Copy & Paste

I remember when I didn’t know what copy and paste meant. I guess it was a fair question in 1997. Not sticky glue. Not dry paper. Instead buttons. Instead a curser blinking wildly in front of me. Wild. Wild like the tech world. Wild like an imaginary pencil. Wild, but not like trees. Wild like the expectation of using the tips of my fingers to drive conversation. But, of course we figured it out. Because either, we sink and set smoke to electronics, or we swim — floating just barely, on top of the keyboard. Command C. Command V. Command F. Command Z. Command Z. Command Z. Command Z.

And then, in the midst of my shyness. In the midst of examining my young woman brain. In the midst of a certain need for quiet among peers and voice within myself — social media was invented. Posts. And not tangible cards. Albums. Unlimited braggery. Unlimited comparison. Unlimited access. Limited socialization. Spiraling and scrolling. Filters and famine. Tips and trials. Demand C. Demand V. Demand Z. Demand Z. Demand Z. 

It didn’t all happen at once. The hill ticked upward. The fall was fast. And now, we are trying to keep our glasses on our faces as we hold on tight. We know that inspiration is important. Motivation is key. Innovation is on a rise and we are breaking our necks trying to see the pinnacle of it all. Because we file it under “good”, we file it under “productive”, we file it under “keeping up with the trend” - until we become the trend. We become a mass - and not like a choir, like a cancer. We become less than the joy of sticky fingers and dried ink. We become — each other. 

Creativity has become a commodity. Correction. Backspace. Creativity has become a stolen commodity. The copy and paste has became mocked ideas. We mime. We mimic. Like parrots. Like ants. Like a scent trial. But we say we are being inspired. There are no tags, just childhood games. Stolen vision only takes a second. The second you take to breathe, because everything moves so fast you cannot catch up. Either you are the trend or you’re so, last second. Replace replace replace replace. Credit is paid in numbers not in authenticity.

And then there is disconnection from it all. Just a plug in wall. Just a simple movement of our hands toward an outlet - any other outlet - but, no pulls the cord. In a world of unlimited fulfillment there are also unlimited electricity bills. When the spark in our being is dying. When actual authenticity lies on the other side of stories - where we sit around the fire and actually tell them. Where the real light is. But, we post about how we are following it instead, and anything is possible if we can just unstick our phones from our hands. But, something tells me it has to do with the glue. I think it has to do with the reason why I don’t share. Copy and paste.