The Deletist

Senjina silently urged the cab to hurry.  She hadn’t wanted to end the date early, but the mayor had just been accused of smoking crack.  As a result everybody was required to receive a special-issue infoozian.  Some mandatory, regulated thing and Senjina didn’t want to miss the first one.

At times Senjina had had a faint suspicion about infoozians, but the thought always drifted away in a fog before she could grasp it.  It was just as well.  Like most people she felt rundown when she slacked on getting the necessary brain boost from routine infoozians.  Anybody who went too long without one automatically received random zaps until they hooked up.

She didn’t mind, really.  The infoozians were totally worth it, especially since installing the system meant her personal informatics were collected, analyzed, and monitored.  Without that data she couldn’t figure out anything about herself.  How was she supposed to know how to feel?  She couldn’t just react to something without understanding if an accelerated heart rate was due to her surroundings, a conversation, or even something she ate.  She just didn’t know anymore and relied heavily on personal informatics to tell her everything she needed to know.  Only then could she regulate her environment for pleasurable and stress-free interactions.

Senjina remembered how personal informatics had first changed her life.  It started with a fitband used to monitor her heart rate and energy levels for optimal weight loss.  The idea caught on and people wanted other things measured.  Apps and devices appeared to monitor sleep cycles.  High-end systems included machines to adjust air quality and temperatures to ensure every night was restful. And still people needed to know more.  New apps and devices flooded the market, all designed to track and integrate stats on overall functioning.

Soon people were wearing as many as 15 devices. Then a genius figured out everything could be replaced with a single finger-sized feed embedded deep in the forearm and fused with the nervous system.  The best part was people no longer had to think because everything was now automatically recorded, analyzed, and spit out in customized stats reports.  Senjina, of course, knew the whole story through her initial infoozians.

The cab arrived and she exited, no need for money and words.  It was all handled seamlessly through her feed.  She bounded up the steps eager to know if the jitters signified the first hints of love or a reaction to the restaurant’s noxious atmosphere.

Next installment: Technombie 3

*This is entirely a work of fiction, but was in part inspired by the sources listed below.  Zombies are often depicted as rotting, brainless, moaning undead humans, but I think other manifestations can be found in today’s society. The story is about how disconnected and zombie-like we become when we rely on technology to tell us how we should feel rather than learning about our own bodies and trusting our instincts.

Chris Dancy, self-described as the “world’s most connected man”: http://mashable.com/2014/08/21/most-connected-man/

Klosterman, Chuck, “My Zombie, Myself: Why Modern Life Feels Rather Undead,” New York Times: Television Section, December 3, 2010.  http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/05/arts/television/05zombies.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0 [accessed 12 October 2014]

A low-pitched gurgling noise escaped the ocean as she heaved her last strangled wave onto the beach.  Gillian Bean was the only person to witness it. She was sitting quietly on the sand at the shoreline near her home.  An ashy cloud covering obscured the full moon, but even so, Gillian still felt bathed in a bright, silvery light.

For years Gillian had been unable to inhale the salty, fresh sweetness of the ocean but still retained a strong memory of what it smelled like.  Just imagining the smell was enough for Gillian to remember the ocean washing up shells, seaweed and small creatures through a never-ending cycle of rhythmic waves.  Tonight the waves stopped leaving behind forever a thick, viscous soup of primordial bacteria and dense jellyfish, teeming with brilliantly colored bits of plastic.

A tear slid silently down one cheek.  Gillian knew a small window of time existed before somebody would catch her.  But she needed to be in control again of what she was feeling.  First she inhaled deeply to slow down her heart rate.  The feed would know she was reaching intolerable stress levels and she would receive an incapacitating zap.  She reached for her flask and took a swig.

With her eyes closed she imagined the salty beach air and could almost hear the soft shushing motion of the waves.  This would be her final memory she decided while removing a straight edge razor from her front pocket.  Acting on a reserve of determination she cut deeply into her forearm revealing the embedded finger-sized feed.  Grimacing from the pain, she separated the feed from her nervous system and flung it deep into the sludge.  The pain was excruciating.  Time was limited before tremors would overtake her preventing the task from being finished.  She risked being “rescued.”

One…two…three, Gillian whispered, placing the point of the blade on the underside of her wrist.  Salty waves, she thought pressing down.  Her form crumpled onto the sand and rolled forward into the slop.

Across the bay, Senjina was in a cab heading home from a first date.  She couldn’t wait to plug in for a stats reading.  She’d felt jittery, which was either a sign of attraction, warning, or the environment.  The restaurant had been trendy and loud triggering Senjina’s aversion to noise.  Nothing about her reactions would make sense until she could see those measurements.

*Happy Halloween!  Read the next installment Technombie 2.  In case you’re wondering, the whole story is completely fictitious.