random monologue

Was Columbus confused when Amerigo stole his glory?
Was he satisfied when he became household?
Did he mourn the red avalanche he started?
Does he know? Does he care?
Would I?
Has life become as different as we imagine it has? Or is it just how we define our lives? When did technology and comforts stop being the things that shade our lives but the colours themselves? Why did we not notice? A person’s death, when captured, becomes the whole of their lives. Our martyrs are no longer myth but digital realities. Does an unnoticed death negate an unnoticed life? Is a small person unworthy or just a casualty of the gluttony of information? Shouldn’t you have answers to these questions?
But then… Do you want to be a morbid celebrity, dancing your used corpse before a desensitized audience for nickels thrown at your feet? Some boob making lewd gestures with your limbs for unheard guffaws? Maybe you do. Five minutes to be remembered. Five whole minutes.

I had been working on a short script to deal with the death of a friend. This monologue was one thing that came out of it, but I'm not sure where it fits.