OK, I am sitting here re-evaluating my position in this world yet once again. While this might seem utterly strange and patently useless to sociopaths and members of society under thirty years of age, it seems viable and appropriate to someone whose conception of the universe has by the rule of consensus been overturned too many times in the course of a turbulent and all too short existence. As noted occasionally to associates and friends, my conception of the success might still be rooted in impressions captured int he nineteen-fifties? That in itself is quite a handicap.
As relentless onslaught of technology imposes an atmosphere of incessant change upon the population in general, it seems that all, from young to old must evidence acknowledgment that their conception of their existence is dependent to some degree on the last device released for remote sensing. Case in point, the look at the phone lemming effect, that seems to predominate in the smart phone crowd. The well-cited fact that one of the major hazards to travel on the roads is the text’er, speaks volumes to this point.
So here I sit tapping my fingerprints upon lifeless keys with the expectation that some anonymous personage on the other end of a data link will read these utterances and make some intelligible sense of them. The interaction once expected from human to human in-person interaction reduced to a fiction of the mind. That alone is pretty hard to accustom one’s self to. The equally interesting urban legend that our secrecy obsessed governing structure is committing major resources o re-pattern our thoughts and habits into super computer virtual personalities for the sake of maintaining the society at large is equally quizzical?
Does that mean that like some 1950’s Sci Fi movie script, some machine will replace a Brussel sprout looking alien creature in terms of relieving me of both continued existence as well as my soul? If so, the paltry Social Security currently received, is likely to be re-tasked and I will have to go beg on a bridge with tin cup and pencils. This might seem extreme but for the fact that there seems to be no more room for the old in a world that merely counts them as a disposable resource. Someone with a home with vacant rooms to move back into or to at some point down the line feed oatmeal to when they have no more teeth.
The problem is of course that the old world that I carry within still does not align with the palpable external reality that I am no longer as young and physically capable as was once evident. That difficult fellow within still plans and schemes like his twenty year old namesake. A situation that inevitably leads to conflicts in an external reality that considers him and the generation that he came from as passe. If it is a matter of wardrobe then is the solution just to re-cloak one’s presentation in a more cutting edge means of expression, say, ala Twitter. In my day bird’s twitter’ed and tweet’ed. Does that mean I must become another anonymous canary within this extended sense of a world wide interactive cage? Or is there something better to aspire to before the lights go out on this thing called physical existence?