Why don’t people really run away from foamboard cubicles, sterile hallways, windows that don’t open and fleurescent overheads, buzzing computer screens that will broil your eyeballs, then spit out a pension plan and a gold-plated desk-set, which you can’t see because you’re blind?

People only turn and run back out into the sunlight in movies, books, ballads of the new hero- the cowboy in a computer age. Who doesn’t actually exist, it seems.

Is technology tugging me along by strings attached to my molars?

If I’d rather walk free, like Epictetus, must I stop and have my molars ripped out of my mouth?

Why can’t I just…

Cut the strings?

“I’ll cut the strings. No, seriously, I’ll cut them. Right after I check my e-mail and order a pair of scissors online. I’ll have them fed-exed overnight and cut the strings tomorrow”

An individual is the pawn of a paradigm; it’s your era, ultimately, that makes your agenda and chooses your route, not your interests or your (self-consciously) rising star.

I was swallowing the silt of a classism, a racism, a trend of every academic discipline, of other people’s ambitions, when I was still in the womb. I was learning how to breathe in, even how to gain some nourishment from the dregs of all human history as they would be inaccurately related to me, as I floated there glowing, transparent, trapped and liking it, taking my pre-chewed meals as they came.