Synedoche life

I have often wondered about all the stories that I have observed in the virtual world- the stories observed through the casual observation of one's news feed. The story of the budding writer, the tagging poet, the witty one line king, the selfie queen, the hash tag princess, the politically snobbish economist, the dreamy literature girl, a salman loving body builder, lonely football fanatics, make up artists , happy go luckies, intellectuals, post post modern playwrights, undergraduate day politicians, eight time activists, reborn intellectuals, funny lads, goddamn photographers, just people, people, etc. etc. a diverse range of people everyone vocal in their own right -expressing, reexpressing arguing whose world this is, who belongs here, who stabs, and prints and generates wonder and attention, who wins, who does not, who makes more friends in a chair, without moving, who engages who reengages, who represents culture, who reinvents the status quo, who is a feminist who is not- who- me- you- I-
All the paraphernalia of information and wisdom, emotions, morality, that I have casually obeserved hardly touches me at all- these days I forget casually what words mean, I always do; what I see here always gets washed in another flurry of reinvented identities and representatons.

I think I know now, our virtual lives can never be a synedoche of our lives, our virtual lives can just be a dishonest memoir of our true lives, our true lives will always hide in the silent honesty of nights and the secrecy of our dreams.