I’ve grown to despise perfection. Over the years I’ve been a spectator to the rapid developments in technology. Each year used to be exciting and with every announcement of new phones, computers, even software I felt joy. Right before my eyes computers were transformed from clunky, unruly beasts into pocketable mirrors devoid of any sharp edges. The experience of using them has become asymptomatic. One no longer feels like it’s a concious act. The smartphone is nowadays an extension of my arm. Always connected, always ready, always begging for my attention. Nothing stands between me and whatever I desire…I don’t know if it’s naive nostalgia talking through me or if it’s a genuine need but I wish I could for once notice, like I used what I was doing. I wish for the digital world to have as much friction as the real one. I want to feel the tactility of buttons, the warmth of low-resolution screens, the spinning of hard drives. I want to feel like what I’m doing matters…in one way or another. Perfection will always be inhuman.