There was a woman on the plane who fainted or had a seizure. I felt a rush of emotions: I was nervous for her, nervous that she would be the first dead body I saw. I wanted the crew to make an emergency landing if it would save her life, but I feared the inane wrath of that collective of slave-drones, the animal-cracker-stealing suits. I was confused at how people (myself included) could go back to their books, their iPods and ipads and business ventures and naps, while there was a body on the floor by the forward toilet and the stewardesses were mobilized.
The chickens are restless.
A businessman switched seats to accommodate the woman. He sat next to me and began to take interest in the iPad, in Penultimate. I wondered how I could ever use that toy in public, could talk about its pluses and minuses without falling into games of masculinity. My tech toy is bigger than yours. Games of capitalism. My tech toy is more expensive. Games of the odious I profess to hate. I earned this tech toy even though it is built upon mountains of animal crackers that I have stolen from the airplane stewardesses.
I am chicken. Hear me roar.
1 month ago