It’s terribly frightening, being alone with one’s thoughts.
The internet gives us refuge from that. Solitude and contemplation.
It is 55 degrees outside, and damnit, I am going out there soon, even if the world has nothing offer to me. Even if life ends like this, alone in the suburbs, alone at the mall, at least it won’t be alone in front of a screen, talking to an invisible audience, or passively absorbing content.
The Wad failed to understand my internet malaise. My youth, my adolescence, my coming of age, this niche into which my particular age group fits: we were the guinea pigs. We continue to be. While the empire crumbles from under us, we continue to buy into the illusion of affluence. THAT is depressing. Yes, Eva is depressing! Lain is fucking depressing! I fucking sobbed- like when I read 1984. My adolescence was saturated with dystopian fiction, some of it eerily prophetic. There I was, isolated in the social ghetto of unattractive female nerddom, writing fanfiction. I bonded with other adolescent nerds online. All these things have fostered in me an unfortunate habit of pouring myself out into the internet. In other words, I lack a filter. (This is a tendency in my personal life.)
But even that phrase seems to have lost its meaning, for the personal has become digital. (Yeah, copyright me, you’ll see it on an LED tshirt for thirty bucks somewhere once I sell that gem.)