Technology is Our New Drug

Technology is our new drug.

There was an international study done where young people from nearly a dozen countries were asked to give up their smartphones for 24 hours. Half – HALF – of the individuals who participated GAVE UP before reaching the 24 hour mark. The individuals who surrendered noted feelings of depression and desperation, some even indicating they experienced physical symptoms such as the shakes and sweating. The side effects these individuals experienced were similar to those of drug addicts who are going through withdraw.

The number of new iPhone 5s sold is a testament to just how addicted people are. How can anyone be gullible enough to buy one of these overpriced phones with minimal improvements? These people don’t even know how insanely brainwashed they are. The improvements for the new iPhone include being slightly longer, the headphone jack being relocated to the bottom, and the ability to take long pictures. WHAT?! How would any of these improvements necessitate the purchase of a new phone? I’m still rocking an old school flip phone and let me tell you, it makes and answers calls just fine.

One of the themes of my novel, Dystopia, is the dangers of techno addiction. In this dystopian vision of the future, people have smartphone screens surgically implanted into their palms and telepathic phone technology implanted into their brains. I thought these concoctions were ridiculous when I first came up with them, but, sadly, these ideas may prove to be more prophetic than anything else…which truly terrifies me.

Here’s a taste from Dystopia:

“Hold up your hand, sir.”

            I raised my right hand, palm out, which merely elicited an eye roll from Rufus.

            “Your other hand, sir.”

            I raised my left hand, palm out, which I considered to be just as unimpressive as my right, but the reaction from my new buddy, Rufus, was anything but ordinary. His face drained of color and he backed away from the desk until his back was up against the wall and even then he continued to backpedal.

            “Where—where’s your iHand? How can you be time traveling without an iHand?”

            I assured him I had no idea what he was talking about.

                       He raised his left hand, palm out, and that’s when I saw exactly what he was talking about. There, imbedded in the dark skin of Rufus’s hand and encompassing most of his palm was a small computer screen. It literally looked like someone had sewn a smartphone into his hand, but instead of the screen looking like a solid object, it looked more fluid—like liquid. This time it was my turn to backpedal against the wall.


~ by themoderntranscendentalist on September 30, 2012.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: