I don’t know when it happened but I became obsessed with the future. Not what happens tomorrow, next week or even six months time, more how the next generation will perceive us. In my early twenties I didn’t care how my society would go down in history. It never even occurred to me.
Perhaps I was too busy living to realise, but the early millennium felt like a continuation of what had gone on before. Mobile phones fell into our pockets only we never ever had any credit to make a difference.
A social revolution has long since taken place and we are embracing the first wave of profound human change, and the wild promises of illusionary realities. Crackling with vitality, the internet is a counter-planet constructed in an invisible place, almost like a post-terrestrial resistance against an empty universe.
Marshall McLuhan’s aphorism – “We shape our tools and afterwards our tools shape us” – has never been more prevalent in modern culture.
While I embrace change, I also fear becoming irrelevant to the unborn billions who will be entirely shaped by the internet. Despite immersing myself in smartphone culture, I find the potential of retinal technology absolutely terrifying. Google Glass (or its descendants) will revolutionise society in twenty years time. An augmented reality service that optimises eyesight to W3 will change everything.
The ’80s yuppies with their brick mobile phones are what marketing types call ‘early adopters’. They shaped the landscape and now they are ubiquitous. Likewise the Californian tech-hipsters with Google Glasses are just the beginning.
Even if you opt out of wearing Google Glass there will be billions of digitally subscribed eyes immersing you in their own reality. Uncomfortable? Move with the times.
When you can re-live the past there’s nothing you can hide. Our faculties are already being eroded by the internet and with retinal technology, you will no longer need to remember anything.
Memory could well become a myth like ancient Latin or Greek. A romantic illusion unable to compete with an all knowing camera. With everyone carrying a second screen in their pockets, our lives are becoming increasingly cinematic.
Hence the rise of immersive cinema and theatre events in London and New York, where audiences want to interact with events that hitherto they had passively consumed in silence.
Our post-modern universe is like being trapped midway on a celluloid reel. Sometimes I imagine myself as a frail 82-year-old in 2063, reminiscing to young people about my semi-pastoral childhood in the late 20th century. Recalling barbaric stories about ordinance survey maps, paper rounds, rotary dial telephones, and black and white televisions.
Unlike today my Mum couldn’t upload images of her 3-year old son’s birthday onto a global network. I was nobody’s profile picture. My first day at school wasn’t recorded on camera either. Neither was my younger brother and sister. Fading photographs captured my childhood in a rustic manner, but our lives are an ongoing anthology, a composite of many selves, and the young boy in those pictures doesn’t exist anymore.
One seminal moment took place in my mid-teens, when in 1996 my Dad sent his first ever e-mail on this strange invention called the internet. My brother and I gathered round his swivel black chair and watched history in the making.
We didn’t think anything of it at first but I do remember it vividly. Who were we to know that this new technology would transform our lives forever? Now that’s history worth remembering and I haven’t looked back since.