"Invasion of the Body Snatchers"
It started years ago,
slowly.
At first, it was an anomaly,
as only a few had been taken,
But it was easy to see
who had crossed over,
who had given up their will,
who had embraced everlasting
Novelty.
The promise of unending variety was just
too much,
too seductive,
too good to be
True.
They weren't aliens,
or so it seemed.
It was their friends who showed them
The Device
that fit in their hand
that would change their world
Forever.
Just a short demo from a co-worker,
bandmate, or neighbor
would delight and tease,
(and nothing more),
the curious uninitiated
until
Night.
Where the transformation would begin,
lasting for three evenings of deep,
deep
sleep.
Dopamine, serotonin, oxytocin, adrenaline,
all get stolen.
Once they have crossed over
it is obvious —
they are transformed and
Transfixed.
You see them everywhere,
walking in dazed devotion
with their device,
Even in the most idyllic setting
they are oblivious
to anything but their
Device.
They telepathically call out to other devotees:
I am one of you,
I am desperately seeking contact with others,
but not right
Now.
The Device is their constant companion —
arbiter of truth,
bastion of entertainment,
and constant source of reassurance.
They drive with
cook with
eat with
sleep with
cry with
laugh with
their
Device.
When they occasionally look up,
they see other devotees on billboards,
with their devices in hand,
smiling,
Looking sexy,
happy, and
Indomitable.
Clearly generational,
the younger the devotee,
the more symbiotic the relationship.
Meanwhile, non-believers who use
Neanderthal devices are
immediately spotted and shunned,
Their Morse Code texting
signaling that they are
inferior
and in need of
Conversion.
Some even have a virtual Friend
who talks with them
and gets to know them
very, very well —
confides,
advises,
inspires —
someone to
Fall In Love With.
Yet, there are those few Masters
who somehow handle the intricacies of
discovery,
creativity, and
efficiency
Without attachment and desperate
Clinging.
The Smart Phone —
don't leave your body
without it . . .
September 2018
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©2018,
Michael Smolens