The calendar crawlers go about their insidious business.
Back and forth they go between the blocks of numbers. The matrix of a month, a year, a day; laid bare. All that is done and said viewed without shyness. Lives lit by spotlight. Thoughts and ideas that were once owned, now shared. They know what he did on Friday afternoon, and them on Sunday, and her on Wednesday night. Days made open, comments and activities seen. For these, their own lives not enough. Their activities, once bringing disgrace and social spurn, now regarded as acceptable.
From pigeon and parchment to paper and glass. The praises and clamour for the digital made loud enough to subdue any dissenting voice, telling of what new shape society is taking. The mirror of it now fuzzy, the ugliness made common. No more stealing across borders; passports not required. Going so easily from time’s numbers on the open grid. All this availability, riding helter-skelter on expanding technology.
To those not riding on the wave, choose your passcodes wisely!
