Sitting next to Shannon, her husband Mike, and their son the other day, listening to the conversations wrapped around the collection of names, physical features and hometowns of players far below us on fancy artificial turf, I remembered the stats that counted the numbers, physical features and home areas of those involved in the events we call here the American Revolution.
I remembered the complaints/protests/strikes of those opposed to mechanisation during the long early years of the Industrial Revolution.
I saw the current day as if I was looking back 100 years later, all the small details available - in the form of archived emails, blogs, websites, texts, videos, games and ebooks - to historians wanting to tell contemporaries what we thought we knew we were doing in the moment we didn't know we were participating in historically.
Does anyone have a working 8-inch floppy disk drive or audiotape player so we can research the obscure research of the mid- to late-century that started the Electronic Revolution?
And then I woke up from the dream that was kicked off by the hypnotic primate training of my species.
I was no longer me in that brief respite/repose.
Reality is only what I focus upon. Hocus pocus.
Back to what I keep telling myself I was told to go back to.
It is not my place to sit here and tell you what we'll be remembered for in the next century. Prepositions and propositions are yours to arrange how you wish.
I'm plugged in but disconnected. Backing away from the houses and trees for personal edification. Stuck to paperbacks despite this ebook reader's convenience.
In the transition...from/where/to you'll never know for sure. It's a place from/to which I've gotta go on my own.
The fact is sometimes I feel I've still got something to prove to myself despite knowledge to the contrary. Ain't no big thang.
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