Breaking the Silence

Today we’re celebrating 3 years since the launch of DigitalDeliria.com! Granted, we are on a bit of a hiatus… though I still want to thank those who have followed. For now, I’ve returned focus to a new (actually, quite old) project… ranging back to 2012 when I first documented the concept, and 2016 when I first started writing it in fully shaped form. Who knew that I would come up with this particular concept before Google started to actually build it (before anyone, for that matter). But via my telling, it will come to a full fruition that no one else has yet imagined.

As an update in the vein of Digital Deliria, I will share an anecdote from today. I witnessed a person spend 10 times as long pumping and paying for their gas. Normally, it’s a quick swipe of a credit card and then “pump away”. But today, they actually chose to stand by their car, fiddling with their phone, attempting to scan QR codes on the pump again and again, and then fiddled on their phone some more. Meanwhile, 3 cars waited in line behind them in 100+ degree heat, burning more gas.

This is the Digital Deliria my friend. The madness that ciphens our time and gives it away to powerful corporate entities… to their benefit and not ours… without us even knowing.

That is what we exposed with this website, DigitalDeliria.com. In ways both as small as this, or as large as behaviors like looking at our phones 96 times a day on average. It’s all about the evolving human-technology condition.

Blessings and peace be with you till next time. Bye for now.

— a note from the author Carisa H-K, 8-21-23

What’s After This Intermission?

The last time AI came calling was in 2012. A concept came to me. A new world revealed itself. It seemed like science fiction. It felt like I was the first to see.

Now AI has come calling again. Eleven years later, my science fiction concept has started to become a reality.

How far will it go? Perhaps if I see my vision through, it will lead to an outcome of good.

So an intermission again is warranted here, for continued focus on the big and sublime.

When will the Digital Deliria continue? Perhaps we will find ourselves here again, in a world changed.

As always, I hope you enjoyed this. Share if it provoked interest or intrigue.

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Holidays in Another Dimension with Disney

Her downy white head nods, with almost imperceptible frequency, visible just above the top of the couch.

Below her chin, a blue bony hand pokes from the sleeve of two sweaters. Maintaining a motionless grip, she holds three warm blankets up to her neck.

Entranced by her TV, it’s no matter that VHS tracking stripes flip and garble her picture every few minutes. Still, she remains pleased to watch her Disney movies over and over in succession. It made her daily routine.

A bit of spittle slips from the corner of her gentle smile until the bowl of vegetable soup arrives. In a delayed reaction, eyes still fixed on the TV, the soup smell elicits a grimace. She mutters, “icky frick”.

As the movie continues, her expression softens back to pleasure. I ladle small spoonfuls of soup into her now lax mouth.


Gazing into the box of VHS tapes, on this precious weekend of peace between jobs, I conjure this memory. A memory that never happened.

The beautiful sight of my elderly mother, in a caregiving eventuality that would never be.

Oh how she smiled one day, her tapes nearby. She succumbed to the ploy of Disney “opening the vault” every few months, releasing a backlog movie on to VHS. They assured that if you didn’t buy it now, you would never see it again.

“Pooh Baby,” she said, as she accumulated the tapes. “When I’m old, just prop me up on a pillow and play these for me. That will be all I need to fade away into my demented oblivion. Drool might come out of my mouth. And I won’t know what I’m saying. But I will be contented, with a big smirk on my face.”

Ah, she laughed with red-blotched cheeks. A giggle ending in a deep chortle, then a high sigh.  This was her old age senility plan. And it brought us joy. 

There were at least 2 problems with this. First, cancer stole her too soon. Second, nary a VHS player would still exist by the time she became “senile”. Neither problem was foreseen.

Soon, my overthinking brain adds a third problem: what about a VHS tape rewinder, the necessary tool to keep the movies running with no delay, endlessly? Well, good luck finding one of those.

And so this box remains, a time capsule in my house. Some tapes sit in the original wrappers, never opened or watched. Saved for senility, perhaps now my own. Or waiting for service in another dimension where circumstances are different.

Meanwhile, technology marches on in its villainous way, where perpetual format change means Disney asks you to pay over and over again for the same films. The passing years reveal the farce of their “closing vault”.

As holiday snow now flits past my window, downy as her head of hair, a moment of clarity arrives. Hang on to them tight, as if the only heaven is on earth, in the people for which you care.

You may sacrifice your time, your freedom. Sometimes your happiness. But what I wouldn’t give now to give. To exist in that place where caring for dying flesh is the one true virtue. Where the blessed masquerades as the horrendous.

Be there. Be there for them in their most awful moment. Because one day you might find yourself pining for this horror over another… and realizing how blessed you are.

Wishing you happiness and health this holiday season and always, to you and the loved ones you serve.

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Losing Mom

It’s the conference call that would never be. 

She’s not on the call; an absentee.

Others join, and wonder what happened. 

The girl, once always-on, no longer matters.


