breathe, then hit send

It’s Thursday, so I’m posting another piece of litweeture (a word recently invented by Martin, the Prince of Portmanteau):

Noon: a love song to my mobile. By five: you, thumbs up, dwarfed by London’s glass gherkin. At ten: a skyped kiss. Our day apart, together.

I wrote this at the beginning of the year and sent it off to the Outshine picowebzine. Jetse responded, quite rightly, that this was not far enough in the future for his market. Still, I liked the mood. It catches for me the wondrous connection technology offers when we are separated from those we love.

I selected this piece because Martin has been away in Germany for work this week, and technology has made the distance seem minor. Of course, that’s until it misfires.

Yesterday my text messages were spun around the German network, replicated, and sent dashing to his phone repeatedly. A note from your lover loses its magic when you get fifteen copies. Then, it has the overtones of an obsessive stalker. Thank goodness I didn’t write the messages all in caps, with multiple exclamation marks.

The first piece of twitterfic I posted is also about communication, but how new technology keeps us apart. Perhaps some relationships in the past flourished because of the slow nature of their transmitted messages. You gathered your thoughts while you collected paper, pen, envelope, stamps, and then wrote idly, without stress, and perhaps with a more of a philosophical whimsy.

When you can say anything you want at any time of the day it can create a pressure that hinders communication, or diverts it into jokey texts, and forwarded lolcats.

New media for communication are emerging all the time. We strive to keep in touch with our friends and family, but our busy lives are shortening these communiqués to little bursts, delivered quickly, often without reflection.

Sometimes we need the time, those extra deep breaths, to speak our hearts honestly.