Cabled in

Escape routes have now multiplied by a hundred fold. I was locked inside the time space continuum of obscene boredom. The ruthless controllers of our energy capsules had awoken me to a drab and dreadful monday morning without power again. Maybe the Wachouwskis were right when they conceptualized the Matrix theory. That we are in a virtual framework in which we only get to see what the machines allow us to see.
Is it but a coincidence that I always sulk into an amorphous state of mild depression each time the lights go out. The matrix might not be a conceivable physical reality but it has most certainly traversed the frontiers of the mind.
We are constantly fed on an electric staple that leaves us dependent on gizmos and technologies that dominate our attention. We have become too good at screen gazing and microwaving. I am somewhat convinced that a virtual plug connects our very eye sockets to our phone screens. And for this reason alone, I wish I could embark on a camp expedition with no electric appliance in hand and expose the nakedness of my social rustiness.

Or maybe I have been watching too much Revolution.