I expected to join that work conference call.  Instead, a different morning call comes. The work conference now resolves with incommunicado, and co-workers move on. 

My tears flow, my hands shake, and I curse at my husband who is standing by, watching me get dressed in a hurry.  I curse for no other reason than sheer anger at coming to the realization that I was a fool.  A fool for not spending the time when I could.  A fool for planning this blasted conference call and putting work in front of what mattered.  And a fool for believing until the end that some miracle would occur.  I curse again like I had in my unanswered prayers, but this time aloud for all to hear.

The tears continue in the car, but at least the steering wheel steadies my hands.  Upon arriving at the house, I rush through the kitchen, and down the few stairs to the brass bed.  In a room filled with light, my mother sits unmoving, pale and cold.

All I could utter is “oh mama, mama, mama” over again, like a child.  I attempt to close her mouth and eyes, both slightly open, without success.  I press my lips to the top of her downy head, her short white hair soft to the touch. I get in the bed beside her once more, hold her hand, gaze at her, and my eyes dry up as I try to comprehend the end of our lives as we’ve known them.

Considering a theory that she may be up above looking down at this scene, my eyes fix on the upper left corner of the high-ceilinged room.  I attempt to communicate with a spot high up on the wall, convincing myself that her soul is there.  Then, I look back to her in the bed.  I do this many times, back and forth, looking for a sign and none comes.

Sometime later, as I hang half-off the edge of the bed, my hand holding hers, fixated on her face, my eyes like sand, my aunt breaks my solitude.  It is time for the funeral home to take her away.

Why was I planning to take that conference call on the morning of her death?  Why did I work until 9pm every night, and never go to a single chemo treatment with her?  And why did she not ask me to accompany her?  Was she shielding me from seeing her like that?  Or was it my plain dereliction? The questions circle and swirl in an infinite, discordant loop in my mind. 

So begins the next phase of my journey into grief. Where connection is now a broken bond.  An empty hole.

I remained blank, but not a blank slate. Empty, but not renewed.

Until, one day – we meet again through Technology.  And/or Death. 

Something more is to come.

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Technology for Addicts and Geniuses

The halls filled with sunset, darkening from moment to moment. Monitors illuminate the evening player’s faces. Many use their high-powered equipment to transition from programming by day to video games by night.

They while away their evenings (or at least until dinner at 8 or 9pm).  But some kept coding well into the wee hours. They couldn’t stop. Was it due to deadline?

One of them lives in a cave, emanating screen light from within. It’s a more “modern” kind of cave: a simple cubicle covered in a dark cloth tent, concocted to block out even more of the waning outside light.

Inside is a legend of top proportion. The best programmer in the house. Do you need a fully functional, brand-new app for your client in two days flat? He is the genius for the job.

A nearby Project Manager, burning the midnight oil herself, wants to know: Why does he stay here so late every night?

She pats at his cloth door, softly inquiring: “Hello?”

“Come in,” says the voice inside.

She stoops to enter the inner sanctuary of the coder. It’s a sea of black, if not for an unexpected set of string lights and a dim desk lamp. He sits with his back to her, a figure outlined by the almost imperceptible flicker of his monitor. She asks with empathy: “Workin’ late today? It’s ok, you can go home if you need. The deadline isn’t until next week…”

He slowly turns in his chair and looks at his guest with dry, bloodshot eyes that can only originate from 13 fixated hours at a code-filled monitor.

He says, “It’s ok, I do this for more than just getting the job done. I’m a recovering addict. Programming controls my urges… gives me a different place to focus. Keeps me out of trouble.”

Well alrighty then.

With a comment so raw, so matter of fact, she is rendered unable to find many words.

She mutters, “Ok, well take care of yourself, you’re doing great work…”, trailing off and backing away. Meanwhile his chair swivels back around to his monitor. His antidote.

But, an antidote to what? Drugs, child molestation, crime, porn? All of the above? Her mind lingers on the possibilities, disturbed. But simultaneously she wonders, does this all play into why this guy is such a genius?

The lesson that day is to never deny people who pour themselves into their work. They may be doing it for more reason than one.  Replacing one addiction with another of lesser harm may mean “progress” to some in their life’s journey.

Gathering her laptop to work from home the rest of the evening, she chuckles to realize: No one out there really knows who builds the web and why, do they?

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Tales of Fails: Early People Management

When employees are crying, it can’t be good. I cried to my boss, and today an employee is crying to me. 

What does she cry about? Why? Today, this recipient can’t connect. Was it something I said? Didn’t say? External unrelated circumstance?

I can’t remember whether I ever knew.

All I remember is sunlight filling the white walls, and an anchor of modern grey berber carpeting below our feet. A heavenly corporate environ — a place unfitting of an emotional outburst.

With more than a conference room table separating us, our morning meeting devolves. The face of the woman across the chasm flushes pink. A moment later tear-wet cheeks become red.

