A few days ago I accidentally broke the glass on my phone. Slipped from the purse, landed on the solid concrete, had no chance. My pathetic attempt to check whether it still works got rewarded with a splinter in my right thumb which still won't come out. So I stared at the two separated realities: diagonal cracks across the screen and the bright background where the hidden digital forces continued working – yet perfectly unresponsive, locked and strangely autistic. Being forcefully disconnected, I indulged myself in bitter cynicism: observing people in the train, who were immersed in the sensual interplay with their gadgets.
No, it isn't just about the connectivity. Staying in touch, get the latest news, always on – no, forget those worn-off marketing messages. It's all about techno-sensuality (just take a look at the short instruction video on how to use a wireless 'magic' mouse on your Mac in System Preferences: step-by-step introduction video to naїve tech-erotica for dummies).
I remember a short daily comic (Betty) from 6-7 years ago where a working-class middle-aged husband complains to his wife about the iPod: he said that in the good old days, man had had to use his strength to communicate with technology (levers had to be pulled, buttons pressed, cranks put in place – you get the idea about the trivial symbolic of these gestures...). Today however, what is needed is light touch, or swipe, basically a caress - very gentle intervention to receive a response. What better way to design a product like that, and make sure that large proportion of the world population would gradually accept it, than to introduce techno-sensuality?
Suddenly being out of touch (quite literally), suffering the amputation from my technological prosthesis, I simply turned to other senses: smell of the air, brightness of the sky, city noise. Simple pleasures of a disconnected person in a connected world.