They pander to one hypnotic song to another, sipping so deeply from the tune that they not only lose themselves to it, but in fact become the very tunes they hear. This is what men are in the noisy streets of modern mediums, as can be seen by the electric circuits wired through the walls and floors, and now even extending by invisible beats and pulses into the very air itself. The law is this: nature abhors a vacuum, so all the empty space must be filled, either by us ourselves with a peculiar form of self-isolation or otherwise by the insistent outpour of digital distractions. There are men who actually forget to look right and left when crossing the street because their heads are lowered to the colourful screens of the gadgets they busy themselves toying with. This particular tendency may be as old as everlasting time, but it’s tremendous tenacity in modern days to engross every last particle and drop of human attention has exceeded the bounds of even the mildest definitions of sanity. The deficit of what can be termed discretionary attention, or the amount of presence a man has available to him in a singular moment of time, has dropped from the borderlands of normalcy and entered a new era of what perhaps is a transition of men truly becoming machines.