My mouth runs dry of spit, and this brain is just as dry of reassuring words.

Yet moments later something musters from the deep; from my own episode in her shoes:

“We’re not doing brain surgery here. It’s just toothpaste.”

Beyond that lifeline, this stunned new manager had nothing more to offer. Her tears continued until my kindnesses and mother-like soothing bridged the gap. To anyone passing by, no doubt our “talk” sounded like “bullsh bingo”.

I still needed to learn the lessons of a manager. Years and years offered their slow reveal from the ether.

And this experience today? — well, it’s where leadership patina started growing on some part of my being. It’s when life came full circle again.

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Social Media Was a Good Idea. Was.

Act One

The sun rose in our social lives with a fresh way to connect and share.  Our initial instinct?: Just become “friends” on Facebook with everybody we know! That included all of our coworkers. (Especially if you worked in tech yourself.)

Sure, we stayed connected. And maybe learned a little about our fellow human by doing so. But after many years, we discovered that social media is more of a time capsule of who we knew when it launched, versus a tool that deepened any relationship.

People don’t really add anyone to Facebook anymore unless they know them, and even then — not until they know them a while. Maybe that’s good or bad. 

Either way, our early dreams of the internet died… it is not what we believed or wanted: a means of global connection, divine understanding across people, and true appreciation of diverse cultures. It is… something decidedly different.

Plus, where did the music go? Oh, how quickly MySpace (zone of non-uniformity and pervasive tunes) just shriveled up and died with no explanation. Old tech: so easily abandoned.

Act Two

Social media — without us realizing it — replaced our tendency to form our own distribution lists (e.g. email). In this way, social media took control of the messaging. We post, but who knows really who sees it. Does anyone? And why/why not? It’s utterly out of our control. 

And by the way, if we have business connections that “followed” us, why do we need to pay $10 to “boost” our post to reach them all? Didn’t our audience already basically “opt in”?

Email was imperfect too. Given no one liked to read, ignored email grew to unmanaged digital litter.  But ignoring content was the reader’s choice, not the social media platform’s choice. Social media is now rife with assumptions about relevance, irrelevance, and outright censorship. It allows our tree to fall in the forest and indeed no one hears. 

Aside: That’s why this website is in an old school format.  We are officially rebelling against our no-read culture and bringing deep reading back for those who are open-minded and willing.

Who doesn't remember the fun of messages, lovingly shared among friends via email? Versus the vast, unsatisfying "nothingness" of social media today? Who doesn't pine for those early technology days? And did our best days dissolve with the disappearance of salutations?

Act Three

A woman remembers a time before the internet. A girlhood where every magazine cover and TV commercial reinforced the expectations of chaste sexpot womanhood.

Now, day after day, big tech presents a familiar dichotomy to the woman.

Remembering the content of childhood, she bristles at the latest online “version” of it. The sexpot remains, but instead of being chaste, ill health is the new virtue. On her screen:

  • One platform presents a retailer’s wares via overweight women posing in swimsuits.
  • Another platform presents a woman sticking her provocative tongue out, accompanied by a headline: “See her wearing see-through lingerie as clothing”.

The woman saves screen captures of the two images, identifying the hypocritical duality. Her energy channels to post the pictures on social media:

“Yes I do buy from this particular retailer, but not plus size. And no, I do not look up porn on Google. So, how is this explained? Is this some society-condoned descent into self-assured ill health, whilst devolving into a misogynistic female fantasy world that negates anything the original ‘Me Too’ movement stood for?”

The next day, she re-enters the platform to find that her access is blocked.

The all-helpful and all-knowing platform tells her the image of tongue-woman was removed. Further, that posting the image concerned them because it suggested interest in “self injury” and “suicide”. 

“We want to support you,” the platform coos.

The gall, she thinks. THE GALL. These images were pushed to ME by the big tech conglomerates, and I just called them out as misogynistic!

If the wild conclusion about self harm and suicidal tendencies is in fact real, WHY is big tech pushing this material to me? In effect, making an admission that they are nudging those tendencies?

She stews. She closes the platform’s message, and expects to be able set the record straight… to speak her mind. But like a punished child, the platform then forces her to “accept” their community standards before being allowed back on. With no means of calling out their blatant hypocrisy until she bowed down to agree that what she did was “wrong”, she is humiliated a second time.

She concludes in that moment that this is proof that big tech institutionalizes harm to women.

Yet, despite the obvious sexism of the initial imagery, she begins to second-guess posting a picture that is now blocked.

What was so wrong about the image that I am now the one being punished?, she thinks.

She returns to her camera reel to look at the photo again.

A tear wells in the corner of her eye as she discovers something she never noticed before. 

In the lower corner of the image, the woman is holding something close to her mouth, nearly out of sight. It’s a lighter. Its flame reaches up, burning the tip of her outstretched tongue. 

