Dear Youngsters,
I worry about tech,
The effect it has on you.
And everything you do.
These everywhere technologies.
Your growing brains.
Evolving personalities.
The time sink.
Lifelong digital ink.
Addictive compulsions and empty consumptions
The absolute, and terrifying, reversals of importance.
Youngsters, know this,
The science is in:
Attention splitting is attention spoiling.
That new alert ping.
Some virtual ker-ching.
Duel screening.
These things spoil your focus and flow.
And we do not know,
As it is all so new,
The effect this will have on how you will do the things you will do,
Or not.
And what about your sense of self?
Inflated/deflated, over and over.
The ego smack-crack conditioning.
The social media me-asma.
It makes you feel important,
But it is not, and yet, you are so,
So, so so important…
And so is your time, and his and hers and theirs and mine.
You must chose the choices you must choose,
And nobody can really help you but you,
But you can help yourself and see,
To me, where is the toxicity of this technology?
We cannot stop now,
But we can control,
And cut down,
And own,
And be able to be as we walk down the street a being in the moment.
Who is here, who is present in this gift;
Outside the brains of the servers.
There is a game out here,
That you can play more.
It has feel and fun and it is ripe and it is raw.
It has reality and value and consequence.
Game over.
Life well lived.
Game well played.
Was that time well spent?
Did I just thrive then?
If this was my last, would I do that again?
Dear Youngsters, I’m done now.
I stop,
I have only this to say:
This is the shortest game you will ever play.