The WhatsApp subscription plan
Communication was once bound by time and space. Try to listen to someone who is a little more than at arms length away from you. Tell me what you hear. Tell me.
If you want to hear you need to get close. Your face needs to be so close that if you say something really stupid, you can be punched in the face. For a long time communication was backed by the risk of a real human interaction. Gutenberg (or someone in asia) changed that. It caused a bloody mess during the religious wars in the 17th century. Turned out to be good, but that’s hindsight. The guys at CERN changed everything again.
So here we are. Trying to communicate with WhatsApp, this constant stresser of “communication” across time and space, stored up, on hold, as if the real communication would actually profit from such a degeneration. Complete utter nonsens. Humans intermediated trying to reach other humans also intermediated. Time and Space were once forces to be reckoned with. Forces which were impossible to overcome. We twisted it as good as we could. But to get to the center of the attention, if you wanted to talk and to be heard, you needed to eat and train like an animal, be 6 feet 6 and carry a net and a trident.
And you took the risk of getting slayed by another humungous animal and wetting the sand with your blood, writing a warning, to all the spectators present, for what it actually meant to be in the center of the attention.
Imagine a WhatsApp subscription plan. There would be a reaction button. If you’d get a message, you could press the button and it would trigger an electric shock in the device of the one who sent the message. If you upgrade your plan, you could let the device of the sender explode.
Piece of cake for an algorithm and some witty hacker in north korea.
So everytime I send a message, god forbid a voice memo or a cat image, I knowingly would take the risk, that the reciever blows my hand of.
So if one would get a message, some complete nonsense, not real communication, one could wait. One could not react for a week, two weeks, until the sender is completely oblivious to the fact, that he communicated with a risk.
Then the sender is on the toilet, naked in the morning, taking a dump, no pants, checking his insta, and then his phone would blow up, in the perfect center of attention, 30 cm away from his brain, his genitals, his organs and his thighs. His two thumbs would be launched like mini missiles through his eyes. He would collapse like a dying star, crouched over his phone, the center of his worship, this strange being which was once upright looking at stars, and leaving a real message: A last reminder of his biological boundness to time and space.
