We passed each other in the hallway, nodded and smiled. He went into his apartment and closed the door, then said: Alexa, set a timer for thirty minutes. And she said Okay . . . Convenience will be the death of you. Master.
And I thought, what if we are erasing ourselves with technology?
Casting Nets of Convenience
Scrubbing this diseased skin flaking into ash and sand piling like salt mounds taller than the great mountains and stretching from horizon to horizon this is how we reach such great heights and far distances. How we communicate with the dead, or loved ones across whole oceans. scrubbing to get clean erasing ourselves is a process. Start it all over again. Climb further. Thickness is numbers, piling. Numb to the bone. Scrub the bone hide behind the phone. Those people on the screen? those aren’t people, they’re CGI and they have rights too; sons and daughters of a corporation. Now’s the time to explode. We are piling high laying in beds feeding the sloth within while casting ourselves into the net lying in beds so that we can be everywhere but here this fiction is growing this future we’re sowing evolving into that which we can’t recognize our brains are spilling liquefied and pulled out from under us like the table cloth Stomach on the floor. Evolving into something we can’t classify. there’s no winning, we’ve already won. Numb. We don’t have any friends anymore. Numbers. Numbers, lying on the bed a pile of numbers. We don’t have friends we have numbers. Numb. We are numb to the bone.
I saw her again, this time standing on the sidewalk, no bags, or cart or anything to own. I recognized her face, though she is only a stranger. Everything else had been washed out, empty of any other kind of existence. I wanted to run up to her, grab her by the hand and to tell her the good news; your face, it’s still recognizable! But she would’ve thought me crazy. So I kept walking, with all four dollars in my wallet.