We are born into light. We lay in our cribs, drawn to the window on the wall, the candle flame dancing on the mantle. It is within our nature to see and learn from this process, gathering the information illuminated by the sun, by the consumption of carbon and oxygen, by electrified tungsten and plasma.
So here's how far we've come, living in the Age of the Screen. We have access to hand-held devices that delight the eyes, touch panels and flat panels and book panels accompanying us in every waking hour. Families are forever plugged into the grid, the flicker of the flame replaced by pixels more colorful, more comforting, more real than real. We are never alone.
This is our flat, bright friend, even as our flesh and blood brothers and sisters sit beside us, each set of eyes shining with the glow, illuminated by the blue light as flat as the world once was. We can see past the Screen. We can see out into the world, but the Screen wants us, wants our eyes to return. This was survival before. This was the fire in the distance. This was the way out of the cave. This was the most precious metal. This was the flower that bore the heartiest fruit. We need to look. We need to see what is shining, what is coming. The light is what has always saved us. It has saved us before.
The Screen will not go away. The Screen will be in our lives. The Screen will be our lives. We cannot live without the Screen now. The Screen will not let us go. The Screen will tell us where to go. The Screen will park our car. The Screen will find us food. The Screen will love us when no one else will. The Screen will listen to what we say. The Screen will lean in and kiss us if we can just wait.
We have to wait.
Why is it so hard to look away? What does the Screen want? How does the Screen know that this is exactly what we want and now we can have it?
We will always have the Screen now. We will always have the Screen.
With a Perspective, I'm Les Bloch.
Les Bloch is a writer and construction project manager.