Digital, Digital, Digital

7,000 songs, 40 hours of video, 15,000 + applications. Ipod. In the fields of a distant country, the natives will mistake and Ipod for some sort of vegetable.

I hate public transportation. Don't get me wrong, i don't mind the transportation, its the "public" part. The aluminum twinky slugging at speeds of a drunk horse houses some of the rudest genes of humanity. Oddly, the steering wheel to public buses has a largeness that is cousin to the gears in medievil draw bridges. In my particular neighborhood, the bus has become the exhaust pipe for all the combustable frustration of the week. Work, relationships, mis-matched socks, whatever it is.

So what do I do? 7,000 songs, 40 hours of video, 15,000+ applications. A weeks worth of distraction can be compressed into a device the size of a spleen. Amazing. Or is it.

Now that my life alternates between the experiences i love and want to enjoy. I digital block out the ones that gives me rashes, give me headaches, or make me envy the dead. And as any artist, fashionista, or cook knows, its all about contrast. If my current queue of week events consist of doing things i like, and then with remaining time trying to recapture evaporated happiness, I make sameness.

Vanilla. Ice cream is only good because of the hideous weed, the broccoli is so vile. The hero is only so brave and strong as the situations are rough. The trip to the east is only magical because of our hours in the west. So what do we do?

7000 songs, 40 hours of video, 15000+ applications, enough for you to always be happy, or to be remembering a happy's silouette. But love ye the bland, for by it, ye shall remember the beauty.

Am I over?

Alright, there is no picture.

More proof that life is monotonous. I am not hero enough to transform the banal into spectular, the regular extrordinary, and the human supernatural.

And such is my life. Though my emotions float along the seas of digital music, and my eyes will try to convince my body I am actually at the grand canyon, still I believe I am lonely. I have two rooms to myself. The walls are plain and stoic. I've successfully liqudated all my brain stock through video games. When the monitor has shut down and the computer's peppy humming has stopped, I wonder at the life I've constructed.

In today's life, the wood and nails are digital. The rooms have no walls, but are sites with accounts and passwords. There is a site for the odd curiousities one has in late night insomnia. There is a site for conversing with friends. And there are jungle like shopping sights, pitting your electronic indiana jones skillset against site after site of advertisements and loopholes. But when all the voltage dries from the socket, what is left?

Are the corporations right? Are we merely just consumers?

With so much technology at our fingers, with so many tools at our disposal, why has not creativity exploded also? True, there are many more outlets, and show boards to display the arts, but where is the next generation of story tellers, artists? Where are this generation's lighthouses, and north stars to inspire and guide a new brigade of pencil warriors, and guitar smiths?

We have asked for the world on a plate, we have asked for bumpers in life's bowling game. Now that we rarely get a gutter ball, i wonder if life is even worth playing anymore.