It’s even sicker and more misogynistic than I originally thought, she thinks.

She’s hardened by life, and fearless about speaking out. But it scares her: What is this doing to our young girls, who might let this crap wash over them, and worse yet — engage in “self harm” or “suicidal tendencies” as a result? 

Epilogue

In Act Three, women and girls are doubly harmed:

  • Harmed by the original material.
  • Harmed again by being censored and ridiculed for pointing out the hypocrisy of the harm fostered by big tech.

What will the tech conglomerates do next to hide their harm to you? Or stated in a different way, what is Act One of the next story

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The Electronic Leash

The electronic leash came to exist in 2003 when a leader in the company started a campaign to promote awareness of it and to protect against it. 

When we first heard about the electronic leash, it sounded foreign. Like it could not possibly be.

The leader described the electronic leash as a state of being where you are constantly connected to your device, checking messages 24/7 and responding without boundaries.

Our minds rebelled. Wasn’t “always on” the best thing?  The responsive thing? A way to get ahead?

The entire notion was almost an insult to us: the young and hard working individuals who filled the halls, cubes and conference rooms. Why was this warning even being given?

Further, finding ourselves “leashed” sounded awful… like a dog under control of a master. Who is the master?

Fast forward to 2008, and we find possibly the first mainstream media mention of a “digital leash” (here).

Was this leader ahead of their time by several years, seeing what others could not? — Absolutely.

Still, it didn’t become clear to you that it even existed until a decade later. It happened when you least expected. In the dark corners of a restaurant, gazing at the next table, you find four sitting — all fixed on their phones, not paying any attention to each other.

And then you know. The warning not heeded, we all fell into it: constantly connected to our devices and we don’t even know or care about anything different.

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Digital Deliria Dawns

Small bursting bubbles around the neck. A fizzy haze on the skin. Frog is in the hot tub, cozy and complacent.

So began the Digital Deliria, in converted warehouses, offices and homes, where our own bodies produced a caffeine of email responsiveness. Like inconsequential ping pong balls, back and forth across the net: we hang on for that tone of bing as they come in, and swish as they go out.

It’s a physiological video game. A slot machine. A digital Whac-A-Mole, where replies and response flew.  Why pick up the phone when 20 volleyed emails are more efficient than listening to the drone of your fellow human?

Where non-ergonomic chairs once swiveled, the nerves now pinch. Forearms and fingers go numb, after 12 hours rolling the mouse. Feeling the ball twitch over the pad, dust collects and grinds the x and y axes. A mechanical break from the digital universe exists only to clear the dust, affording a more precise pointer position on your screen to the world.

Now thrones turn to cradling cocoons where the body can no longer manage itself, and feet once valiant on the floor must now sit on a small riser to keep blood from pooling. Dust can no longer impede the roller ball, as a laser shoots out from under your hand instead. No need to stop.

Until once we find a bee, admired for their busy ADHD throttle. Elevated, even. Moving from the chair, flying across the keyboard, flitting to the whiteboard, sprinting to their cohort next door. 

The whiteboard holds a figment of a plan. The email holds an inert communication element. A sticky holds a fleeting note for a person 5 doors down.

Contradicting themselves every 7 seconds, speaking in partial sentences as the mind races ahead, they are 3 chess moves down another question that no one articulated, yet lives partially baked somewhere in the back of the bee’s mind. There are problems to solve! Do we know what they are?

For every inarticulate problem, there’s a speedy solution. Well-contemplated, it is not. So it’s one without ramifications. Just do it! What’s wrong with you for not buzzing like me?

The bee then we discover is a June bug — bouncing against the net at triple speed. Aimless and then found with one thorny leg stuck in the mesh. Joyous in its entrapment in a solution. But, if stuck on it too long, could lead to a feast for the next morning’s bird.

So one may leave the room on this day, anxious, for the lack of pure direction. Struggling to piece together disjointed elements into what once felt like a woven whole.

In the distance, you hear the storm siren test on a sunny day. It lends a misplaced feeling of disturb — because you already emerged from the tornado.  So instead, might you expect a missile to hit any moment, given the details you missed in the whirl? 

Yet, all still is business as usual. You grate: Were you too slow? Or they too fast and inarticulate? A missile to you may have always been the plan.

So now we devolve into the basest of instincts — attention seeking, in the business of the aperiodic reinforcement of validation, that gets fewer and farther between. But it’s enough to live another day. We distance into an expanding universe, as real relationships dissolve.

Our dark matter fills the voids in between, as our attention shrinks to ever smaller segments. We bite at the thick, yet vacant air for the next morsel.

The bee we become, the rewired, vibrates past the frog’s sticky tongue. But frog pays little attention, remaining absorbed only with its own circumstance. Today the mist feels warmer around its neck, as the bubbles increase in speed and frequency. But it stays.

As always, I hope you enjoyed this and it brightened your day.

