The Crisis of (Mis) Information
Tweet. Post. Snap a photo. Swipe. Repeat.
Infuriatingly living in both
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
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?
about the destruction of a race, a bird, a fish,
Or a woman who drowns her babies in a lake where
herons, cormorants, and turtles
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
But what we can’t,
What we don’t,
between the words,
behind the screens.
Cloaked in the attempt to be accepted,
Where the effort to appear normal
The crisis of (mis) information trumps
Are you surprised?