The destruction the modern cell phone has caused is immeasurable. It has darkened many human souls and inhibited their ability to think clearly.….
An important 90 seconds from an intelligent young person who has come to the sobering realization that being a phone drone basically destroys everything about you.
[media=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ouxed-5uxDM]
[It Was the Damn Phones
By Kori Jane Spaulding
I think our parents were right.
It was the damn phones.
We laughed as children, hearing, “It’s that Snapgram and Instachat and Facetok”.
They didn’t understand. They couldn’t even say it right. We thought we knew better than them.
They didn’t know what it was like, having the world at the tip of our fingers.
We scroll through the trash so much, we have news headlines tattooed on our skin.
Wires for veins. AI for a brain. And they may not have understood. But they were right.
It was the damn phones.
I prided myself on sobriety, on being drunk with only propriety. I was above addiction.
A hypocritical notion. For am I not addicted to my own anxiety?
Brought on by a need for constant stimulation. A drug in our pockets.
But who can blame us? We were but children when they were given.
We didn’t know how to stop it. If I added up all the hours I spent on a screen,
existential dread and regret would creep in. So I ignore this fact by opening my phone.
And it’s not like I can throw it away. It’s how we communicate. It’s how we relate.
It’s a medicine that is surely making our souls die.
I used to say I was born in the wrong generation, but I was mistaken.
For I do everything I say I hate. Exchanging hobbies for Hinge,
truth with TikTok, intimacy with Instagram, sanity with Snapchat.
I have become self-aware. Almost worse than being naive. I know it’s poison, but I drink away.
The character behind the phone screen has become self-aware.
We used to be scared of robots gaining consciousness, a lie by the media companies.
To keep us distracted enough, so not to become conscious of the mess they created.
We are the robots. We are the product. And so I sit and I scroll and I rot on repeat.
Sit and scroll and rot.
Until my thoughts are what is being fed to me on TV,
until my feelings are wrapped up in celebrities,
until my body is a tool of my political identity.
I sit and I scroll and I rot.
And I post on the internet how the internet has failed us
so that I may not fail my internet presence. I think our parents were right.
It was the damn phones.]
[media=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ouxed-5uxDM]
[It Was the Damn Phones
By Kori Jane Spaulding
I think our parents were right.
It was the damn phones.
We laughed as children, hearing, “It’s that Snapgram and Instachat and Facetok”.
They didn’t understand. They couldn’t even say it right. We thought we knew better than them.
They didn’t know what it was like, having the world at the tip of our fingers.
We scroll through the trash so much, we have news headlines tattooed on our skin.
Wires for veins. AI for a brain. And they may not have understood. But they were right.
It was the damn phones.
I prided myself on sobriety, on being drunk with only propriety. I was above addiction.
A hypocritical notion. For am I not addicted to my own anxiety?
Brought on by a need for constant stimulation. A drug in our pockets.
But who can blame us? We were but children when they were given.
We didn’t know how to stop it. If I added up all the hours I spent on a screen,
existential dread and regret would creep in. So I ignore this fact by opening my phone.
And it’s not like I can throw it away. It’s how we communicate. It’s how we relate.
It’s a medicine that is surely making our souls die.
I used to say I was born in the wrong generation, but I was mistaken.
For I do everything I say I hate. Exchanging hobbies for Hinge,
truth with TikTok, intimacy with Instagram, sanity with Snapchat.
I have become self-aware. Almost worse than being naive. I know it’s poison, but I drink away.
The character behind the phone screen has become self-aware.
We used to be scared of robots gaining consciousness, a lie by the media companies.
To keep us distracted enough, so not to become conscious of the mess they created.
We are the robots. We are the product. And so I sit and I scroll and I rot on repeat.
Sit and scroll and rot.
Until my thoughts are what is being fed to me on TV,
until my feelings are wrapped up in celebrities,
until my body is a tool of my political identity.
I sit and I scroll and I rot.
And I post on the internet how the internet has failed us
so that I may not fail my internet presence. I think our parents were right.
It was the damn phones.]
56-60, M
