I've am guilty of something. I've fallen in the same trap where thousands like me are stuck. The lust for numbers has consumed me; consumed my art and consumed my existence. In the numbers of the screen I find a strange sort of comfort - the justification of my work. In the numbers I find motivation while the power of hope has lost its way somewhere in the maze of my heart. I've been hooked. And now the realization pulls me to the surface of silence and inactivity. The realization is that the numbers have replaced the words that was once overflowing through this urn of intellect. The views, the likes, the comments and the shares has become the critique of my craft. Craving attention in this fashion is seen in a light of normalcy when it is poles apart. Numbers decide what I am - smart or dumb, popular or loner, desirable or repulsive, beautiful or ugly. Numbers on the screen, numbers on papers, numbers of the body, numbers in the eyes, numbers on the brain, numbers of the heart - are the vital signs of my humanness. Without them I am nowhere, without them I am nobody. Here I stand before you - as a convict, as a victim, as a lawyer and a judge awaiting the trial which will determine my fate against the numbers.
No comments:
Post a Comment