Fervently Written on June 21, 2010
Its glittering back, a glossy charcoal belted with a strip of silver sheet, was facing down. Like a grotesque suicide, it was cautiously skirted with several glimpse of distaste.
It is silent. I made it so. I never stared at it long enough to chance it flashing.
For a much glorified thing of today, it is overrated.
It is defined by its usefulness, (though I think Robinson Crusoe would beg to differ).
It is a friend to the companion-less, a companion to the lonely.
It is the mouth of lies, of shame and of debauchery.
It is feeds on desire, on infatuation and on lust.
Like a hooker, the more you pay for it, the more pleasurable it is. (No money, no talk)
For me, it is just a tax collector and I’m the downtrodden serf who can’t pay the tax.
As I lie on my bed, staring at its dormant form, it crosses me that I can live without it. Because once it awakens, all blaring and bright, the news it brings anchors me to reality – that dreadful world mired in responsibilities.
Cellphone, my beta noire.