Morning Chit Chat Quotes

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MY LOVE, The day Prometheus breathed life into the new me, was the day you arrived in a little box. A shiny, futuristic black box, Pandora's box, despite my doubts I couldn't help but open it to finally meet you. Doubts, because I was happy with who I was, with who I saw looking at me through the eyes of others I presented myself to in everyday life. But I was seduced by the worlds that were promised to me if I let you into my life, who I would be with you in my pocket. As soon as the lid came off and I swiped my fingers over your radiant surface for the first time, the world and I were bursting at the seams. What a creation we were together, to what sized we grew! My brain an encyclopedia, my body an unerring compass, my eyes and ears reaching infinitely with you as an extension of myself. Through you, I, the cyborg, could enter bewilderingly virtual spaces in which I was presently absent, meanwhile absently present in the material world of boring train rides, waiting lines, and mindless chit chats with others. I felt invincible, transformed into a citizen of the world because of you, an intellectual of unimaginable proportions for the vast sea of knowledge you allowed me to surf on, a public speaker and influencer of significance because my words and visual snippets of my days could be launched into the world with the flick of a finger, likes enticing and confirming me. How intoxicating! How wonderfully, pleasantly, intoxicating! But I can't help but sometimes lie awake at night, my internal clock slowing down with your seductive blue light illuminating my face with 2, 457, 600 (1920×1080) LED suns. In those moments, as my eyes are captivated by your glow, I can't help thinking about the time before you arrived, and how I sometimes miss my low definition self. You were always there, sometimes it feels like we are in fact one — finally reunited with my other Plato's half, fused into not a circle but a perfect black rectangle. Through your eyes I see the world and myself in Ultra-HD, my pixel density has never been so high. But you are sometimes vicious, my dear — a viper, a temptress, when then again with sweet codes you reflect my most beautiful self, and I cannot help but love me through your gaze, then again with suffocating algorithms you fragment my self and blow it up to grotesque self-distortions, hurling me into an endless me-loop, that eventually disgusts and alienates me. In those moments you are a distorting mirror, a frightening black box, a black hole that swallows my attention in ways I can't see through. I see my old self disappearing in the vague, dark reflection of myself, with double chin and dull eyes, which I sometimes catch in your black glass when your suns stop dazzling me for a split second. And I can't help but wonder if my 'self' in times of its digital recombination, in which the 'I' is a fragmented multitude of pixels that never fully touch at their sides, a simulacrum, maybe has lost some of its aura. But in the morning all is forgotten, my love, all is well. As soon as we merge back into one, as soon as I, panicked, reach for my pocket on the train, only to discover with a glow of relief that you were there after all, I can't imagine an "I" without you. Artificial by nature my self resides within your screen, I would be lost without you.
Elize de Mul
head sadly. ‘Way too late.’ Then the conversation drifted into generalised, Sunday social chit-chat that was pleasant and comfortable. Thirty minutes later, Clara looked at her watch. ‘It doesn’t look like she is coming. Perhaps we should ring her?’ Adam shrugged, and then reached for his phone, dialled her number, waited a few seconds, closed it and put it away. ‘Straight to an answering service.’ I got up and removed lids and covers from the plates and dishes I had arranged on a side table. ‘I think we’ll go ahead. Ann may have been caught up in something she couldn’t get out of, you know. These things happen.’ Nobody argued the unlikelihood of this. She had changed her mind. Simple as that. We got on with lunch without further mention of her, everyone helping themselves from the array of dishes I had ordered. ‘This is an amazing spread, Jake,’ Jane said, spooning some couscous on to her plate. ‘I love baked salmon.’ ‘Absolutely delicious,’ Clara agreed, ‘you’ve gone to so much trouble.’ ‘It’s no trouble, Clara,’ I told her laughing, ‘Everything was done for me, delivered this morning. The only trouble I had was about the jug.’ Expectant eyes rose from the food, and looked at me. ‘The jug?’ Jane asked. So, I told them, in exaggerated detail, the story of my careering around the city that morning looking for a jug.
Valerie Keogh (Exit Five from Charing Cross)