technology’s soul

Somehow I have fallen into the world of science fiction that I read of as a teenager in the late 1980’s. The worlds imagined by men like Gibson and Sterling are the world in which we live everyday.

The distant dream of technology we held just 15 years ago has become the common place article of everyday life in the 21st century. Our bodies themselves linked continually (through cell phones, pda’s bluetooth devices, etc) to a network of global proportions. Data is exchanged between individuals all over the world in mere seconds. Entertainment and Advertising have become a single thing, a continuous outpour of commercial culture – streaming through our phones, our computers and our dreams.

As we continually project and absorb the data stream into our lives; becoming ceaslessly more aware of the world through the eyes of others, we are evolving into something larger than human life. An artifical network of human interaction has given rise to an entirely meta level of conciousness.

As the media is being manipulated, by the corporate structures that have also evolved over the past 2 centuries, so is the mindset of humanities social conscious being changed to further the ends of the consumerist ideals of most corporations.

Our data, not just the individual things like your social security number, but our pictures and our words, represent the bulk of the flux of data sent over the internet everyday. We are technology’s content, it’s soul.


Warm days in November scare the hell out of me. It is like the world is ending. Not that I mind walking down the street without cringing in the cold, but late Novemberr seems wrong without the bite of the cold and the hunt for a scarf.

I feel as if the seasons and the colander are slowly diverging. It will snow in April this next year. But now the autumn still lingers, like ducks fighting for your last scrap of bread.


Memorials are the strangest things. They remind us not of the person who has passed but our own grief at the passing. We cry and the sadness that comes out is a release, a passage away from those we knew and toward a stronger self.

The memories we have of those we have lost are like candles, burning in our minds they flicker and fade as time sets upon them. Once they have been extinguished they can be relit, but are ever growing weaker as they burn.

Surrounded by those who, like ourselves, mourn the passing of others a memorial is a place to publicly announce our grief. Once the moment has passed and the outpour of self is complete we return to our lives, comforted in the thought that others know we care.


I sit here under the quiet of Michigan skies, a night of pause before a weekend of freelance. The stars are something I miss in the city. The vastness of space splayed out before the mind like an unraveling tapestry of exaggerated ambition.

The hub of life here in this place is tiny. So small I could fit it on my hard drive, an image of stillness and retreat.


Today I found out about the suicide of someone I have know and respected for years for his commitment to the Chicago music scene. His death is something that has shaken me considerably.

Malachi Ritscher was an important part of the Chicago music community and he will be greatly missed.

What now lingers on my mind are those other individuals I know who manifest the same dry, witty sarcasm about the state of the world in which we live. How many others are there who need our support in ways we may not be aware of?

Malachi did not have many close friends and though he was often out in public I would see him standing alone, considering the music and the people around him as if an alien visitor here only to document and observe this world.

When you see someone so often and yet know so little about them you should take the time to find out who they are and what they believe. Buy them a drink and let them pour themselves out and if they are reluctant (as so many urban hermits are) to divulge themselves then gently pry them open and discover what lies inside of them.


My day today and tomorrow is one of hurry and bustle. I move forward like some episode of television on a tivo, skipping over commercials to get to the meat of the plot.

Why is time so compressed when we are trying to get things done? When I am bored and alone and everyone in the world is asleep time drifts by lazily. But when the sun is up and I am rushing to a train in time I am nearly lost in the haze of unconditional speed and abandon with which I must move to keep up with the world.

Somehow I get there and I unpack and I wonder how and why. I fall asleep with a hotel room TV flashing in the background on mute and my ipod on the ground, pulled from my head, blaring beats and noise to a slumbering me.


Why do we try to reason with the unreasonable? How is it that we continue to expend energy on things that we know will not change? I wonder at the evolution of the human mind and how others do not see themselves with any perspective other than the mirror in which they gaze.

When we cross the threshold of the now, and enter into that state of being that is akin to dreaming, how will we finally face the life we have lived? Do we realize who we are, what we are? Or are we blinded by the fantasy we have been taught about the world around us?

When we are alone, in silence, without the distraction of the outside, who are we?