And now for Alva’s WRITE HERE, WRITE NOW entry ...

Hamlette

[Hamlette raises her phone and stares at it. She has just received a request for nudes. Bewildered she starts tossing the phone from hand to hand]

Hamlette:
To text, or not to text, that is the question:
Whether ‘tis safer in the mind to suffer
The hums and hahs of outrageous crushing,
Or to move thumbs against a sea of thoughts
And by expressing, release them. To suppress – to send,
No more; and by a snapchat to say we start
The emojis and the thousand virtual shocks
That <3 is ancestor to: ‘tis an expectation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To suppress, to send;
To send, to hope to dream – why, there’s the tweet:
For in those pics of love what delusions may come,
When we have shut off the shared app,
Must we stop – where’s the bond
That makes friends IRL?
For who would risk the trust and compassion of time,
The mind’s wrong, the proud boi’s contumely
The requests of despised lust, the Wifi delay,
The insolence of nudes, and the left swipes
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
When she herself might her quietus make
With a word spoken? Who would stomach fear,
To grunt and sweat under a virtual reality,
But that the horror of nothing brings disconnection,
The unexplored tongue, from her phone
No upload returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us teens live those ills we have
Than fly to others that we talk not to?
Thus integrity does make cowards of us all,
And thus the naive hue of communication
Is sicklied o'er with the pale porn of sent,
And enterprise of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action. – Ghost me now,
The shameless Eoin! – Gobshite, in thy group chat
Be all my sins remembered.


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