A lesson on cell phones.

I think that, for the time being, most of our news will be about new (to me) mediums, since this blog is new, and I’m new to blogging, and new is our subject, and in certain respects, I can’t see beyond my present moment, our medium. I will try to post frequently, at first principally from what I refer to as The New Books, with selections that seem best to characterize our readerboard in its infancy, since there is no language tentative enough to give it a more extensive exposition than I have in the initial post.
We will start with familiar technology and words delivered in a familiar way, if you know what I mean—what letters I mean. So let me forward this to you:

This is how you should organize your cell phone: Put a picture of your loved one, your second most loved one, your lover, for this one fills your heart, on the inside so you can flip yourself open and be guided by the brightness of that person’s love. But do not put your lover on the outside, for you will be whoring your lover, and at other times hiding them in darkness. And they will not be leading you in the dark, for when they are illumined closed in the dark you will not be being led. But let the small outside be white for the Light, bright despite and within the darkness, in your pocket and accessible, illumined though you don't know it, and by this part you will know what time it is.
…
Now, concerning the speed-dial you are given no one way, but reserve the 8th and 9th for people you cannot call (on the phone) because they are dead, for they [since you love them] are up in the eighth or the ninth [heavens.] For anyway, it is not fitting that you should call more than seven people quickly.
For those who did not die well, 8, since they are withheld in the realm of fixed stars. 9 for those who died well and will bring you to God, for 9 is the highest pitch on the phone, nor can you make a higher sound on it.
This is not law, but these are suggestions; for I have a phone, and I think I am a man of God.