Sleeptalking through station scrambles blabbing into unfolded metal. Trashmailing fellow giggle speakers along the global Ho Chi Minh highway. Its the on line era, the collective wired together, hooked up, everybody boilerplating with everybody everywhere. I saw them first in Hong Kong. Polyester shortsleeves mucking up Nathan Road. Bottled water coolies closing deals for sweat shop jeans between egg custard tarts. Ten years later they saturated Tokyo, portable future shock, our fabulous keitai denwa, silicon badges without merit for communications warriors. Trapped below tons of twisted concrete, you can summon a fireman holding a hook or demand a priest applying a reverse headlock. During 911, many called to say theyd be late for supper. Commanders weep from Baghdad asking for sufficient to finish the job. Predictably theyve bred a new code of chivalry. The unmounted peasant should give way to the emailing knight along royal roadways and bicycle byways. I, Sir Electronic Brainwave, sit higher in the IT hierarchy than you, Ulrich the Unconnected, so stand back and let me through. Manners. Dont keitai aboard crowded classrooms or inside silent concert halls. Be the fool on the hill shouting out the window, the Saviour in the wilderness talking across virtual water. Dont be the wolf who came to dinner gnawing off his electronic name tag. Be a cybernetic tambourine in a salvation bandwidth. Yes. Yes. Its the Keitai Age. The time when the metally challenged come completely unplugged. Ineption on line. Infinite recurrence of the identical identical. The Will to Communicate. Vacuum seeking Nothingness. At full volume. Everywhere. With everyone. All over our deafening planet.

Tokyo Sun 07/04/04