Not until the screen in the hand becomes a screen in the head. Think inserted microchips storing relevant information, foreign languages, memories; as we go from unofficial to certified cyborgs. Apps to meditate, take pills, track the dog’s walk. We don’t know how to be free anymore. To just close our eyes, breathe in, breathe out. We need the screen to tell us when and how. Efficiency, the better way, more exact, controlled.
We sell it to each other, make ourselves dependent on it, use it to alleviate boredom, to entertain, to advertise. We text, rarely call, occasionally FaceTime, an image of person, flat on a device. But do we need it? Is it natural? Is it a tree? A sperm touching an egg? A summer rain shower? No. It is a bragger, a consumer of hours, a window into violence, a distraction from what truly is.
Where does technology end? Not until virtual reality is ours, all the time, as we become surrounded by curated unreality. It is our gold, our diamonds, our oil, extracting time and synapses, the new rich. I say no, watching the cursor blinking on the screen.