THESE GADGETS I DESPISE TOLD I NEED THEM TO SURVIVE AS THEY ARE GETTING FLATTER SO IS OUR MOOD WHERE IS THE INSPIRATION NATURE EFFORTLESSLY SHARES YET DEVICES MUST HAVE ONE MILLION FEATURES TO CAPTURE OUR ATTENTION! FOR ONE SECOND A CHARGE OF LIGHTNING WOULD CAUSE ME LESS PAIN YET WHERE IS MY APOLOGY? SORE FROM THIS TECHNOLOGY IN AWE OF THIS ENVIRONMENT STILL, IT'D BE AN HONOUR TO BE STRUCK BY YOU. MOTHER GAIA
Empty pleasures, too many options and choices that are actually turning us backwards. Looking towards more and more gadgets or material 'goods' for happiness can make you feel so empty. It cannot fulfil what the natural world was made to do.
I hate it. I hate that we're a generation that's caught up with our devices. Eyes on the screen, incase you miss out. Keep scrolling, incase you miss out. Keep tagging, incase you miss out. Keep tweeting, incase you miss out. Keep posting, incase you miss out. Yet, here I am. In front of a laptop. Making sure I don't miss out-- about writing about missing out.
Anxiety is a cold, lilac purple. It sounds like a care siren going off on a brisk September morning It tastes like orange peels from yesterday's lunch It smells like burning rubber Anxiety feels like motion sickness from being trapped under impeding waves, with you hands tied to a post
Infatuation is transparent red. It sounds like the quickened pace of a fox in the forest It tastes like metallic blood pumping in the back of your throat It smells like three week old lilacs Infatuation feels like burrs stuck in the sleeves of your tattered wool sweater.
Every time my mother tells me "Go outside, talk to people" I oblige, saying I will. But the screen in front of me is relaxing. It holds music, silence, sadness, happiness. Sure, it may be a measly electronic device, but it's just occurred to me that my friends are this device. People I've met on here, people I've known. I can access them at any time in the world. And it may be destroying our social interactions, but don't you think our social interactions are on here, Mother?