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Traveling Empaths

“Oh no, no,” the Cincinnatian says.  “We don’t need a taxi – our client’s office is just four blocks away.”

Peering out of the hotel lobby windows revealed piles of snow, covered in black soot, in the pre-dawn grey.  Still, the Cincinnatian’s Texas colleague thought – well, it couldn’t be *that bad* to walk a short distance.

“It’s too early anyway. It would take longer for the taxi to arrive than for us to walk,” the local continued to rationalize.

A logical argument for someone who wanted to be on-time for their client’s forthcoming website meeting, to be sure. But for an empath, it would’ve taken two seconds to realize that her Texan colleague had no winter coat: only an unlined suit jacket and corresponding pant. A summer weight suit.

And, that the suit would serve no match to 25 degrees and a 1 degree wind chill.

An empathetic soul, the Cinci lady was not. So with a bluster of wind through the hotel’s revolving door, they departed for a 6 A.M. snowy trudge.

The toes were the first to go, housed only in dress leather boots and thin socks.  As the frigid signal from feet to brain muddied into numbness, the fingers then stiffened next from cold. 

Wind to rival “The Hawk” of downtown Chicago at once blew hairs away from crisped ears and simultaneously twisted tendrils around the head.

By the time they got to the client’s offices, a river of snot ran from the colleague’s upper lip to the lower. A cloud of once coiffed but now knotted hair hung in clumps around her head given the intense, bone-biting gusts.  And within minutes she had to make her first appearance in front of the client.

In a coughing fit, she excused herself to the restroom in utter frozen embarrassment.  Doubting why she spent 45 minutes to prepare her face and hair in front of a toasty hotel room mirror, she found herself in front of a new mirror, transformed.  The fright of red numbed nose and a thin layer of blown snow on the shoulders mocked her.  She proceeded to comb through her hair with frozen fingers, trying to regain warmth and breath between bronchitis hacks. 

Flash forward to a decidedly different time, of SoCal heat and a hazy scent of burning brush hanging in the air.  The boss lingers at the client’s conference table.  Chatting in endless sidebars about mobile apps, he remained confident in the pliability of LA traffic to allow passage to the airport in time.

Why so confident?  Because even if the traffic caused delays, Bossman and his favored colleague had their tickets to first class and a security line bypass.

Was Bossman an empath to the one lowly infrequent traveler in their party? – nah.  With little consideration to his coach dweller sans TSA jump-the-line privileges, the journey to the airport begins nary an hour and a half before flight time.

Arriving at the airport 30 mins prior to flight time, coach dweller gulps at the security line, which winds roughly a half mile through a corridor. 

With barely a backward glance, the blessed colleagues scoot through a side security entrance. Coach lady then has no choice but to size up the first 5 parties in the long security line. Which one looks the most relaxed and amiable to hear her beg and plead to cut in the line?

After imploring to about 15 parties from the front of the line on back, finally she negotiated her way in front of the rest of the poor souls. By the time she made it through security, she went full sprint toward her plane. With 5 minutes until takeoff and 35 gates to go, her bladder now felt like a bouncing ball full of jello with every thudding footfall. Her right boob popped out of its cup: figure control devices stood no match for the momentum of a heavy bag swinging from the opposite shoulder.

Entering the plane then with sweat dripping off the brow and damp pits, she passed by the two colleagues snug and sound in their first class seats, nursing their second Bloody Marys and dipping fingers into ramekins of toasted nuts.

She on the other hand, the girl once frozen in snot and now drenched in perspiration, awaited her final insult: it’s far too late to have a place for her bag in the overhead, of course. 

With feet crowded atop the bag stuffed under the seat in front of her, she could only think that time had run out to relieve a now bursting bladder before takeoff. Please hurry and turn that God-awful seat belt light off, she prayed. 

Want to “win friends and influence people”?

The moral of this story is to consider – what additional thought can you give to your fellow human being or colleague today?  What is their circumstance? What would you feel if you were in their shoes? Based on that, would you behave and plan differently?

Another moral of the story? Knowing the high likelihood of NOT finding an empath in your midst, what can YOU do to be more prepared? That may just be the most irritating lesson of all.

As always, I hope you enjoyed this and it brightened your day.

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When Sexism Stopped

Can you escape the unending sense of exclusion, denial?  When you’re shut down?  Or deemed unworthy of expressing an opinion, let alone that opinion being valued?  In short: When did sexism actually stop?

The first answer is yes, you can escape. The degree of “-ic’s”, “-ist’s” and “-ism’s” encountered in life seem to be based on one thing… and it might not be what you expect.

Everyone is Embroiled

No matter where your think others are in the “strata”, you would be wrong.

Consider an acquaintance, a Broadway star, who just won the Tony award. You’d think they were at the pinnacle of their career, right? The height of achievement? You would be wrong. They were at the end of their career, as their hit show spread across the country.  Other cast members proliferated, playing their role. The role they brought to life could be duplicated and copied, eliminating their relevance. They were left with nothing.

