, in glass cases, in a fading collective memory.)
It’s like we never belonged here in the first place.