This is a story about love. Not your typical kind of love, but the love that is one sided and controlling. The kind of love that makes you more materialistic than ever, as the machine feeds off your vulnerabilities.
Everyone wants a voice, but what happens when we’re given too much voice, more than we actually know what to do with. Is that voice even ours anymore? The machine manipulated us to think that our voice matters. It gave us weapons to express ourselves: through blogs, through podcasts, through photo sharing sites — our voice, and freedom of expression was handed to us in the form of a buffet, and we took it and never looked back.
We became lost in a generation of voices. Everyone’s voice is now heard at the same time, with no filter, like the static coming through an old television set. The machine created chaos.
We’ve become attached to these services that directly ask us, “What’s on your mind?”, as we watch our friends’ life through a digital screen, we have no choice but to reply.
We are all attached to the lifestyle of sharing our lifestyle.
Now, not only does our voice get lost in the echoes of other voices, but our quality of life is revealed to the public. One glimpse at any social network, and you’ll see who’s happy, who can afford to eat out every night, who frequently travels the world, or on the other end of spectrum, who has trouble spelling simple words.
“Here,” the machine laughs. “Here’s your voice.”
Every month is a blank canvas