Techno Narrative for Tuesday

As late afternoon light dwindles to make way for early evening dark,
grey skies; smoky, dusty dusk
I sit here with incandescent glow of my Apple iMac swindling me of my attention...

A re-join of Facebook as I end my fast... one of many, periodically
pendulum swinging between engagement with my virtual community commons
and solitude with my Amazon Kindle, without any further thoughts of
publishing my commentary in hopes of being Liked by those whose names I might forget
without the internet as my memory bank.

I google Google's commitment to Legalise Love worldwide, the behemoth's support of decriminalisation of homosexuality;
And I consider how much Singapore has changed since I grew up there...
Population almost doubled, new Mandarin-speaking Chinese migrants making the island republic their home
and labour laws still punishing the incumbent homosexual from ever allowing publicity of his or her
wish to be taken seriously...

Perhaps the internet changes this, perhaps this has already changed, significantly...
We hear of the collective intelligence, a global consciousness feeding into Wikis and Leaks of classified, prohibited Intelligence;
rendering translucent what may once have been inaccessibly opaque,
from governments and banks and corporatised bullies.

In the meantime, Time magazine says I am the Person of the Year, but I feel like a Fraud;
I flatten my buttocks imagining social change
and the seas still acidify from rising CO2 levels; I turn on my heater because it is a punishing Melbourne winter...
Coral reefs die
and Ice caps melt
and I pendulum swing from hope to despair and then back again
Still allowing myself the time to safely consider shifting meanings of Work and Love and Play and Justice

I think about money; I think about Chinese workers from elsewhere settling elsewhere picking up Else's language and speaking it fluently within half a generation
I am a descendant of Chinese migrants; several generations, several seas away.
I am melancholy about the meaning of a rising China (in deadlock)

I read Fridae.asia religiously because I bond my sexuality with my racialised global identity and allow this to speak through me in English, and I receive news of Others' journeys in turn, from such Enlightened forums arising out of primordial cyber-chaos.

Kate Bush sings out of Logitech speakers her 50 Words for Snow, and I am shivering under fleece, waiting for Friends to play on Channel 90 on the telly; my favourite show from the 90s...
Some vestige of a time I was ever-forgiving of the heteronormative, white liberal New York-centric medium that promised me American cool in exchange for my embeddedness in Southeast Asia...

Now I am rootless, yet nutrified by Global media as hydroponically grown Diasporic bean.
Who shall I become? I dissolve into these words and imagine myself thus gone,
even though I have yet, thus, to come.