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This piece is similar in theme to the Cell Phones bit a post or two ago. This piece is meant to be read as a future perspective concerning communication.

There was a time in our society, as you know, when the arrangement of our heads and necks were much different than they are today. The concept of face to face anything no longer exists as it is not necessary. Our heads hang slack, slumped with our chins always buried in our chests. Our eyes constantly stare downwards, but not at the ground. To watch the earth below one’s feet is taboo, only an uncultured beast of a man would even consider allowing his own eyes to orient himself. Our heads hang and our eyes watch as our faces, fixated on the devices in our hands, remain ever still. The display presents to the minds inside our lopsided heads any information needed. A section of the screen is always dedicated to displaying a GPS device, to see where one is going of course, as well as sections for news, entertainment, communication, and other various things. And holding this device are hands much larger then you may be accustomed to. Generation after generation of constant use during every waking hour has caused us to develop wondrously large hands with defined articulate fingers which are always on the move. The fingers are constantly tap, tap, tapping away. We are, of course, talking to one another. There is always someone to talk to, and always something that needs to be said so our fingers never cease their movement. I suppose this wording may be confusing, considering our concept of “saying” differs. You still use vibrations, moving air. The spoken word is untrustworthy. When one speaks with internal vocal chords, the vibrations emitted are not precise. Grammatical errors exist and time is wasted as meaningless topics are expounded upon. As discussion by means of text alone spread throughout society as the accepted norm, communication became simpler, faster, and more convenient. Language as a whole has become streamlined. Periods have been removed from the standards of writing, as have the spaces in between words. The messages we receive are simply lines of characters followed by the name of the sender. Truly I am unsure as to the reasoning behind this concept of verbal communication. Our vocal chords have become like the vermiform appendix, an organ which once had a use but is meaningless in our current society. Even if one would have the absurd notion to once again create these ancient vibrations, we could not. The inner workings of our throats have become withered and useless. They serve merely as a connection between the head and the body. It is a flesh tube used to transport food to our insides and to send electrical signals to our fingers to continue the constant tap, tap, tapping away.

Bottled Water

I realized I kind of stopped giving descriptions to my entries a while ago. This one isn’t going to be much different.

There’s a company that’s in the business of selling the most necessary element for life encased in a tiny plastic bottle, supposedly designed for easy transport. This company, William’s Water Co., has had amazing success with their newest product. “William’s Water Experience.” Why is it an experience? Because that word will sprout money. People will want to experience the Experience simply for the sake of the experience. But this verbal sleight of hand is not the company’s achievement. The reason for the success of the Experience is the description it is given with the television spots, the magazine pages, the snippets before movies, and the giant boards which litter the sides of highways. The smiling faces, each ad has a different person but the faces remain the same, are what tell those watching the secrets behind the production of the Experience. The key aspect of the liquid is the flavor. It’s a familiar flavor, but on e which nobody can define. In the beginnings of these many ads they are told of other flavored drinks, sodas with their lack of nutrition, and flavored waters with their calorie count, but somehow the Experience is different. Not only does the experience provide a unique taste different than its sugary competitors, but it also lacks calories and is good for the body. It’s free, empty, no counting needed, drink as much as you like and never see your waist line increase, keep those skinny pants on, no worries about fat, cholesterol, sodium, potassium, drink on e with breakfast, with lunch, with dinner, with everything in between, for god’s sake drink. With its unique familiar flavor there is no other choice. They are told of a discovery which was made in Middle America. Donald Williams, Donny for short (they like the personal tone there), while playing with his kid in his back yard discovered a mysterious fount which is where the main supply of the Experience comes from. It is from this original fount which Donny first started supplying his newly formed company with its product of choice, with the Experience. And it is from this source that the water still springs from to this day. This being said, the story behind the Experience is true to an extent. Those who drink the Experience regularly always default back to the nostalgic feeling the taste gives them. Nobody has yet to pinpoint this reaction of the tongue because its origin has gone out of style. The taste is familiar because it is the taste of calcium carbonate, it is the taste of magnesium, it is the taste of fluoride. The Experience is a familiar experience because it’s what people find in pipes which connect to taps which stick out of sinks across the country.

