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Infinite manifestations of infinitesimal perceptions - Άπειρες εκφάνσεις απειροελάχιστων σκέψεων

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Connection as a new word for contact

Sometimes I wonder where all those moments disappeared, lost in the wilderness of time, before we got to discover our new and improved social identity. With this portable, handy appliance that freezes time and space in a single piece of glossy paper we were once bringing some of our journeys back to our friends and family, sharing with them what seemed like some of our happiest moments.   But then time came that our view of the world got twisted. Most of our friends, most of the time, could only produce some characters for us on a screen. The same screen we watched movies on, we read articles and stalked our favorite person of the day. When we drifted away from reality, a new kind of connection arose. Was it a better one? No one knew. Opinions diverged, and so did people. In a final effort to find our better half, in a sea of halves, in a sea of people struggling to feel connected, in connections that dissolved the barriers of distance, we created new barriers, of the kind we could never imagine.   And so it had started, with no return, this new and improved version of connection. Until one day we found ourselves having fun outside of the virtual world where we could experience true human contact. But this contact was no longer satisfactory. Its inadequacy to move us was unspoken, undetected and yet deeply felt. We had to share it with the whole sea of our other halves, our potential halves in a future connection that would actually never come. We were so much adrift from that foreign, unvirtual experience, that opting for not capturing it would maybe mean losing it forever. And so, with every experience barely inscribed in our memories, we return to our base and we get our feedback.   Such a pity. We almost feel imprisoned. Impelled to share. As if not doing would erase a whole memory. And yet, by doing, we remind ourselves of that single point in time every day of our lives. We are forced to watch it, and return to it, even when we don’t feel like it and all we want is to connect. Such a pity. Such a good memory, however mild it was, to be forced into compulsory repetition. To emerge in seemingly random moments, like a tune that gets stuck in your head. Irresponsive and numb, you think, ‘maybe it’s better if I delete it’.    

Suss Kind

Suss Kind

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