I see letters and faces, so many faces and so many pictures. I can see their laughter frozen by a camera lens and a glowing moment of joy stolen from a happy day some time ago. I see their faces cast in a million computer generated shades and hues. I see smiles slicing across their lips, curling and tipping up. I see evidence of a cheerful moment. I see their vibrant and jolly photos sown onto the wall. I see their children, their dogs and vacations. I see snapshots of people’s lives, blurbs about people’s lives; I see everything sprawled out on my screen.
I see letters and faces, so few letters. I read their empty words and impersonal letters tacked beneath their fancy and edited pictures. I read their hollow stories, void of passion and voice, depict the wonderful memory playing out in the picture above. Exclamation marks dot the short descriptions in a lazy effort to slather passion across their writing. Brilliant yellow smiling faces populate the end of the posts as they try to gild their words with some hollow emotion. I seek passionate words in the writing. I yearn for this wonderful element to show itself in their writing. However, I don’t see emotion in their tale, and so it remains incomplete and naked. Still, I read on, looking for a bit of heart or rage or some tangible feeling hidden amongst their words but only come across more pictures and symbols scrawled across my screen.
I see letters and read words, but they’re dull and sterile. I see the pictures and they’re dancing with emotion and dripping with a flavor that their words seldom cultivate and rarely communicate. I read their words stitched in print, but I see their pictures glowing, inviting me in with a warm sense of knowledge. I see the emojis and feel the giggly bubbles swim through my stomach. I see the kissing face and feel the warm sensation on my cheek. Anymore, the letters fail to tell me their thoughts and emotions. Anymore the letters seem so feeble and adorned with immaterial smudges that fail to ignite my mind. And in this sea of sterilized letters and words, their pictures are ablaze; with an offer one cannot refuse: a visual story drenched with color and light.
And now it seems words are neutered and have been made into roadblocks, stealing me away from the clarity of photographs. Letters and words are barren symbols that no longer host passion. And we, as curators of the arts are failures; we have ceased to renovate these relics. We have failed to embellish any fresh meaning to this grand invention we call language. From this letters and words are dying as we all use other symbols to convey thoughts and ideas. Lettering and words are shedding any empirical grit they once housed, especially when pictures sway with swagger, style and zeal. And now, as I read the words scrawled out on my screen and I begin to feel nothing but an urge to scan over the faces and pictures.
Why are we vomiting up such empty and meaningless posts? Have we forgotten our passion? Have we forgotten about emotion? When I scan over social media, words and writings seem to lack this essential element. Where is the genuine emotion and real passion in the things you tell the world, because I only see letters and faces tacked on my digital walls.