Like, As If!

More, still more, little buttons to push. Clicking our way into imagined posterity—we crave impact, want to be recognized for our oh-so-unique individual cleverness, deeply held activist beliefs, conspicuous consumption, what have you. We will absolutely achieve our fifteen minutes of celebrity to bolster our gelatinous egos.

Andy Warhol had no idea this quarter-hour spotlight would occur on a daily basis. And it doesn't take Jean-Paul Sartre to recognize the pathos of this desperate existential flailing—making our marks on physically non-existent walls and "liking" (dog-earing) millions of "pages" when we could be, oh, I don't know, writing our memoirs in a cafe somewhere over poached eggs on wheat toast with a double cappuccino in the sharp morning light of April.


Marj said…
How were your eggs on toast this beautiful April morn?

I actually do LIKE your post hence this comment. It makes me think that you could be right about the daily desire to be noticed by someone, somewhere, somehow ... even if it is in a cyber-way.

Maybe we should spend as much time each day with real people as we spend on the internet. You know, do real social networking. It's so much more fun - and it gives you tangible things to write in your memoirs.
You and Marj are both right. But, please keep writing, it's lonely out here with no one to read.
Unknown said…
My thoughts are with the historians and archivists of the future, how to make sense and organize any of this as relics of their past popular culture.

I'm rather fond of scrambled egg with avocado and cream cheese and a lightly toasted slice of baguette, with sliced mangoes, myself. I am a rather terrible cook but a perfectly great assembler.

As to the encouragement of memoir writing by the likes of those like me who comment... really? Just longer more painful drivel...? that no one will read (let alone publish) you really hate librarians of the future that much? Why?

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