Chains of love

Ever heard the golden oldie about “chains of love”? Here’s a slight variation:

“Chains! My blog has got me locked up in chains

But they ain’t the kind, that you can seeeeeee

Ooo-ooh these chains of loooove got a hold on me!”

Yes, it’s a willing bondage, but a burden nevertheless. We love to communicate — most of the time. Then comes the morning when we’re glad our cell phone “ran out of battery” as they say, and we can’t even find it. Or the internet is down, and we don’t care. Saying “Hi” to a neighbor on the other side of the street as we walk the dog is a greater high than any tweet, instant message, or blog.

But then again, there’s no discernible record of that “Hi.” We can’t go back over a string or thread of “Hi”s and see whose turn it is, or what days get the most “Hi”s. Life is random; the Net is precise. People forget, but Facebook remembers everything. The attraction to live your life on Facebook is irresistible for some. They chain themselves to their status update and report themselves in custody and under Internet arrest — just check my location on GPS, please, make sure I’m where I say I am, and see who is nearby. Tell me to turn left in a quarter of a mile, give me some “Likes.” Maybe even a comment.

Say, didn’t Karl Marx call on the workers of the world to throw off their chains? Seems like we didn’t care for all that freedom and we slipped on some virtual chains. So if you want to hear from me, just rattle my chain … it’s a chain of loooooove.

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