Welcome to a wakeup call. We are all embroiled… all struggling. 

Were they victim to an “-ic”? Stripped of their worth by a transphobic or homophobic threat? Possibly. But more likely we find ourselves at a transition point.  Once it was one Nation, under God.  Now it is one World, under the Elites.  And even the Elites have their own kind of mess.

Change You

Our lives are full of slights, not belonging, dismissals, and feeling “less than”. Worse, it’s often about something you can’t control – like your sex.

We find ourselves physically bruised, or attacked verbally.  Molested on the school bus, in stores, or in church. Places that should be safe, but are not. It comes from those who see themselves as “above” it all, seeking to belittle you so they can feel strong. We find them both in and out of the workplace.

The hardest lesson is powerful yet revolting – possibly the greatest universal truth on the planet. You can’t control others but you can control you. 

Let’s take that a step further: You can’t change yourself, but you can change your position (maybe).

Or maybe not, if you don’t have the interest, diligence, or means to get the skills.

When Dismissal is Good

Dismissal often means you haven’t done enough. Haven’t achieved enough. You haven’t put in enough time, effort, or thought.

Did someone not respond to your request? Then you know it could be you. It opens the door of opportunity, to discover what you could do to change the dynamic.

As for the real ic’s, ist’s, and ism’s: You will know when the situation is not right.  Deep, deep in your guts. So, leave the situation. There’s nothing like competition for talent. Organizations that lose your talent will decline.

However, possibly despite better judgment, I never left when I encountered situations such as this. Interestingly, it turned out that the offending parties left the situation before I did.  Whether it was a firing, a layoff, or just an all-around relationship dissolution, they disappeared. Call it what you will – luck, blessedness, instant karma. But vistas opened as every dreg fell out and away from my path.  Dogged stick-with-it-ness, then, may not be a bad option.

Where Technology Comes In

Working in technology is no different. It’s a place where many women and girls still do not gravitate. Lament runs deep when so few women, if any, apply for my open positions.  Further, that only some women of color apply (not a fully diverse landscape of women of color). Why is that?

Still, it’s a blessing that we may find the most diversity in our lives via the workplace. And, we’re blessed to experience working together so well professionally. So why not apply the same “professional” approach to every situation?  Could we treat each other like coworkers, at work as well as in life? Because aren’t we all on this planet working at something?

If not our careers, we’re “working” on ourselves, our kids, our survival. We’re helping others. We’re making the world go ‘round. And counterbalancing good with the opposing forces we struggle against. We each have our role in a workforce of humanity.

So, When Did Sexism Stop?

With position. Upon reaching a certain level of experience and title, of output and accomplishment, it stopped. Prior to that, daily life meant the dismissal of contributions and the brain. And that was by people who included references to excrement in their web startup company names and filled their code with the same, no less. Needless to say: it didn’t say much about them.

But too personally, despite logic, some part of you may still believe you’re less.  And well, maybe you were saying something less intelligent.  Maybe you did need more experience.

But you soon learn that on this planet, the key is resolute tenacity.

Now, Work.

And work. Then work some more.

Years of toil.

Till it feels like your eyes might bleed and your brain might melt.

Till you’re worn down to a nub, and can’t get your being to squeeze out another drop.

On the caffeinated overnights and terrorizing days, you’re there.

In a place where you get nothing: no riches, no spoils.

Yet, a place where you might just catch whiffs of belonging, satisfying your basic human need.

Is it worth it? Will you fight for it?  Will you Rolling Stone-it, and not always get what you want, but get what you need? Will you Dolly-it, and pour yourself a cup of ambition?  Will you Kanye-it, this week mopping floors, and next week it’s the fries?

It is worth it. Because the ic’s are just ick. The ism’s create schisms. And the ist’s – well, they’re good to Resist.

As the ic’s, ism’s, and ist’s fade, what you have left is you, as it has always been. Look out for number 1. Prove number 2 wrong.

And just maybe, the riches and spoils will come later.  If you’re lucky.

As always, I hope you enjoyed this and it brightened your day.

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Interlude: A Future Use Case

Did it occur to you that Big Tech knows more about you than your family? Friends? Spouse perhaps? More than anyone?

It knows everywhere you go. Everything you do. All your interests, all you aspire to. All your vices, all your gaps. All your accomplishments, and your challenges too.

So why wouldn’t Big Tech be best positioned to please you, appease you, protect you, diffuse you, validate you? Create the supreme sense of belonging for you?

Yet, it is silent as God.

So far.


Consider a Metaverse* Use Case:

Your phone transmits that you are in the bounds of a hospital.

The Platform leaves virtual flowers on your virtual doorstep and words of encouragement.

The Platform then proceeds with similar actions each day your phone continues to detect your presence in the facility. It offers you the small kindness of “visiting” you every day for the duration of your stay.

