Flesh Computer

There are times when the power of the computer over my mind are undeniable. For a split-second i go to type in the 'search' function of my mind for certain notes written down tangible sheets of paper. Grotesquely, i had a dream about facebook. And it wasn't an interesting dream, with strange contortions of the cyber-landscape, or bizarre fusions of inside and outside the screen. No. It was excruciatingly mundane: just a vivid pulse of excitement encapsualted in a red banner at the left hand corner of the screen.

I read in an article somewhere that, with the advent of technology, a human's memory capacity is shrinking. With the ability to file away permanent notes on our supplementary brains, it becomes no longer necessary to imprint and solidify knowledge in our private brains. Technological repositories become a crutch, an extension, a safe. Learning becomes a more transcient process. You leak easier. And nowadays, that's ok, because the outlet's for topping up again are just so accessible.
I guess it was kind of the same phenomenon when literary rates exploded sometime in the 18th century, and the concurrent proliferation of the previously rare and sacred text. I mean, imagine the only channel of learning being sound! The spoken word; loaded but ephemeral, so susceptible to decay and deformation by its listeners. Except for the few prodigies, we don't have minds like tape-recorders. Our memories are not only imperfect, but recollection is contingent on a personal context that changes with time. So essentially, we can never articulate what 'was'.
Anyhoo, back to what i was saying. Imagine if you could only learn through listening. How high the value of knowledge and story would suddenly ascend! You'd savour every new tale that entered your ears like drops of honey that dissolved instantaneously into 'then', relish every image and avenue. Eagerly lap it up and encompass it, enfold it to yourself.
Perhaps we've lost some of that appreciation. Grown complacent. Look at the immediate world askance because of the assurance we can review it later through exterior channels.
I also think this habit grows with age. Everything was so much more vivid in childhood. Everything had a mood to it, a tone. It takes a bit more effort nowadays for me to feel a place or an object or a situation. I dunno. Maybe it's just me that's grown complacent. I'm such a generaliser. Projecting myself onto the world to spread the guilt.