Cell Phones

I see them as I walk to my current destination; others who have lost the ability to communicate. Walking along the cement runway their heads are aimed downward, their hands to their ears as they talk to the air. If a slight glimpse of another is caught, if a movement of the two holes in one’s head toward another is made, there is an instantaneous snapping of the neck. Their faces turned as they speak louder to their imaginary friends. This is their natural defense mechanism. It is how they let you know, “Leave me be, I’m busy. Too busy…busy…busy…busy.” I see these others doing as I am, but disconnected. With their faces down and their hands to their ears, holding mechanical devices which allow them to talk to their invisible friends.

“Hey…oh I didn’t want anything in particular…I was just bored.”

“Mmm hmm…yep…yea…sure…I don’t know…doesn’t matter.”

My vocal chords have remained still as no greetings are needed. No well wishes are given. “Morning, hey, *nod.” These do not exist anymore. The spoken greetings which were given to the people passed on a daily basis have become a nuisance. While approaching the door I need to enter I happen upon a rare sight. I see a single person standing, looking forward with no strange apparatus attached to either ear. It’s standing at the nearby street corner taking the occasional drag off of a lit cigarette placed between the index and middle fingers. I take this opportunity and stop next to it, amazed by the casualness with which it approaches eye contact. Upon lighting a cigarette of my own I attempt the impossible.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

I don't have a title for this one

This piece goes along with a the bit two posts ago

After finishing my lunch, I had begun to stare blankly at the pages of text lined up before my eyes. The din of the surrounding conversations had reached the point of nothingness, pure white noise. Not being able to make out a single voice, all meshed together. This is why I’ve always been able to study there; sitting there on the mercilessly hard chair, my arms resting on the sticky grey surface of the table. But I was into my second hour of reading. This may not seem like much, but with four hours of sleep and two classes left with a large portion of work in between, it was beginning to wear. I had been eating alone for a while at this point. Without actually reading I lost my thoughts in the white found in between the black.

Things happen. Joe has mostly night classes. Chuck doesn’t have class on Monday or Wednesday. I see Doug sometimes, but only for a few minutes. It works though. I can work between classes and relax after. With my classes done I can go to others houses, waste time at the diner, or simply go home and do. I haven’t talked to Luke in a while though. He transferred to main campus this semester and didn’t tell me. I guess he figured I knew. But we still talk. The internet with all its uses helps. He’s a stand up guy for a Catholic. I’ve known him since sixth grade. He’s the right wing fascist, I’m the godless libertarian. But we had gotten to know each other before that. Before politics and religion claimed the complete control over our lives which it tends to do in adulthood. We were kids freaking out over the latest leaked screenshots for an upcoming video game. It’s been about eight years. Years which led to a solid respect for both parties involved. I should talk to him more

With the screeching of a chair grinding on the tile floor I was snapped back into the cafeteria. 1:25. Class in thirty-five minutes. I decided to go to the nearest bathroom to make room for more coffee before taking the long way to class. I stood up, and as I put my coat on checked for my wallet, phone, and cigarettes. And as I picked up my bag I slowly made my way to my current destination. Inside the bathroom I’m alone. The quiet seemed odd after almost two hours of constant noise. Having made my way to the nearest stall, and with the door closed in front of me, I did what people do in bathroom stalls. My mind wandered to my phone. It was on silent so I slid the folding piece of electronics out of my pocket. 1:10, Joe. Having mentioned the day before that I may stop by after class, I knew the purpose of the call. Knowing how I am with remembering things, he called to make sure I was still on track. He called just to make sure I’d make a left instead of a right after my last class. I dialed his number. As the phone ringed, a person walked into the bathroom. I don’t know who, but I remember the sound of the door and the shadows of feet below the stall door. With a click Joe picked up his phone.

“Hey man, you called like twenty minutes ago, what’s up?”

“Did you hear? Luke’s dead.”

“Wait, Luke ___ Luke?”

“Yep, Friday, it was a car accident.”

And with that last word the little row of bars indicating my signal strength lost its smallest part and the call dropped, leaving me with only the shuffling of the person outside. I stared forward and understood nothing. I understand nothing.