In the absence of any actual human being visiting and supporting you in the hospital, would you not begin to trust and appreciate The Platform more than fallible, self-absorbed human beings? The ones not present?

On the flip side, would you become more reliant on The Platform for emotional placation? Would this continue to stoke the cycle of the self-absorbed?

In this world, the dimension will finally shift away from imperfect Human-to-Human social, in favor of Human-to-Platform social. The Platform then is the all-knowing and all-seeing.

* P.S. If anyone creates this world, Metaverse or otherwise, send your license fee to Digital Deliria please 🙂

As always, I hope you enjoyed this and it brightened your day.

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Environment Makers

In the dark, the door clicks, swings and closes with a slight squeak.  Padding feet brush the concrete until familiar fingers find the workbench light switch.  Returning to her earlier project, she bends over the cool and dusty counter, light illuminating her silhouette.  Tinkering with tiny tools, her neck hunches in concentration. 

Frankensteining the previously defunct elicits a precious (and nearly extinct) jewel.  Soon, she lifts the CD-ROM drive from the workbench, gently with two hands, like lifting a baby fresh from the womb. However, this one is soon installed back into another kind of womb: the creamy grey Dell Win ’98 tower case.

Pressing the computer “on” button, she hears the drive whir to life – a successful repair. Next, she holds the drive button until the tray rattles and protrudes.  Oh-so-carefully, to avoid scratches or fingerprints, she places the hallowed CD-ROM disk into the tray and pushes the drive shut with a finger eager for the next click.

After several minutes of loading, she begins playing the sacred game:

In the first environment, she finds a large conference room with purple glass table.  With each click along hotspots on the floor, she discovers that her mouse can plant grass around the table.  She watches it grow, filling the room with green.

In another room, everything is clickable.  She clicks tables, chairs, and even a conference room phone.  All of the objects flip, rotate, and become inexplicably glued to the ceiling.

Moments later, she wanders Zen-like into a sea of endless wooden work cubes.  With a few swipes of the mouse, her avatar spins in a circle.  Around her forms a yurt, the spiritual center of the “community”.

Tired from exploration, she finally enters an empty room and sits in mid-air.  A cozy massage chair forms around her body, and her avatar drifts to sleep.


Proof that it happened (?).

Somewhere in another dimension, years earlier yet coinciding with the game play, a “real” environment forms.  The green grass is there, as well as the upside-down room.  The yurts hold team gatherings, and the one-on-ones are done in massage chairs.  The charmed environment spawned digital development, full of people and politics, of layoffs and stepping stones, of long hours and gadabouts.  

They recently graduated from the Warehouse Zen Garden and Front Deck, and doubled-down with a quirky office space creative enough to bolster a belief: they were The Premier Digital Agency. (Or if nothing else, proximity to a chic neighborhood meant the power would never again go out.)

Yet, none of them knew of the strings pulled by the distant act of ancient CD-ROM game play. And so, the Digital Deliria Puppet Master continues to play..


Eve: an ancient, sacred game.

This story was inspired by another “sacred” game, one unlike any other created in the CD-ROM era.  “Eve” was part socio-gender commentary, part art exhibit, and part meditative garden manifested in the technology world.  Game play was a deeply immersive through music-driven meditations: at times baffling, at other times transcendent.  It is hard to believe this game “pulled off” all of this in 1996.  Long since out-of-print and unplayable as technology marched on, one hopes some version of it will someday find its way onto the web. Perhaps, it may just shape the next digital/physical world. 🙂

As always, I hope you enjoyed this and it brightened your day.

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Mr. Sharp-Tongue Client

In the bathroom stall surrounded by funky purple walls, she attempted to suppress the tears welling near the top of her throat.  Not unlike the chest-burster in Alien, the prickle was down there… waiting to get out.

She pictured encapsulating the spiny ball in a clear, smooth casing of jelly.  Rubbing out the rough edges, she mindfully eliminated the creases in her forehead and allowed a sense of numbness to blanket her mind.

Will the technique work, as it had in past when faced with defeat and looming doom?  She was about to find out during her next challenge: keeping emotions contained as she headed in to see The Boss.

She felt confident, moving from the bathroom toward his office, that she had successfully swallowed her tears.  I can get through this meeting, she thought.  Even though, she had to reveal current events with her client in transparency.

Step by step, she moved through the Zen Garden, gaining an additional sense of calm and collect.  She maintained that feeling while ambulating closer to Mr. P’s office, down a modern concrete hallway.  She passed by a few relaxed co-workers nursing longnecks in the hall in the middle of the day. Clearly, they did not bear the burden of “representing” their work to the customer, like she did.  Setting the pressure of her job aside, she entered and found the Delivery VP sitting stern and tall behind his desk.

She sat in the guest chair across from his desk, looked in his firm eyes, took a breath, and spoke.  Instantly, with only a word or two about the client situation out of her mouth, a spine on the cry ball broke through the jelly bubble in her throat. 

