What a dystopian world it is, to think you are at peace with the world for sheer minutes. To gaze at the senescing trees and fall canopy. Enchanted by the wind making friends with the leaves. Only to be woken up by that day dream, to check the decimal progress of optical fibers keeping up with another land in a galaxy far away. Coffee glass still clutched in hand, as the warm feeling fades, the bus with a timed agenda for five year olds to learn how not to be abducted from the memes they share with their budding acquaintances. Maybe these memories of another time are too late, The Giver was only relevant before every tool could be held in one’s palm and my fanciful thinking based on the thoughts formed from the honey bear glass is too amorphous to be poured into their thinking tank molds. I may be young, but I know this much, this is not the path for the free or the emboldened. Only those with crown heirlooms speckled on their neck and wrist may ever think these devices were truly ever made for them.
She sighed, and looked at the sky, raising her tired chin. “I’ve grown weary, another day we will find each other, where the trade of my thoughts do not exist on such a publisher and regulator.”
I dreamed of making windows to see into the soul, not how fast can I figure out what I wish to wear today. Some answers are meant to be answered with pure thinking unguided by the river of consciousness. This was the future I was promised, I hope you never ask blue or green to your device as the thought of free will vanish as the question posed never wanted the warmth of fall pigments to ever be exposed. When will this be pulled back only for true need of the laureates that have proved they can be trusted? For them to reach level 42 to ask those questions should only be trusted to the few that know its weight.
Lots of Honey 