Homes Wednesday, October 10 2046

There are a whole host of leisure-mediums with which the massive rabble amuse themselves. As a transtemporal visitant, I myself have been witness to the spectacle of the early cinematographe, the ethereal soundscapes of the radio hearth, the anxious optics of the screenviewer, and the aphasiac delights of the harpsiphone, and I take the occasion here to consider them each in turn.

The cinematographe was received with a delight unmatched by the other conveyances, its visual breadth producing stupefaction and glee, even despite softening the cortexes of the hoi polloi that gave witness to its birth. It remains a novel locale for juvenants to express puerile affections towards one another.

The radio, an early twentieth-century soundbox for allaying (and occasionally producing) anxieties, primarily in relation to war-time, has become somewhat of an anachronism in the twenty-third century. Nevertheless its mundane voice transmissions, combined with its nonsensical promotions by, simultaneously, the King of Mexico and the latest fashion mogul, renders radio a consistent source of vapid amusement.

The screenviewer is so distracted and schizophrenic that it barely warrants mention. Nevertheless it remains the primary tool of leisurement that the yellowcollars engage with, when not busied by the SelfTouch or the frequent updates to the enteric nerve system, which as we all know take up the majority of one's day-time activities. The screenviewer provides pleasure of purpose, to be sure, but its lunatic variations render its narratives abbreviated, uncomplex, and terrestrial. I saw one that was about the daydream hallucinations of opium-addled curtsy boys! It is true that perhaps it could be put to more gnarly use, if its wordsmiths could pause for the seconds of one moment to consider the capacious beauteousness of, say, une morceau de peluche.

Finally, the aphasiac sensorium produced by the harpsiphone remains the singular achievement of machine-made enjoyments. Transliterating the variegated banal soundscape into a coherent visualization, the harpsiphone represents all that is goodly in this world. Its ocular vistas impress gentle sensations upon the listener-viewer, allowing her or him to experience lachrymose resonance without being fully cognizant of the referents of the soul. Its tenebrosity remains its strength. It is the apogee of pleasure and allows for abreaction without therapeutic means. Unlike the harried noise of the screenviewer, the humdrum relay of radio vapors, or the haphazard gropes that accompany the cinematographe, the harpsiphone allows for Truth to be revealed through traces of multisensory dimensionality.

-H.E. Homes