In a fishbowl

Not one day, one hour can pass without some fragment of our lives being broadcast to the world. A simple question is transformed into an indictment against our very existence. An innocent photo can be manipulated, twisted into the most grotesque caricature.

Where once rumors would range only as far as the next office, or the next street, the extent is now limitless. Like a wicked fog covering the whole of the country, sending out tendrils dripping with venomous lies and innuendo. A virus infecting everything it touches.

Murmurings in the dark between lovers are whispered into other ears, passed from finger-tips to finger-tips. Roving eyes drinking in words meant to be shared with one person, flash brightly across the sky for all to read.

Nothing is sacrosanct. Privacy is a farce. If it can be spoken, written, seen, it’s for public consumption, open for discussion or ridicule. Motives are hotly debated by strangers who have no right to insert themselves into personal tragedies and heartbreak. All the while demanding attention be shown to the revelations of their truths, no matter how destructive and malicious, or wrong. Like some macabre sideshow, we can’t look away. A bloody train wreck to entertain until we are dragged into the carnage and cry foul.

There is nowhere to hide. Once we dive into the constant rushing stream of information we’re just lost souls swimming in a fish bowl year after year.

Once you put something on the Internet ~ an OverHeard by your Significant Other or child, that photo of your baby naked in a tub, or a drunken shot of you at last year’s New Years party, even that rant about a bitch of a co-worker ~ it’s there forever. Even if you purge all your Facebook or Twitter, or blog posts, it’s still Out There somewhere. We have become both a nation of voyeurs and exhibitionists.

For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Lance challenged me with “We’re just (two) lost souls swimming in a fish bowl year after year” and I challenged Mera with “He looked like something that had gotten loose from Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade“.

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I believe all good fiction includes an element of truth, and all good photography includes an element of fantasy. In this journal I hope to give voice to the stories swirling around in my head, and to capture the images I see through my camera’s lens.

2 thoughts on “In a fishbowl

  1. So true and so poignant. You really did something creative and interesting with this. I’m proud of how you found such a profound way.

    This is an excellent read and excellent writing.

    Happy Thanksgiving


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