When the power goes out, the world comes to a standstill. People become powerless. So much of our existence is contingent upon the grid. Show me a stoplight outage and I'll show you awkward, infantile hesitance and unnecessary fender bending. Our attachment to our technological imperatives can be downright startling.
Work ceases when the system crashes. Cut off that worldwide feeding tube and those daily conveniences and our knowledge dwindles at unbelievable rates. Much like our food left in stasis in our silenced Frigidaire, we quickly melt down, becoming useless, lifeless fudge pop sludge. We are limp without a back up. We have raised a culture of electronic co-dependents.
That much I wrote while watching the public scurry around logic when key aspects of the network crashed at the DMV a couple weeks back. They were promptly turned into big babies, gripping for that teet that suited them alone. It was fascinating to watch the interplay between the desk jockeys and the urgent masses.
But then before I knew it, I found myself with a home computer on an out of control booting up loop. I wasn't particularly surprised, given its relative old age by technology's standards. It slowly purred itself to sleep, puttering out after a long journey through energetically rough terrain. It has served it's purpose for a fair stretch, but it's time had simply come.
It wasn't done yet, however. After a couple days of disconnect I resuscitated the beast back to its newborn glory. As it opened its eyes upon the room, restored and recovered, physically present but mentally stuck essentially back in 2006. Suddenly the six years since were suddenly evaporated, and bridged . . .
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