On Postmodernity
A short kind-of poem on entering the future.
Nothing was left out of modernity. Not even the candle.
I must admit, I do like my enhanced candles. The crackle and smells they engineered. I bet my candles also last longer than they used to.
But damn, I wish I got to experience pre-modernity. I don't care if my life is entirely optimized or engineered. Sometimes, I just want to be in the world—without the complexities that swim in our minds.
Certainly there must exist a middle ground. Maybe it's the lighter whose design has been untouched for longer than I've been alive. Or the record that my dad listened to, and that I now spin.
We're hurtling towards a world that is too interconnected, tangled, complex, and broken.
Will we survive the next 100 years? Will we feel okay if we do? Will we love our neighbors or will we curse them and the world they inhabit?
Sometimes I want to be left out of post-modernity. But I can't lie, I like my phone. The web app that upgrades without you noticing; the planes that rarely crash; the drive-thru that became a drive-to-your-door.
Maybe one day I'll create that middle ground for myself.
