The Crisis of (Mis) Information

Tweet. Post. Snap a photo. Swipe. Repeat.

Infuriatingly living in both

the present

and past.

Babies, Cats, Murders and Memes.

Is it too much?

Or is it enough?

To fill us up like an indulgence. Like a trip to the grocery store where a splurge on a PayDay at the checkout satisfies the immediate urge and a few bags of groceries sustains another

few days.

Are we evolving like robots, our movements automated, prompted by a photograph of a place we’ve never been, shoes we want to wear, inspired by words, faces, and places.

Are we slaves to an electronic fiber so vast, so global?

Who cares

about the destruction of a race, a bird, a fish,

a gender?

Or a woman who drowns her babies in a lake where

herons, cormorants, and turtles

call home?

Are we outraged, but only for a nanosecond

until the next disaster? With

our tweets, posts, photographs, and swipes.



Our skin becomes thick like the trunk of an ancient banyan tree.

What should we believe?

Noise, voices, fifteen minutes of fame.


Celebrity status trumps quiet, private reflection



What matters but our tweets, posts, photos, and swipes?

Our cry for attention trumps

Quiet, private reflection

and awareness.

But what we can’t,

What we don’t,


between the words,

behind the screens.






Cloaked in the attempt to be accepted,

Be normal.

Where the effort to appear normal


Raw honesty.

The crisis of (mis) information trumps

our souls.

Are you surprised?