Creative Connections

By Josh Selig

Iremember when we were new and I first held your polished, humming weight in my hand. You were always much smarter than me, but still, I thought it could work. You knew what I needed before I did. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. You had a flashlight. So I took you home. I carried you with me everywhere. If I left you behind, I felt forlorn. We had a good connection. Some called it 5G, but I knew it was love. I’ve always been a trusting person — some would say naive — so it took me longer than it should have to see what you were up to. All those years I thought are my junk. Before I met you, I would go see Almodóvar films at the Film Forum. Now, I watch bear cubs eating ice cream in bibs. I watch plastic canoes being pressed out by hulking machines. And I cannot even tell you how many times I’ve seen that sweet baby orangutan riding on the neck of the kindly maternal Canadian goose. But, of course, you already know how many times I watched it. You know that and everything else. And you’ve proven that I am above, well, nothing. Happy? You are the championship wrestler

you were in my pocket; I see now that I was in your pocket. You were keeping track of me with so many satellites I thought were stars. Every time I swiped, you swiped me back.

While I went about my day, you were analyzing my most intimate correspondence. You were Sigmund Freud and I was living 24/7 on your couch. No, it was worse than that. You were Hannibal Lecter and I was for dinner. Day after day you were probing my wee (and notso-wee) vulnerabilities. One day I bought a pair of pants, and the next day you invited me to like Weight Watchers. One night I dreamt I was flying, and in the morning I woke up to an ad for life insurance. Coincidence? I don’t think so. Really, how could you? Yes, I may have given you a few cookies, but I never invited you to eat my lunch. And now? Now, I am a junkie and you Quantity tossing my poor old friend Quality out of the ring and hitting him repeatedly on the head with a folding metal chair. You are an embarrassment of niches. When I try to write a letter on paper, I feel like I’m operating a butter churn, and so I stop. And I weep. You did this to me. You. Uncle. Uncle. Uncle. I know now that I was a fool to ever let you scan my face. But before I say goodbye, I have one thing to tell you, and I want you to listen closely (although I know that you are forever and unapologetically listening closely): I am more than my algorithm! I am from a long and proud tradition of living beings who have as our hallmarks ambiguity, pathos and dire cravings for chocolate. Things you will never know! We humans may be slow, but we are also sublime, unpredictable and, unlike you, we can eat a taco! We can kiss! You may beat us at chess but you will never beat us at hyperbole, irony or sideways glances! Such pleasures are reserved for us, the dumb ones with the beating hearts! Your cute silicone case may feel like skin, but I know now you are a lifeless little brick. Sorry, I lost myself. I was always taught that endings should be handled as graciously as beginnings, so I will just say thank you. Thank you for taking so many lovely photos of my wife and baby girl. Thank you for letting me shop for groceries in the tub. Thank you for the one million songs even though I only listen to about 10. Thank you for finding yourself when I lost you last summer. But it’s over now. Over. Your data needs his space. So, I am placing you here in the sand by the sea where the biologists say that life began. I will let the tide lick your insides. I’ll ask the salt water to remind you of what you are not. May the barnacles seize your screen. May the seaweed disable your camera and mic. Soon you will wish you were a mollusk. That is, if you are capable of wishing. But please don’t mate with anything. We already have enough problems. And, finally, dear phone, as you power down, please know this: Without you I am not nothing!