These philosophical excursions were never designed to scare you witless. That's not what they're about. If it happens, then it's accidental. Just like pregnancy never is.
I have a theory about absolute detachment, and it goes something like this: The less that people impose upon you, the more you want them to forget that you exist. It may not be universal, but it is compelling. And it strengthens over time.
But that's the trouble with absence - all that rot about nature abhorring a vacuum, and speculation filling the void, it's all true. Probably.
Part of my mind is screaming at me to provide examples. You'd find the internal dialogues that go on in my head disturbing. Sometimes they emerge verbally, and I find myself engaged in actual conversations with myself - out loud. It's freaky. But...
If you've ever taken (or made) a telephone call in public, then you've lost some rights to whatever you associate with the notion of privacy. It's out there. Or half of it is. Your half. Anyone within earshot can take it, speculate about the missing portion, and construct a set of assumptions about its context and you. For all the good that mobile telephony has done and provided, there is a counterbalancing potential negative sitting behind you on the bus, not even waiting to pass judgement.
It would be so easy to end this piece with some statistics about mobile telephones smuggled into prisons, giving sense and coherence to the title I've saddled it with, but that seems like a ridiculously trashy way out. Too clever by half, and still avoiding what I originally intended to be its core theme. It's a first draft for a reason, and it's only taken up half an hour of my time. If I post it - and I probably will - it'll prove I'm not dead. Absolute detachment may be a worthy goal, but proof of life remains a viable commodity. Ask any kidnapper.
Goodnight, and good luck.
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