When I find myself hungry for words, but with no stories in my mind to jot down on paper, I find it helpful to turn on the radio and listen to music on my favorite radio station, and then just write the first thing that pops into my head, as I listen to the lyrics of various songs. Often it is music I don't like, or normally listen to, but that makes it even better, 'cause then I have no pretences. I usually do about five song, and try to keep the trail of though coherent. Sometimes it becomes just rubbish, other times it is something to build on for a short story and such, but it always leaves me with a feeling of contentment, I have fed the hunger.
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The phone in my hand, feels like a brick stone, a heavy burden I cannot throw away. Though I should. Throw it through a glass window; see it all go to pieces. Stop calling me. Every time I turn around they are there. I won’t answer when they call because I can’t think anymore. This is terror, people always wanting a word, always knowing where you are and what you are doing. How dependent we humans have become.
Telephone- Lady Gaga
I am searching for new things, ‘because I have fallen for all the temptation of this futuristic world. I don’t know what or where it all went wrong, but somehow I have gotten so far away from who I am, that I am scared I can’t find my way back. I miss standing heart to heart and being real with each other. Not texting, not tweeting, not “liking your status” on Facebook. I don’t want this digital social connection no more, I want reality. The real world. We are blinded by all this technical wonders, and we need to be real, we need the warmth of the touch to stay human.
Blinded by the dark – The pusher
I’m dying for the company of something I can touch. Not a friendly e-mail or tweet, but a real handshake or a hug. I can’t take any more of this digital realness we have crated. I hate even the music which is auto tuned so much it sound like robots singing, or pictures photo shopped out of this world. What it is it with this day in age, where nothing is real? Where nothing is allowed to be real. We have to make everything seem perfect, and keep on dancing until the world ends. And since perfection is so unreal, and created, we all falter, we all feel like disappointments.
Till the world ends- Britney Spears
All it takes is the moon shining light on something we cannot bear to watch. In its murky light, maybe we will see everything clearer? That in its flawed realness a picture is actually perfect. That it is the sun shining on me and you that will only be real when we are outside in true sunlight. Like the first real warm sun hitting your face in the spring, after a long and cold winter, making freckles magically appear. That is when life is real, when it is perfect.
Wildflower –Cee Lo
Faith is so many things, but all in all it is the hands of faith which makes up life, which gives us stories. Not all is good, and maybe that’s why we flee into this unreal, made-up perfectionistic digital world. Maybe that’s why we tweet only about the good things that happen, so that we pretend that we too are perfect. I don’t think we see that in fact we just create images for ourselves and others that the grass in fact is greener on the other side. In this case, on the other side of the screen, or the keyboard. I wonder if our children would be even more detached, even more digital and cold, and less human than we are. And I’m sorry for that.
Mmm mmm mmm mmm – Crash test dummies
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