Dear Technology,
Stop it. Stop dispensing my soap automatically and opening all my doors. The other day I waved my hands in front of a faucet for minutes before I realized it had a handle. I can’t find my own home without a robot woman with a British accent telling me which left to take. I call phone numbers and if a person picks up, I just press buttons until they go away. When you stop stimulating me with your lights and your sounds, I can’t stand the thoughts in my own head. Do my actions matter? Am I complacent in the exploitation of people and resources? Do my behaviors violate some sort of divine system of morality? Am I worthy of love? Where is my iPod?
I’m too distracted to notice I’m not that awesome.
And internet, you are the worst of all, showing me naked ladies instantly. Naked ladies just shouldn’t be instant. Naked ladies are a long process that includes spending money and saying things you don’t mean.
And who allows people to publish their thoughts as soon as they happen? We are so saturated in other people’s bullshit we check to see whether our friends had “the best day eva!” or are “watching grey’s <3.” How enriching. But my primitive social nature drives me. I need to know how much Sarah HATES FINALS or how much Susan LOVES TACOS, YUM YUM. I need to know, and I imagine it has something to do with sex, but there’s so much porn on my other tab, I’ve lost touch with the source of these urges.
Anyway, I hate you technology and I’ve decided to convert to an extremist faction of Islam. We have a long-term plan to return humanity to a more simple age. Step one: blow shit up. Step two: develop another plan to blow other shit up. Step three: blow that shit up too.
Things will be better. Trust me.
Dylan
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