Tone Deaf

Surrounded by the implements and remnants of an earlier cherished age, a decaying archangel struggles with the gravity of surrendering its relevance, legacy, and place amongst the aging modes of contact that once validated, sustained, and fulfilled its soul. Empty picture frames litter the floor, languishing as the skeletal remains of a once rich and demanding craft that has since succumbed to the widening gyre of a selfie-absorbed mindset were the worth and significance of a memory is so often valued in terms of upvote-driven narcissism rather than the originating experience that urged its capture. Along the wall hang dilapidated and decommissioned payphones that recall a simpler time when telecommunication offered the promise and enjoyment of emotional depth, awareness, and clarity best facilitated by verbal contact and interaction, now so disrupted and diminished by the one-dimensional convenience of modern-day text messaging. All the while, tentacles fibre optic cable drag our champion ever closer to the darker depths of a “brighter” future, denying its voice in the binary pool of its own despair…but not before it delivers one last analogue communique as a dying testament to the tactual pleasure and finesse of a finely crafted letter, the spattered ink of life bled out and long since dried.

Hello? It’s for you…