Technology is a disease. Killing its way through our lives. The battle began decades ago and now we are losing the fight. It's infiltrating our minds, turning us into extensions of metal and silicon and glass and mechanical parts. We are no longer skin and faces, and expressions and voices and intonations and slumping shoulders or arms raised in fury or exultation. We are screen images, some small, some large, nearly all forgettable. We have lost the animal nature within us, the one that instinctually knows how to survive the searing sun and horrific tornados, and biblical floods and limb-numbing frigid cold. We no longer love by touch, by nuzzling ourselves against a lover's neck and breathing in their essence, or sensing them turn rigid as we caress the soft inside of their thigh, or experiencing the thrill of that first kiss with a soon-to-be companion where intimacy is everything and, for a time, nothing else in the world matters. When your mind can focus like at no other time, when you are so into the moment that you understand what's happening in your muscles, and on your skin, and the swirling thoughts dancing in your brain as you smell and taste and feel the lips of another human being and you hope and pray that every inch of their flesh is running on overdrive as much as yours is, and your only wish is that this experience lasts as long as possible.
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