After the lights go out a second shade of black falls behind my eyes. It’s not absence of light but the addition of everything, a morass of thought that swells and blends and churns away in consumption. I find that I must open my eyes to let the world back in to abate this myopic misery. What is it about the mind that lends itself so well to intimate destruction. I so often wake in an eviscerated state and scramble to reconfigure self. With the lights restored the shadows scramble but they’ve left their mark, indelible like radiation burns.
‘Grab one of those,’ Caleb says, pointing to a little plastic basket like the pharmacists put their meds in. The thing bristles with thumb drives, a scaled mountain of information built by an avalanche of bytes. I ask why there are so many and he makes a cadent sound in the back of his throat, an I don’t know with the consonants removed. ‘It’s a breed of social dissonance, people validating themselves by feeding media to others. USB’s are just the latest mix-tape.’ I take one at random, wondering how much thought went into all that discarded data.