Connection (PAS1)

Part of my new Personal Archaeology Series, in which I try to unearth funny little things that I'd written a while ago, in an effort to wean myself from that much hated blog format of "citation/link, sardonic and self-important commentary, discussion in comments section. rinse. repeat ad naseum." I'm also trying to figure out how to use this space to actually contribute more nuanced perspective and analysis than the entries that clutter most of the archives at this point.

Connection
whatever happened to that artform, the long email? I sit
here in front of my computer, realizing that the form of
communication that I once cherished so dearly for the ways
that it opened doors for me has become pedestrian, common,
and a way to send out sound bytes to the anonymous and
hidden names on my addressbook.

i sit saddened by this fact, knowing that in the heart, all
i want is what we all want, to reconnect, to feel the human
touch of compassion - the heart of another near the
fingertips as s/he, a loved one of mine, types from where it
hurts or sings, types from the insides out to let me know what's
happening in his/her life.

have we come this far with technology only to lose our
infinite soul? Are we only removed from our
mechanized counterparts in our eventual fatigue, our
proclivity for error, our bodily needs? and yet the spirit
dies without the urge to soar - the warmth of the spring
air a joy without comparison relegated to a casual footnote
in the walk from one computer terminal to the next, and yet
with all the time that we spend in front of the screen, are
we connecting with anyone, let alone ourselves?

I rebel and refuse to live in this shell of an emotional
life - I resist and I subvert - I miss the sheer humanity
of the simple hand-written letter - I have fallen to the
internet and the internet has engulfed me whole, spat out
my soul, my wit, my self - left me cold in the remnants
of an eternal night - i feel alone and detached from people
- I see fewer people during my weeks, I have been fooled to
think that Instant Messenger is a suitable substitute for a
casual meal with a dear friend.

I will not become a statistic as our generation becomes
weaker and is prescribed a stronger pair of contact lenses.
I will not be lost in the webs that have been spun to
ensnarl me - as i have refused to support chain bookstores
and coffee shops, I will rebel against the prominence of a
"community" online - an oxymoron - there is no community
when I sit alone in my room, anxious to see any sign that
there is life out there beyond my telephone line and 56K
connection.

I will not submit to the whims of the internet moghuls. I
will not type away my existence in the sad replies to sad
one-line emails. I will handwrite my loves for watermelon, good
poetry, volleyball, and the cool, sweet taste of a brisk
summer rain after an active day away from any desktop.

I will impress the importance of personal contact upon my
contacts. I will respond only with long emails or phone
calls - or personal visits. I will regain my humanity as
the words that i write will be the words that i feel once more...

i will continue the struggle in the three dimensions into which
i was born, and from which i will someday depart.

- Sept 2000