Eighth art has been haunting me lately. I am anxious by it. Like how our fathers used to feel nostalgic about their past and how good it used to be. Like hearing how things felt closer to the heart by my dad. How warm feelings were. How you could touch the dirt and make yourself dirty. And all of a sudden, a turn in the directions. Technology hits. Everything is still warm. Not by heart, but by motor engines. The skins I touch are mostly electridied. And now the eighth art. Low and behold! The video games! A special interaction. Doesn't feel like the old cold electrified computer skins anymore but it's not as warm as dirt. There are other user interfaces, equipped with visual and sound feedbacks. Fully responsive and the hassle of going through dark mental games of humans is no problem any more. You play what you want and get what you desire and leave when you wish. In a hundred years from now, love is illegal in your heart. Remote controls here and there for all your dark and light wishes and desires baby. Welcome to the space age. It started when we were dreaming of the moon. Another home. When we wanted to grow a rose on the moon so we could see it grow big from earth. Sputnik was launched from the USSR in 1958. It's gone far ever since. Astrobiology. Agriculture of space. Life in extreme environments. What's in stores next? Policy making for space colonization. This world is not my home anymore. Not my dad's either.
Welcome to the future baby. Love baby. Touch baby. Before everything is illegal. Make it better baby. I couldn't.
1 comment:
heyyyyy I was reading this post "Policy making for space colonization" and it reminded me of Noam Chomsky's "Failed States"
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