We are the Age of the New Millennium—
the New Age of Identity,
where you can be anything you want to be,
even if you aren’t and can never be.
We are the Age of Information Technology
that flows at the speed of sound,
depending upon the connection.
We are at the Spectacular Age,
for never before has mankind
seen such leaps and bounds.
The spectacular camera
that would have been lost in the haze of memory.
The spectacular camcorder
captures a shot of a birthday,
a child’s particular laugh,
a political gaffe.
The camera holder is the apostle
who records the story from his or her perspective.
All is recorded for posterity,
The electric light drowns out the darkness,
keeping us awake,
so that we can have pizza
in a brightly lit parlor at four a.m.
Candles are now a novelty—
like a flame of the past.
Books can be downloaded,
and never go out of print—
the words of the authors living long
after they have gone.
I can Skype someone across the globe,
and I don’t even have to wait for a plane,
for I’m already there—
the sights and sounds come through loud and clear.
The feel of newsprint between my fingers
has become a fleeting memory.
Like a Luddite, I go to the bookstore
to open a book the old-fashioned way.
I savor the feel of the slick, embossed cover,
admire the gilt-edged pages,
and delight in the crisp black-and-white.
The clatter of flatware at the dinner table
is drowned out by the clicking of buttons—
the furious sounds of texting.
Conversation is a casualty.
The information superhighway is becoming faster,
like a New York minute—
with so many stops along the way.
I log onto Facebook,
where I go to hang out with friends,
where only those I want can become part of my world.
Then I log on to Twitter—
sending and receiving open telegrams
in 140 characters or less.
I am blitzed by information
that would have taken hours to look up before.
LinkedIn is where my qualifications outshine my shyness.
YouTube is where I watch and listen—
where I can learn everything
and nothing at the same time.
that is where I tell the world my story,
so that to my descendants,
I will not be a mystery.
I look up from my phone
to find you standing right in front of me,
only to see you looking down at yours.
You do not even know I am there.