A Question Concerning Technology

Summer is here and its languid air leaves me with a desire to lay back and do nothing. That I have not really worked for two years is a selfish luxury. I have been able to spend the years idling away at the passions of my choosing, but that luxury is soon to expire. I have a dissertation to perform. I say perform because of the acts and measures one must follow in its execution. It is a dance to learn the style of and perform in front of a panel of judges. At the least, one can choose the genre, and perhaps my genre is well suited to me.  Thoreau advised, "Draw as near the channel in which your life flows." I find that this channel is about how we must consider technology. I am pursuing a degree in Education—this may have been a misstep, for I am principally interested in our relationship with technology. The sign of life is, as Heidegger observed, the other things that exist in the world, made by other beings—one need not ever see another human and one could ...

Repeat Ever since we were little we’ve been taught to have it all figured out. That this life has meaning, that someone will walk in and give us that special feeling, that some career will send us reeling down this path of fulfilling all our hopes and dreams. But could it not be one big fabrication, lies passed down from each and every generation? That we’re all so caught up in this world of pretend that we convince ourselves in order to contend we need rooms we enter just once a week, climb some imaginary ladder five days a week, for what, what we really need?  We work ourselves ‘til we are so tired and weak that we can’t enjoy the parts that matter because we failed to think. So many stories about how it all started.  All this bogus around getting a life we deserve, that status is the thing that really matters, that we should go to the restaurants with the most expensive platters.  God forbid we drive a car that spits-and-spatters, because gettin...

Coffee Shops and Cigarettes blaze through my mind burning down the ember emboldening my mind. ash fills the tray  as I get nearer to death. I want to so bad.

He hung, wide eyed starry dynamo                              out the window of the car staring off into the deep dark sky riddled with little specks of diamond glinting in the moon smile waiting for the day when he would be free again master of all that he touched turning GOLD everything he reached for but his own life it was his curse to never enjoy for himself, but only that for others. Eagles soar in the clouds, but they are hidden in silver streaks everything mighty is hidden by the backdrops of our own mind silhouettes of eagle cast upon the ground cutouts from childhood memories activities from gradeschool, making your own outline, bleeding chalkboard outlines of lives lost. Try so hard not to cry at the loss of childhood on the reunion of his death, struck by the car that you were flying. Remembering it all the grip of leather in your fingers coffin hands clinging to daisies the air, warm and st...

My lights are flickering in the darkness I don't know where I am or where to go My soul is all covered in full blackness Can I hang on for the rest of the show? Drugs used to always ease my troubled mind, Bottles of alcohol by my bedside Anymore relief I could not e'en find Hallucinations won't ever subside. Dark-haired angel headed hipsters howl, howled! Haunted at night, don't even let me sleep, My entire life has now become fouled Don't know what to do but can't be a sheep. Must find a way to break the long kinked chain, Of misery, grief, sorrow, always pain.

Photo by Nathan Anderson on Unsplash Just as Peter was about to drift off, the hiss of the machines in his walls started their nightly concert of industrial cacophony. It always started the same. An invisible worm would burrow its way into his ear and start buzzing around in his brain. He would toss and turn to shake it loose, and, after it was dislodged, it would scurry into the walls to conduct the nightly concerts. All hope of sleeping was lost. He was desperate for sleep. The isolation of working remotely was tearing at his seams of sanity and he had been unable to sleep for the last few days. He said to no one, “I am going to sleep tonight, I am going to sleep tonight, I am going to sleep tonight…” even though there were no dreams to come. He lay awake, starting at the popcorn ceiling he told himself he would scrape off five years ago. His clock was staring at him from the dresser, he could feel it. It put out a menacing red glow that filled the room. It was in league with...