I don’t mind being monitored:
the tracker in my car that reports to my insurance,
the security cameras at work that never blink,
the watch I wear measuring my heart and steps.
If you had access to all this data, then
you might know of me:
You would know what songs I listen to,
websites I visit, where I drive…
How often I pretend to text on my phone
to avoid social awkwardness.
You would know the hours I am awake,
those sleepless nights watching TV, and
(if I had a sleep tracker)
you would know when and how often
So take these steps, this heartbeat,
these playlists, and read all the emails.
Take these texts, this Netflix queue,
and the documents on my computer
no one will ever see.
Take my bank balance, my transactions,
my location data, my Facebook statuses,
and even my energy consumption…
It’s said that when boiled down,
a human body can be accounted for
99.99% of the time—the rest is soul.
With all this data, you get a composite sketch;
good enough for a police lineup, but not DNA good.
The real me lives between the lines,
the real me is greater than the sum of all data.