stolte

there was a feeling in the late 90s that the future was guaranteed, inevitably good. like we were building an economy that rewarded directive and drone in adequate measure. pop culture, the edifice of collective, had a purpose to serve, for example starvation in africa could be remediated by music concerts in america.

tech still held the promise of universal access to information that would amplify prosperity, bring near the far, include the excluded. we were on the verge of a complex transformation that could either be star trek or star wars. after 911 the latter was decided for us. 

my trouble with cell phones began when i was waiting for a friend on a street corner in nyc. i saw, as she approached from the opposite corner that she was talking enthusiastically to what seemed like herself. she was laughing and goofing like a mad person. my stomach froze and i had an overwhelming feeling of despair, my best friend was going crazy and in the few seconds before she hugged me, i hurt like never before, at the thought of losing someone so dear to me to mental illness. 

she was, of course, speaking into a dangling microphone extension of the apparatus. still, i was shook. quickly, over time, all adapted to the com device, except me. back in costa rica, a few years later, i was gifted a used nokia by someone who was leaving the country. the one time i left it on while driving, it rang, or rather, it made an incoming call sound. i was in the fast lane and the phone was vibrating and the traffic was thick and i had to reach over into the bag to answer it, so i didn't. the unanswered call cost me an advertising account.

after 911 my friend from new york moved to san francisco to work in tech. she died in 2013 of cancer after receiving the hpv vaccine. we'd talk on skype between our laptops for hours and she'd reassure me that she'd accepted her fate and welcomed the excitement of knowing what lay beyond life through death.

i still don't buy it. the maddening online world of instant gratification had consumed our imaginations, our libido, our ability to live and feel intimacy. everyone was flirting with everyone and marketing out their lives and loves as content to be experienced by others, for likes. conversations grew increasingly dull and polarizing. nobody was present anymore. 

my gut, when i saw stolte goofing, as always, had been right. our humanity has been outsourced to technology and no matter what color you coat it, how pretty you dress it, how often and seductively you promote it, to me, it mostly feels like we're losing our real ability to connect and to love.