My wife and I were talking about today’s world, and images came into my mind of what today’s cosmopolitan looks like, and so I decided to write this poem. The lack of rhyme and meter is intentionally self-referential to today’s world.
Imagine a man, so connected, wireless, viral;
Two lives he lives. One is public, the outer shell.
He texts, tweets, and emails (what’s the USPS?).
He Facebooks, blogs, and builds a digital life.
His work is constant distraction.
The other life, the inner shell. Video games, anonymous online presence.
Chat rooms for many purposes. Pirated movies, streamed.
Thinking no one sees him, he builds a secret double persona,
Oblivious to the real danger.
His play is constant distraction.
What could have been personality streams out the digital highway.
Building two shells cross-ways to one another
Around a vacuous space. No core. How can a machine
Of MB and GB and TB connect to life and meaning?
He is the machine. We become what we worship.
Pity whom? I thought we were supposed to pity
The poor, benighted tribes in earth’s remotest regions.
Then again, how can a person pity who has no self?
Maybe the tribes have a center
That can connect to God through the God-man
Much more easily than we can. Good night,
Modern machine. It’s nice to write all of this
On my shiny new computer, on my blog.