Oh God, no no no.  I can’t cry in my Boss’s office!

Choking out a few more words, another, then another, spine ripped into her upper throat until the fear and upset burst forward through her eyes.

Noooooo!!…..

It all came out in gobs then, in an unstoppable wave:  “Why am I crying?… I don’t normally cry… I’m so sorry… The client got upset with me the other day!  He berated me and the team with insulting names.  He may be right!  Maybe I can’t do this job.  Does he want me off the account?  I know I have a lot to learn, but this is just abusive!”  Then, the words dried up as she tried to breathe.

She thought she had seen it all with the client from hell, aka the Faxing Madman, who chose to convey venom via 8-10 faxed pages per day.  At that time, she had to deal with an employee emotionally destroyed by the customer.  That employee reacted by putting an unforgettable epithet about the client on an FTP site. 

But today, I’m the one on the receiving end, she ruefully thought. Mr. Sharp-Tongue’s approach felt more serious: less of a “passive-aggressive faxer”, and more of a “verbal affront master” with berating insults over extended conference calls.

And instead of vitriol, she reacted with a puddle of tears. Sitting there embarrassed, something in the room perceptively shifted to another level.

Mr. P’s eyes softened immediately, and in a moment of realization, she knew he was completely different underneath his stony facade.  He hid this nurturing side well, and it thoroughly surprised her.

“Oh I’m so sorry,” he said with a lilting tone. “This isn’t the first time this has happened to someone on the team.  He’s just a bully!  You can do it!  Don’t listen to him.”

The revelation that this happened several times before with other team members shocked her.  That maybe it wasn’t her, but him.  As Mr. P continued, she learned that a coworker recently resigned because of Mr. Sharp-Tongue.  No wonder why, she thought sarcastically.

Then another wave came over Mr. P: this time, anger.  He was fed up.  He couldn’t afford to lose another team member over this man.

His stony look returned quickly.  More assertively than ever before, he stated:  “I’ll talk to him.  Remember – you’re just marketing toothpaste.  You’re not trying to solve world hunger here.”

Then the proverbial sun came out and the jelly ball graciously returned to her throat.  She was relieved beyond words to not remain saddled with this burden all on her own.

And with that, she never cried again on the job, given she felt that someone had her back.  Perhaps even more importantly, she learned empathy from this experience.  Many times in future, when faced with similar challenging situations with employees, she retained Mr. P’s life lesson: put yourself in others’ shoes and provide a supportive force.

And what of Mr. Sharp-Tongue? Well…

She enjoyed a tremendous amount of growth through their relationship, eventually.  Berating 15-minute calls turned into 4-hour strategic work conferences, where both contributed powerfully and equally.  Their work together broke new ground in leveraging the digital landscape to market consumer products.

Maybe it was a few choice words from The Boss, or maybe it was just her skills improving. Perhaps a little of both.  But, the relationship deepened… lasting for years. The final lesson?  Consider your “enemies” with empathy too.  Even bullies can change and become mentors.

As always, I hope you enjoyed this and it brightened your day.

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And Now, For a Brief Intermission

Sometimes a step back to gaze at the big picture brings oxygen back to the capillaries.

Often, this involves evaluating full circle moments. Bookends. Turning points. Milestones. Halfway points.

In projects, it’s easier to find your midpoint than in life. It’s the proverbial 50% mark in Microsoft Project on your topline summary task. Simply, tally your series of “percent completes” into some view of what’s left to do.

But devoid of a crusty old Project Management tool, this website must use its editorial calendar to determine the midway point.  And we can say, dear friend, that our trajectory of stories indeed shows we’ve reached the halfway point of our Journey.

Yes, Carisa H-K had it all planned out from the start.  Which is how she lives her life as well.

But actually, what about life?  We’re vexed by not knowing our halfway point. And the end point… well, that may be the most important of all.  We never know how much time is left.  Thus emerged this project, Tales from Digital Deliria: a fulfillment of some proof that “we were here”.  It’s a milestone in personal perseverance and drive, despite the odds of a rather dire year. Something your humble writer never thought she could achieve. 

That drive will continue into other projects as part of a greater vision.  As such, Tales from Digital Deliria will move to a less frequent post cycle, to make time to focus on these longer-term goals. 

Remember: half of the journey still remains.  A keen eye may have recognized the secret to our sojourn. Tales from Digital Deliria is an online novel, taking shape through multiple, quick-read episodes.  To go back in time, hit the first story and click links under “Previous”. Or, start where you wish and use “Next” to experience digital life as it unfolds. You choose the direction!

What remains is all in-plan: all to be revealed in the final act.  So enjoy a lemon sorbet intermezzo, cleanse your palette, and think: What do you want to accomplish in the “remaining half” of your life as well?

As always, I hope you enjoyed this and it brightened your day.

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