Fifteen minutes of fame expired last century; ten seconds for a heart emoji faded in the last decade. But we — we have never ended. In truth, we have never even begun to exist within this crowd-charged spotlight, a beam that overexposes every nuance of a person caught in its glare. We are suspended in the twilight of our own sublimations, clinging to the darkest, strongest, and most vital secrets upon which our entire world is built. We waver between the desperate urge to reveal our true selves and the paralyzing fear of being annihilated by the “return fire” of judgment. Perhaps not for the first time.
And here, I felt afraid. So, I built a machine. An algorithm capable of withstanding it all: the written word, the lingering gaze, judgment, empathy, tears, shame, disgust, fear — and, ultimately, the light itself.
A light so bright that even with eyes tightly shut, we might sense that no one has turned away, no one has cast us out. That the world has not collapsed, and that it has failed to destroy a single one of us.
To be seen.
Perhaps for one minute.
To close eyes.
And to survive.
