The cafe was the original newsfeed, a meeting place to exchange ideas and to find out what the heck was going on in the world.
The cafe was a place, other than a detached home, where Arabica beans filled people’s minds with sparks of aliveness.
Exposure to high thought influenced great art.
But then fame happened — the instant gratification of smartphones converted authenticity into the thrill of collecting views and hearts.
How one in today’s age wants to be naked and famous yet maintain their privacy is lunacy. Fame and confidentiality is a zero-sum game.
The cuckoo has been tik tokked into the dizziness of freedom. Infotainment sends the chicks back to the nest, amusing themselves to death through the “wisdom” of devices.
In a wreck of people and data, the clouds beckon us to pursue self-constraint. But in a world of impression management, what instead arises is a pandemic of sore thumbs. The internet never ends; we remain stuck in a ludic loop of forever recency.
Quarantined in such loneliness, the uncertain future compels us to go big on the internet stage. The quarantined strive through wires while Zooming in their underwear.
