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ARTS AND CULTURE

Tower of Babel

  • 11 December 2006

And the earth was of one tongue, and of the same speech. —Genesis 11:1

Fugitive hands relay distance that feet and pride cannot scale, keys to happiness digitised. Over the hill from pick-up joints, night owls audition beginnings. Coy translations of interim moons wax at could-have-beens, reality dresses in piquant shadows. In this city of closed doors and energy-saving illuminations, statements of common need transmit age, sex, location, to domains of romance and security, thrifty exclamations of worth, body-mass index, a sliding scale of external truths. Fear of nothing more drives expeditions from the desert of Lean Cuisine and single flannelette sheets to the heaven of anywhere else. Born for higher things, a fair share of paradise beyond the pale of suburban confinement. Insert name from the address book to dislocate loneliness, cyber skate assumed identities and resolutions. Pleasure insinuates the screen with promises too bold for lips, rapid interface conjugates hope but tall orders undermine foundations. Handmaid anthropology auctions perfection to all-comers, faith in vendor's terms contracts eyes. Build me into your arms, into the forgetfulness of reflections. I can be virtually what you want me to be, backspace, edit, delete.