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  • Imbibe, imbibe, imbibe in the aphorisms of the Internets. Articles sprouted by ones and zeros. Flying faster than the checker of facts. Lies and half truths propogate. Impregnate. Cancerate. New words inventorate. Quick, quicker, quickest. We race to oblivion. Information in, exformation out (speaking of aphorisms, I got that last one from DF Wallace quoted on a delightful blog). Internets, holograms before my eyes, flash, flash, flash and bang. New seeds sewn. A Monsanto intellectual. A rag doll making flippy floppy.

    I have ADD.

    Okay? But have you seen lil bub on Instagram? He got famous so fast! (emphasis on FAST, see Seinfeld episode). Seriously. People line up in Times Square for a photo op. Come on. Lil Bub? The deformed cat? Expressive as a motherfucker. But a cat nonetheless.

    Look. Shiny object. Shiny object. Ooh shiny object.

    We are cats on the Internets.

    And so I click and tap and tap tap click / Constellations / Narratives / Heroes / Drama / Gossip / Smores / Suicide / Climatology / Doublespeaks / Halftruth / Revisionist History Happening In Real Time (And IRL) / How-to videos / Clever ploys / Buy button population growth (exponential) / Oh and ad campaigns where I can "tell my branded story" (or how I learned to love happiness in a package).

    Then the bullshit. Copious. Copious. Copious. Ads and ads and ads for more ads. Novelties and trinkets. Shiny objects you can click on. Empty promises of Nirvana. Bliss and peace and hope. Realize your dreams. Click this button.

    Okay. Now what?

    I am drunk on the Internets. Give me more Oatmeal. Show me more dogs who resemble celebrities. Please, please, please me with more Pouting Olympians. What's her name? I forget.

    Just like the parties and gatherings and crashings and get togethers and hang outs and smoke outs. All these friendly faces whirlwinding and Flauberting by (puns are fun).

    I have met so many of you. Laughed you. Helped you. Pried you. Lit you. Gamed you. Framed you. Loved you. Left you. Hurt you. Blamed you. Just you. Ad- you. Scowled you. Hugged you. Kissed you. Fucked you. Heart you. Broke you. And then forgot you.

    Like those links I click and click and click. See, read, share, on to the next, forget, find, see, repeat. Noise. Information cacophony. While a former wiring, a pre techno drunkard nostalgia, a dream in reverse, a less altered state, a relic, it is in my neck. This relic is in my neck and it calls up at my head and says, Don't do it!

    Don't do what? That line of of coke? That bong toke? That trustafarian with a shawl and cloak? That porn site right after I woke?

    A reverse dream in shackles. Ignored deplorations. Distractions, I know. Shiny objects. False idols. Misinformation. The work of the devil. But the devil's just a fairytale. Forgotten by me, Generation FML. Everything is nothing but something to Google. To follow whimsically through thousands of years misinterpreted by thousands in only a few.

    And as we forget so we are forgotten.

    But I'll get it under control. One day. Perhaps when I unplug and step outside.
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