I love the neuroweb, but I hate the neuroweb. Why can't it be like it was in the old days? Sending signals to robotic dildos embedded in one another's orifai? There's a purpose to the technical proficiency, the quality, of the experience, but I can't stop telling myself that, ever since we split into multi-celled organisms, we've lost something irreplaceable. Instead of angry petitions, we have hand signals.
I still remember the day I got my first brain. My dad taught me how to use it. Hands on the handlebars.
The lost children of the internet leave frightful ghosts, but maybe it's not that different from the lost children of the woods. I know I don't want to be the one trying to write down all the names. Maybe, in our quest to define ourselves, we have come to see the loss of our own ineffectual non-progress as indicative of our preordained downfall. Maybe we're so selfish we think our own dying pains mean the internet was actually different.
You think 99 Seattle was effective? Chairman Mao was a pussy, because change doesn't come at the barrel of a gun, by which he meant the force of an organized militia, which is why he was alive long enough to ride the wave of Bolshevism toward an eerie retrocapitalism under an imperial banner. Change comes from any one person. If Mao had believed in his own shit, he would've died before the money came in.
If you're a leftist, your heroes have to be Timothy McVeigh and Charles Manson and the last six nameless people to fight a cop over a speeding ticket. Shouting into the void, yes, but at least into a physical void, rather than the internet one. I'm here because I'm riding this nuclear horse into the pit in a fit of abject fantasy. This is not reality. Clock hands spinning in and out of the fourth dimension.
The pure are already dead. We are the inheritors of the defeated, the raped, and the cowardly. The good would not have put up with this shit, which is why we are alone.