Friday, 25 September 2015

Magpies

There was a family of magpies bouncing around in the tree outside of my window last week, shaking its feather boa branches, bustling with leaves.  They squawked and squeaked and pecked playfully at each other. 

Oradually, one started to make a gentle drilling noise, which slowly changed into something more like trilling.  A few seconds later, I hear an answering trill from the car park behind the tree.  A mobile phone ring was answering the magpie call.  No: it was the other way around.  The magpie was mimicking the phone ring just for a lark (no pun intended).  That ancient bird habit of echoing and relaying sounds, transmitters and receivers, sending out a signal to see if one comes back.  One sentience broadcasting to the other. 

I heard the human in the car park answer his phone.  He didn't return the magpie's call though, abandoning another ancient tradition of our own.  Like all our new technology the phone fulfills ever more basic functions in ever greater diversity of ways, sends ever more than it receives.

Later on, I had to take a train and started to read a magazine I'd found from 1999.  Back then it seemed that people broadcast signals both ways: to each other, to everything, using their evolving technology to make sense of patterns of information. A din of news was coming from everyplace at once, a rainbow of views approaching universality.  Today there's the same din but the underlying views is singular and resolute: saying the same thing in a million different ways: 'Welcome to the dog-eat-dog world.'

Everyone on the train was staring downward, as one, at small rectangular cases in their hands.  Shoulders hunched, looking cowed.  The possibility of seeing patterns was gone; only one pattern can fit in there at a time.  All other patterns had to be fit into its lines.

Smart phones are a visualization, concretization of dogma, of the dog-eat-dog mindset itself.  The reason why we're screwed, hidden in plain sight under a shifting screen.  They tune out all messages except the one in isolation: a single, byte sized, narrow perspective of 'I'.  'My' view.  It's only functional in the absence of all others, just like the device.  Only valid for as long as it can shut out the din.

However imminent the crisis our eyes remain down turned, searching for a way to tackle it in isolation.   Muttering vacantly that, ‘There's a button for this, I know there is, but when I press it nothing happens.  Why??  (Maybe the IPhone 6 will have a fix)'.  As if this tool can somehow be reprogrammed to do what we haven't learned to, haven't had time to, rendering ourselves obsolete just to prove it works.  Waiting for the final update that'll justify the beta-test.  It's just life, after all.    

Meanwhile, nature sends messages on a frequency we're not receiving.  Even when the magpies call us, we're unable to echo their concern.  Maybe we're too fixated by the shiny objects in our hands.

That would be ironic.


2 comments:

  1. Beautifully put. Unfortunately, for all the supposed benefits of smartphone technology, it seems to be isolating individuals from the world around them even more.

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  2. Thanks I'm glad you enjoyed it! I'm a major technophobe myself for that very reason. I find that forcing yourself to look up from your phone or laptop really helps to stay in touch with reality, though...

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