Prism education (see no one, if you like).
Stories. They’re allocated relevant bookmarks at a speed of 69wpm (there’s a website that tests you) with a spidery nail-tapping touchtype acquired in 1999 (year that I fashioned a questionable nail piercing inspired by Shola Ama) whilst attending, in the flesh, a convent school (now defunct, the internet tells me). Our bespectacled pregnant IT teacher was severe and she liked me. It was ‘vital’ to know QWERTY like brain braille. She missed the irony of clicking ‘play’ on a crinkling ‘cassette tape’ that guided us with a sense-dulling sidekick: Vivaldi’s Four Seasons.
So I use the skills to lasso: I will balance out the lo and hi-brow via tabs to consume now, with a glass of water, and keep those unread/favourites for a rainy day.
Something someone somewhere can probably create a 4D print-out of me based on my bookmarks. Internet angels in long black coats trace my every move and thought, cross-reference my preferences, laugh, reconfigure them, reconfigure me. ‘Spend more time meditating on an app.’
I do not have a Galaxy Room like him. Consistent in sound and vision, heavily-armoured in the internet wars, and just as the tide goes out it comes back in. Everyone sends me news but I already have them bookmarked!