Litbit

In the post-connection era maintaining scope is a near insurmountable task to achieve in solitude. As the years stack up, things attach themselves to you, or you to them—things of severe importance, things that makes you, in your capacity as a man, do better. Be better. These things achieve the impossible feat of weighing you down while simultaneously lightning the load, depending on the day I suppose. It is for these things that you must strive to elevate your physical being and soul, and it is because of these things that you have so little time to dedicate elsewhere. They constitute the paradox of your life. A collection of trinkets, of sorts, that hopefully you will want to cherish for as long as you draw breathe.

And before that lies the open field. The board upon which you walk, picking up things, or being picked up by such things. It is an odd time to be alive. Connected to the vast space that is humanity, and disconnected at the same time. For in carrying out the search, for things or upheaval of said things, the world holds no shortage of direction. Guidance. Prophets, zealots, soothsayers and snake vendors. From the wonderous and clumsy first steps into the vast connect, an industrious mass drew the first schematic that led to this great disconnect. From fellow man, from true presence. And every hour of every day, from its conception to your death, the commoditization of our very essence, our humanity, is being perfected. Measured, fine-tuned, re-meassured. Unknowingly we walk along the dotted lines, the flowcharts and quarterly reports denoting the efforts of men and women forever unnamed, whose labor every day imprints the very synapses taking shape inside your brain this very moment. It is a massive thing, it is a whisper. It is the thought that strikes me this evening as I manage to avert the push of an icon promising me the wonders of others, the world’s accumulated connected experience, a place by the fire. I resist the urge of it’s freezing warmth, and can for a brief moment think. Assess the damages since my last present thought. The accomplishments. The true fires witnessed and felt. And to ask the question.

What do you want to do, truly? And the answer resounds clearly, in the same way it’ll be a mere fragment tomorrow. I just wanna talk to people, man. So come on down to Little Bits and have some fun, you stupid fucking bitch.