Upon This Wrist

A week with the new thing

By Craig Mod

It is on my wrist. Do I wish it to be? Not really. Did I crave it? No. Well, maybe a little. I am human. And it is new. And it contains media. And itself may be new media. And it is good to know about these things. So it is on my wrist. This thing, black like crude oil upon Daniel Day Lewis’ brow. Quiet until it pings, so gently, like a sound from the future, bringing only a message to stand up you lazy man.

I made an appointment. For this thing. On the wrist. This thing which I did not crave, and now, after a week, still do not crave. I do not wake up and reach for it as I do the other things of glass and metal. It fills me neither with joy nor malice, this wrist thing, tiny and black, like a nugget of onyx pulled up from the earth’s core, it disappears. For it I have no disdain. I am simply its neutral companion.

Very few notice the thing on the wrist. That makes me happy. But some do see it. Once they see it they say, Oh is that the thing? And I say, Yes it is the thing. And they ask, Has it changed your life? And I shrug. And they are so disappointed. They want me to say, Yes. Yes it has changed my life. The wrist thing. It’s made me a better man, a stronger man, a more thoughtful man. But, no. This is what I say: I say, Look, it shows maps. And they Ooooo. And I show them the…