Deluge of wonders (III)

You wake up, pulled away unwillingly from a nice dream whose form evaporates as the reality of the dark bedroom greets you. The alarm trills on and you reach out clumsily, knocking it down behind the cabinet by the bed. The apparatus flashes and buzzes interminably until finally, leaning contortedly out of the bed and squeezing your hand into the dark dusty crevice, you extricate it and silence it on the third or fourth swipe.

You settle back briefly into the warmth of the bed. Hungrily, you turn the device on, the bags under your eyes illuminated by white glare, compulsively anticipating the first pings and buzzes announcing incoming communications from the outside universe. Prodding, swiping and typing you review and partially respond to the night's harvest of emails, messages and social media.

The contraption begins its interminable series of irregular whines and vibrations throughout the day, each engendering a soupçon of stress and expectation of what may come in every new multimedia packet delivered in text, sound or video.

The utensil accompanies you for breakfast and other meals, vomiting out more and more elaborate forms of transmission; the latest flim-flam about the news, from celebrity gossip to earthquakes on the other side of the planet, whatever your own very individualised taste happens to be.

You swipe left, you swipe right, you appraise and select the talent in seconds that takes your fancy, while having superficial conversations with various virtual strangers by text to follow up and further ascertain the sexual suitability of selected members of the world beyond.

Around the clock, upon request, your ears and your eyes and your brain are conveniently fed by soothing and stimulating sounds and visual treats, jokes and distractions that entertain, yet diminish your attention span to receive the next soundbite and buzz after the other.

You plug into a network of geostationary satellites far, far above and around you to show you where on Earth you are, and blindly follow the monotone voice that tells you to turn left, turn right, or go straight ahead.

The appliance rings, perhaps sings, bleats, or maybe (seemingly) does nothing if you've turned the mute on and vibration function off; the first of many conversations with the air in front of you begins. By some miracle of choreography and technology which you remain completely oblivious to, your voice enters into an electromagnetic miasma and pops out halfway round the world, with the voice at the other end almost instantaneously bouncing back to you.

The machine does much, much more throughout the day, allowing you to have an elegant and complicated dance with other parts and souls of the world, to give you powers of computing unparalleled and increasing with each new contribution and invention, out there.

Then you go to bed, set the alarm, and you quieten the creation or perhaps set it to monitor your moments of slumber. And once more unto the next day, you go.